#scrambled thoughts and mismatched socks
Text
waking up slow
yuta okkotsu x reader
♡—waking up with Yuta is one of your favorite things to do.
word count♡— 1k
genre♡— fluff, romance, established relationship
aged up characters♡— 18+
content notes♡— domestic fluff, living together, romance, lovers, dating, being late together, no use of y/n, shockingly not a royalty au
author's note♡— this is my very first request from anon! it's a bit short but I didn't want to drag it out too much. I mainly focused on the fluff and the uwu of it all. I hope you like it!
The scent of sheets and the warmth of the sunlight shining through the window are the first things you process when you wake up. The next is the weight of Yuuta’s arm around your waist.
Smiling contentedly, you bask in the moment before shifting to face him.
His eyes were still closed, but his eyelashes flutter and you sense that he’s coming to. You raise a hand to brush his hair away from his eyes. He wakes up slowly as you do, and a lazy smile graces his lips.
Yuuta pulls you to him, his arms firm around you and your nose is hit with a fragrance that’s so distinctly him. You let yourself be pulled closer against him and snuggle into his neck. For a moment, all you could think was how lovely it would be to have all days start this way.
Usually, mornings with Yuuta were rushed and scrambling. There always seemed to be something going on. Something that one–or, let’s be honest, both of you were late to. A meeting that slipped your mind. An urgent call for him. An event or two that you’d both rush to get to anyway, despite already being late for whatever it was.
Mornings like that had their own appeal, of course. Everything, every mundane moment was always made a thousand times more special with Yuuta. Each miniscule second was still greatly cherished. You breathe out a laugh when you remember that time Yuuta had put on mismatched socks. He didn’t even bother finding a correct pair, only hastily shoving on his shoes and kissing your cheek before he was out the door.
“Morning…” Yuuta’s voice rang in your ears. In that low, raspy tone it always was when he had just woken up. He kisses the top of your head before settling his head on the pillow again.
His expression was so calm; you had a feeling that the two of you would be falling asleep again before long. Fixing the blankets over you, your mind felt hazy as you anticipated a carefree and relaxed morning. Perhaps you could order food for brunch once you properly woke up.
Right as you were slipping into dreamland, however, Yuuta’s hold on you stiffens.
It alerts you instantly. “What’s wrong?”
Yuuta seems to try to fight the sleepiness as he forces his eyes to open. He blinks, looking deep in thought as if he’s forgotten something.
You felt the dread building in your stomach.
A few seconds of silence passes over the room. You place a hand on his arm. “Don’t tell me…”
He considers his words carefully before speaking. “It’s not... Yuuji’s birthday today, is it?”
“I don’t think so…” You try to deny it, wanting to stay in bed longer. “If it was, you’d set an alarm for that, wouldn't you?”
His face falls. You knew his answer before it left his lips.
“...I thought you did.”
The two of you spring off the bed immediately. The blankets are shoved away in a flurry, with a pillow or two falling to the ground softly. That softness being the exact opposite of your demeanor right now.
So much for a lazy morning, you think to yourself.
However, having been in situations like this makes you fall into a tried and tested routine with Yuuta. Once he heats up water for coffee, you already have the mugs out. You pick out clothes for one another while he brushes his teeth and cleans himself up. He gets your shoes while you’re the one in the bathroom, and he always knows which pair you would want to wear with your outfit for the day.
You’re ready and prepped in record time. As you give yourself a final once over in the mirror by the door, Yuuta goes to grab Yuuji’s present on the kitchen counter. When he returns, he meets your eyes in the reflection and leaves a delicate kiss on your temple.
“You look perfect.” He says, and he smiles brightly when you do.
You sigh, pretending to be exasperated. “I know.” A laugh bursts from your lips when he tries to tickle you in retaliation.
“No, Yuuta! Stop!” Still laughing, you try to capture his hands in yours. “We don’t have time for this!”
He finally relents, but pulls you to him instead. The look in his eyes is so precious, and you don’t doubt that you’re looking at him with the same gaze. You meet him halfway for a kiss, and you melt into it.
Kissing him was enchantingly perfect, a warmth blooming in your chest as if you were always meant to be with him. Your heart swells up from all that you feel and all that he gives you, but you catch yourself and pull back.
“We should be heading out.” You say, but you sound unconvincing even to your own ears.
Yuuta stares into your eyes happily for a moment. Then he nods and takes your hand as you head out the door.
“Do you have anything planned tomorrow?” He asks as you both walk at a leisurely pace.
It occurs to you that you should probably urge him to hasten his steps, but as the sunlight reflects in his eyes in that spellbinding way, you couldn’t find it in yourself to rush this moment.
“No, why?” You reply. He brings up your hand and kisses the back of it.
“I think we deserve a day of just absolutely nothing.” Yuuta’s expression was delighted, as if he was planning something more exciting than just simply staying at home together.
The feeling is contagious, nonetheless. You found yourself grinning at the idea of an uninterrupted morning with him. You remind yourself to try to wake up before him tomorrow, so you can see him in that morning glow that makes your heart flutter again.
“There’s no one else I’d do absolutely nothing with.” You give his hand a tender squeeze as you respond.
“Glad that we agree on that, then.” He beams at you, and you realized then that the sun would never hold a candle to him.
And so you went on with your day, having fun with friends and celebrating your time with them. But as the day draws to a close, all you could look forward to was waking up slowly the next day and every day after that, in the loving arms of your other half.
© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡
#yuta okkotsu x reader#yuuta x reader#yuuta okkotsu x reader#yuuta fluff#jjk fluff#boyfriend yuuta#jujutsu kaisen fluff#yuuta x y/n#yuta okkotsu reader insert#yuuta reader insert#yuta okkotsu x you#yuta okkotsu imagine#yuta okkotsu fluff#domestic au#boyfriend yuta#togenabi-yuuta-01
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wish you'd ask me - matt maltese
Valentine's Day was inescapable, it seemed. It was just another cash-grabbing holiday, but It's all everyone at school's been talking about for the past few weeks. School announcements over purchasing Valentine's grams, holiday bake sales, and the student council asking for volunteers to decorate accordingly. He's been dragged everywhere from the store to the mall, even to the shopping center by his various friends, each of them trying to find the perfect cards and gifts. He thought everyone was a fool scrambling around like wriggling worms. He'd already bought a pack of Terrence and Phillip Valentine cards and hastily written them all out for his friends. He suddenly found himself a hypocrite when Kenny offhandedly asked him a question.
"D'ya get anything for Kyle yet?" Kenny asked as he mashed the buttons on the controller.
They were sitting in Stan's living room on the couch playing Mortal Kombat for the nth time. Stan flushed hard, his Neptune eyes not leaving the screen. Ever since Kenny's deduced Stan's major crush on Kyle, he'd been teasing him about it to some degree. But of course, he'd drummed it up quite a bit recently because of the nature of the holiday.
"Quit your cheap tricks, Ken. I almost got you!"
"That's real cute, Stan. Forreal though."
Stan scoffed, rolling his eyes. "What about you? What are you getting Marj?" Stan could see him smile softly at the mention of his long-time girlfriend.
"I'm halfway through making her a paper bouquet of white roses. I've already got a Hello Kitty plushie picked out and a huge bag of peach ring gummies. Then, I'll take her someplace to eat."
"Fuck. You've got it figured out, huh?" Stan says glumly and tosses his controller to the side of the couch. Kenny's won.
"Scorpion wins!" The TV announces.
"Nice one." Stan offers his fist to Kenny.
Kenny smiles broadly and fistbumps him. "Gg, bruh."
"Y'know someone might confess to Kyle, right?" Kenny presses his back against the couch arm, tossing his feet into Stan's lap.
"If I were you, I'd get my shit together and ask him out before someone else does. I'd hate to see you regret it~" Kenny singsonged.
Stan's stomach dropped so far it touched his asshole. He hadn't thought of that.
"Fuuuuck." He whined, lightly punching at Kenny's mismatched sock-clad feet. The left one was white with a grey toe and heel. The other hit mid-calf and was green with marijuana leaves.
"Well, you could get him something that reminds you of him. Or maybe write him a nice letter along with some flowers. You could even bake him something. I'll help you if you want. " Kenny suggests while scrolling on his phone, squishing Stan's thighs with his feet.
Stan sprawled out further onto the couch and considered.
"S'okay. I'll figure it out soon." Stan replied, pulling his hat over his bleached strands, wondering how to successfully ask his best friend out.
---
Stan gawps at the red and pink hearts coating the walls. Glittery streamers were strung up and absurd posters depicting crude drawings of Eric as Cupid were plastered around. It looked like Valentine's Day exploded and no nook or cranny was spared. He could hear girls gossiping about their crushes and quiet whispers of boys betting on each other to get kissed by the end of the day.
"Woah, dude, who's that for?" Stan questions timidly as Kyle shoves a red, heart-shaped box into his locker.
"What? I don't know what you're talking about, Stan." Kyle feigns ignorance as he tries to compose himself, pushing his wire-framed glasses up his nose. Stan thought they were cute.
"No way. Someone gave it to you?" Stan looks at him, bewilderment on his face.
"Who's it for, Kyle?" Stan presses on, confused as to why he didn't want to answer.
"No one's, alright?" He groaned in embarrassment, blood rushing up his neck already. Before Stan could get another word in, the bell rang for class.
"Just drop it, okay? We have to go to class anyways, and I don't want to be late."
"Okay, bro, whatever you say," Stan holds two hands up in defeat.
"C'mon then." He takes Kyle's hand and pulls him along the hallway, failing to notice Kyle's lovesick smile.
"You're still coming over after work, right?" Kyle implored, mumbling at the back of Stan's head.
"Count on it."
It's hard to focus on Mr. Garrison's lesson on quadratic equations when Stan's stomach feels like a bunch of frogs jumping around.
He's always felt like this around Kyle. He was always happy to see him, the sight of this green hat was familiar, comforting. It made the glacial early mornings a little more tolerable. This morning, however, was a little different. Stan was dying to know who the box was for. The thought of Kyle giving his love away was hurting him. Furthering his distress was the thought of someone confessing to Kyle and him accepting.
Oh god. Stan thought, burying his head into his notebook.
---
Stan was relieved he didn't drop the vase of pink carnations due to his sweaty palms as the door swung open.
"For you, Sheila." Stan greeted her, presenting the flowers.
"Oh, goodness, Stan these are just beautiful! Thank you! Come inside, sweetheart, Kyle's just in his room." She smothered him a hug and ushered him inside. He almost wondered what it would be like to be her son-in-law, but he hastily shoved that thought from his mind.
He stepped inside, taking his sneakers off and setting them by the door. He said his hellos to Gerald and Ike before heading up the stairs to Kyle's room.
"Hey, dude." Stan poked his head through the door before opening it fully. Kyle's head lifted from his homework. The room was lit only by his green banker lamp and a vanilla-scented candle on his dresser.
"Hey Stan, how was work?"
"Pretty good. Someone adopted that golden retriever I was talking about last week." Stan replied. He'd been working part-time at the local pet shop.
"Aw, how nice. Glad they've found a home." Kyle's eyes were twinkling gems in the lamplight as he shoved his homework away. Stan wishes he could ogle at them all day long.
"You're nicer." Kyle's head snapped to him, wondering if his ears were damaged, if he really heard him right.
Stan thrust his hand into his coat pocket before he could weasel out.
"I got something for you. I know it's a little late, but I didn't want Cartman to see it. Happy Valentine's Day."
Abashedly, he handed him a thin, rectangular box.
"Holy fuck, Stan, you didn't have to! The card you gave me in class is enough for me."
Stan stayed silent as Kyle's fingers traced around the black crushed velvet. He opened the box and let out a soft gasp. It was beautiful. A 14k gold Star of David pendant. It was shaped like a coin, the star embedded in the center. The round edge was braided like a rope. The chain was was a thin cuban-link. Kyle was at a loss for words. He quickly swiped at his eyes, not wanting the tears to drop.
"Flip it over." Stan urged.
"SM & KB?" Kyle's voice trembled as he traced the engraving on the delicate surface. He refused to blink, he didn't want the tears that were stored to cascade down his cheeks.
"Us." Stan finished as he walked over, taking the pendant from his hands. He twirled Kyle around in his office chair.
"May I?"
"Please."
Kyle felt Stan's fingertips dance at the nape of his neck, and his breath caught in his throat. Stan made sure to keep his touch sparse and gentle, in fear he might scare him away.
"I got it because it reminded me of you," Stan confessed, remembering Kenny's various suggestions. "I thought it'd look nice on you. I was sorely mistaken,"
A sound escaped Kyle's mouth as he whipped around with a hurt expression, but Stan quickly finished his sentence.
"You look stunning, Ky."
Kyle could have sworn he had died a kind death and was levitating towards heaven if not for Stan tucking a stray curl out of Kyle's vision. He was close enough to see the candle's flame reflecting in his eyes. Kyle always thought Stan's eyes were so blue it was fucking ridiculous. Like the ocean, he could feel the water pulling him under, a powerful spell.
Their noses were almost touching now. Kyle could smell the delicate rose scent of Stan's laundry detergent. Stan braced both his hands on the chair's armrests, effectively caging Kyle in. There was no way of escape, but he didn't mind.
"Kyle." Stan's breathy tone made his body tingle.
"Yes?"
"Recently, I found that I love you. But, I think I always have." Stan stepped back only to pull Kyle up from his seat. He grasped one of his hands and placed it up where his heart was.
"You feel it?" Stan's heart was thrumming under his fingers.
"I feel like it's always beating for you. I didn't know why my heart always went crazy when you said nice things to me, or when we'd have dinner with our families together, or when we'd go stargazing, just you and me. But, now I know it's because you're important to me and I want you in my life forever."
Kyle raised his unoccupied hand to cup Stan's cheek. "Promise you want me?" He thought his heart was beating just as fast as his, too.
"Want you? I need you."
Their yearning lips met, ravanous for one another. Stan's hands found themselved roaming underneath Kyle's loose Greatful Dead sweater, pulling his lithe waist as close as possible. Kyle's were threaded in Stan's hair, desperately, so much so that they didn't hear Sheila come in.
"I bought you boys some cookies-" She started, but she was frozen mid sentence, astonished.
"MA!" "Oh shit!" The two exclaimed, flying apart from themselves like they were burned.
Guilt and embarassment were clear to see on their faces, Sheila saw quite well even in the dimly lit room.
There was a lenthy stillness in the room that felt like forever when really it was more like a minute. Stan refused to look at anything but the floor, Kyle was trying to ge Stan to look at him, and Sheila was looking at them both. She decided to break the silence.
"Do you boys need condoms as well or-"
"Ma!" They were all in varying degrees of embarrasment and apology.
"We can talk about this whenever you're ready, bubie." She said patiently, giving her son a peck on the forhead. She gave Stan a knowing smile and set the plate of chocolate chip cookies on Kyle's desk, leaving the room. It was just the two of them again.
They examined eachother, both smiling ear to ear. No words were needed as Kyle grabbed two cookies, one for him and the other for Stan. They were eating the cookies sitting on his bed when Kyle remembered.
"Oh!" Kyle went over to his backpack and rummaged a bit before he pulled out the red box. He held it out to Stan.
"For me?" Stan was dumbfounded, cookie crumble on the corner of his mouth.
Kyle giggled and rolled his eyes, "Yes, dumbass, now open it!"
Stan couldn't fucking believe this. God, he's perfect. Stan was ready to thank every god for Kyle. In the heart-shaped box was a golden chain bracelet. It had two charms; one was a heart with a key hole shape in the middle, another was the left size of a heart.
He thought he could conbust into tears at any moment. He looked towards Kyle who beamed at him and held up his right arm. He pulled his sleeve down to reveal another gold chain bracelet. A key charm and the right side of a heart to match with his own.
"They're magnets," Kyle bought their bracelets together and the two halves connected forming a full heart.
"My other half." Stan grew teary, interlocking their hands.
"You're so sappy." Kyle said before kissing him again.
Valentine's Day was inescapable, it seemed. It was just another cash-grabbing holiday, but It's all everyone at school's been talking about for the past few weeks. School announcements over purchasing Valentine's grams, holiday bake sales, and the student council asking for volunteers to decorate accordingly. He's been dragged everywhere from the store to the mall, even to the shopping center by his various friends, each of them trying to find the perfect cards and gifts. He thought everyone was a fool scrambling around like wriggling worms. He'd already bought a pack of Terrence and Phillip Valentine cards and hastily written them all out for his friends. He suddenly found himself a hypocrite when Kenny offhandedly asked him a question.
"D'ya get anything for Kyle yet?" Kenny asked as he mashed the buttons on the controller.
They were sitting in Stan's living room on the couch playing Mortal Kombat for the nth time. Stan flushed hard, his Neptune eyes not leaving the screen. Ever since Kenny's deduced Stan's major crush on Kyle, he'd been teasing him about it to some degree. But of course, he'd drummed it up quite a bit recently because of the nature of the holiday.
"Quit your cheap tricks, Ken. I almost got you!"
"That's real cute, Stan. Forreal though."
Stan scoffed, rolling his eyes. "What about you? What are you getting Marj?" Stan could see him smile softly at the mention of his long-time girlfriend.
"I'm halfway through making her a paper bouquet of white roses. I've already got a Hello Kitty plushie picked out and a huge bag of peach ring gummies. Then, I'll take her someplace to eat."
"Fuck. You've got it figured out, huh?" Stan says glumly and tosses his controller to the side of the couch. Kenny's won.
"Scorpion wins!" The TV announces.
"Nice one." Stan offers his fist to Kenny.
Kenny smiles broadly and fistbumps him. "Gg, bruh."
"Y'know someone might confess to Kyle, right?" Kenny presses his back against the couch arm, tossing his feet into Stan's lap.
"If I were you, I'd get my shit together and ask him out before someone else does. I'd hate to see you regret it~" Kenny singsonged.
Stan's stomach dropped so far it touched his asshole. He hadn't thought of that.
"Fuuuuck." He whined, lightly punching at Kenny's mismatched sock-clad feet. The left one was white with a grey toe and heel. The other hit mid-calf and was green with marijuana leaves.
"Well, you could get him something that reminds you of him. Or maybe write him a nice letter along with some flowers. You could even bake him something. I'll help you if you want. " Kenny suggests while scrolling on his phone, squishing Stan's thighs with his feet.
Stan sprawled out further onto the couch and considered.
"S'okay. I'll figure it out soon." Stan replied, pulling his hat over his bleached strands, wondering how to successfully ask his best friend out.
Stan gawps at the red and pink hearts coating the walls. Glittery streamers were strung up and absurd posters depicting crude drawings of Eric as Cupid were plastered around. It looked like Valentine's Day exploded and no nook or cranny was spared. He could hear girls gossiping about their crushes and quiet whispers of boys betting on each other to get kissed by the end of the day.
"Woah, dude, who's that for?" Stan questions timidly as Kyle shoves a red, heart-shaped box into his locker.
"What? I don't know what you're talking about, Stan." Kyle feigns ignorance as he tries to compose himself, pushing his wire-framed glasses up his nose. Stan thought they were cute.
"No way. Someone gave it to you?" Stan looks at him, bewilderment on his face.
"Who's it for, Kyle?" Stan presses on, confused as to why he didn't want to answer.
"No one's, alright?" He groaned in embarrassment, blood rushing up his neck already. Before Stan could get another word in, the bell rang for class.
"Just drop it, okay? We have to go to class anyways, and I don't want to be late."
"Okay, bro, whatever you say," Stan holds two hands up in defeat.
"C'mon then." He takes Kyle's hand and pulls him along the hallway, failing to notice Kyle's lovesick smile.
"You're still coming over after work, right?" Kyle implored, mumbling at the back of Stan's head.
"Count on it."
It's hard to focus on Mr. Garrison's lesson on quadratic equations when Stan's stomach feels like a bunch of frogs jumping around.
He's always felt like this around Kyle. He was always happy to see him, the sight of this green hat was familiar, comforting. It made the glacial early mornings a little more tolerable. This morning, however, was a little different. Stan was dying to know who the box was for. The thought of Kyle giving his love away was hurting him. Furthering his distress was the thought of someone confessing to Kyle and him accepting.
Oh god. Stan thought, burying his head into his notebook.
Stan was relieved he didn't drop the vase of pink carnations due to his sweaty palms as the door swung open.
"For you, Sheila." Stan greeted her, presenting the flowers.
"Oh, goodness, Stan these are just beautiful! Thank you! Come inside, sweetheart, Kyle's just in his room." She smothered him a hug and ushered him inside. He almost wondered what it would be like to be her son-in-law, but he hastily shoved that thought from his mind.
He stepped inside, taking his sneakers off and setting them by the door. He said his hellos to Gerald and Ike before heading up the stairs to Kyle's room.
"Hey, dude." Stan poked his head through the door before opening it fully. Kyle's head lifted from his homework. The room was lit only by his green banker lamp and a vanilla-scented candle on his dresser.
"Hey Stan, how was work?"
"Pretty good. Someone adopted that golden retriever I was talking about last week." Stan replied. He'd been working part-time at the local pet shop.
"Aw, how nice. Glad they've found a home." Kyle's eyes were twinkling gems in the lamplight as he shoved his homework away. Stan wishes he could ogle at them all day long.
"You're nicer." Kyle's head snapped to him, wondering if his ears were damaged, if he really heard him right.
Stan thrust his hand into his coat pocket before he could weasel out.
"I got something for you. I know it's a little late, but I didn't want Cartman to see it. Happy Valentine's Day."
Abashedly, he handed him a thin, rectangular box.
"Holy fuck, Stan, you didn't have to! The card you gave me in class is enough for me."
Stan stayed silent as Kyle's fingers traced around the black crushed velvet. He opened the box and let out a soft gasp. It was beautiful. A 14k gold Star of David pendant. It was shaped like a coin, the star embedded in the center. The round edge was braided like a rope. The chain was a thin Cuban link. Kyle was at a loss for words. He quickly swiped at his eyes, not wanting the tears to drop.
"Flip it over." Stan urged.
"SM & KB?" Kyle's voice trembled as he traced the engraving on the delicate surface. He refused to blink, he didn't want the tears that were stored to cascade down his cheeks.
"Us." Stan finished as he walked over, taking the pendant from his hands. He twirled Kyle around in his office chair.
"May I?"
"Please."
Kyle felt Stan's fingertips dance at the nape of his neck, and his breath caught in his throat. Stan made sure to keep his touch sparse and gentle, in fear he might scare him away.
"I got it because it reminded me of you," Stan confessed, remembering Kenny's various suggestions. "I thought it'd look nice on you. I was sorely mistaken,"
A sound escaped Kyle's mouth as he whipped around with a hurt expression, but Stan quickly finished his sentence.
"You look stunning, Ky."
Kyle could have sworn he had died a kind death and was levitating towards heaven if not for Stan tucking a stray curl out of Kyle's vision. He was close enough to see the candle's flame reflecting in his eyes. Kyle always thought Stan's eyes were so blue it was fucking ridiculous. Like the ocean, he could feel the water pulling him under, a powerful spell.
Their noses were almost touching now. Kyle could smell the delicate rose scent of Stan's laundry detergent. Stan braced both his hands on the chair's armrests, effectively caging Kyle in. There was no way of escape, but he didn't mind.
"Kyle." Stan's breathy tone made his body tingle.
"Yes?"
"Recently, I found that I love you. But, I think I always have." Stan stepped back only to pull Kyle up from his seat. He grasped one of his hands and placed it up where his heart was.
"You feel it?" Stan's heart was thrumming under his fingers.
"I feel like it's always beating for you. I didn't know why my heart always went crazy when you said nice things to me, or when we'd have dinner with our families together, or when we'd go stargazing, just you and me. But, now I know it's because you're important to me and I want you in my life forever."
Kyle raised his unoccupied hand to cup Stan's cheek. "Promise you want me?" He thought his heart was beating just as fast as his, too.
"Want you? I need you."
Their yearning lips met, ravenous for one another. Stan's hands found themselves roaming underneath Kyle's loose Grateful Dead sweater, pulling his lithe waist as close as possible. Kyle's were threaded in Stan's hair, desperately, so much so that they didn't hear Sheila come in.
"I bought you boys some cookies-" She started, but she was frozen mid-sentence, astonished.
"MA!" "Oh shit!" The two exclaimed, flying apart from themselves like they were burned.
Guilt and embarrassment were clear to see on their faces, Sheila saw quite well even in the dimly lit room.
There was a lengthy stillness in the room that felt like forever when really it was more like a minute. Stan refused to look at anything but the floor, Kyle was trying to get Stan to look at him, and Sheila was looking at them both. She decided to break the silence.
"Do you boys need condoms as well or-"
"Ma!" They were all in varying degrees of embarrassment and apology.
"We can talk about this whenever you're ready, bubie." She said patiently, giving her son a peck on the forehead. She gave Stan a knowing smile and set the plate of chocolate chip cookies on Kyle's desk, leaving the room. It was just the two of them again.
They examined each other, both smiling ear to ear. No words were needed as Kyle grabbed two cookies, one for him and the other for Stan. They were eating the cookies and sitting on his bed when Kyle remembered.
"Oh!" Kyle went over to his backpack and rummaged a bit before he pulled out the red box. He held it out to Stan.
"For me?" Stan was dumbfounded, cookie crumbles on the corner of his mouth.
Kyle giggled and rolled his eyes, "Yes, dumbass, now open it!"
Stan couldn't fucking believe this. God, he's perfect. Stan was ready to thank every god for Kyle. In the heart-shaped box was a golden chain bracelet. It had two charms; one was a heart with a keyhole shape in the middle, another was the left side of a heart.
He thought he could combust into tears at any moment. He looked towards Kyle who beamed at him and held up his right arm. He pulled his sleeve down to reveal another gold chain bracelet. A key charm and the right side of a heart to match with his own.
"They're magnets," Kyle bought their bracelets together and the two halves connected forming a full heart.
"My other half." Stan grew teary, interlocking their hands.
"You're so sappy," Kyle said before kissing him again.
#stan marsh#kyle broflovski#south park#sp style#south park stan#sp stan#sp kyle#south park style#south park kyle#sp fluff#style fluff#sp stanky#finally some fluff T^T#im gonna cry they're so cute#please listen to the song!! it so fucking good omfg#i've been listening to it on repeat
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parental advice
“I wanted to call Maddie, but she’s at work, and…” he trails off, clearly thinking about how to delicately introduce his next point, “she’s a new parent, too.”
In that instant, Rachel understands everything.
also on ao3
“I wanted to call Maddie, but she’s at work, and…” he trails off, clearly thinking about how to delicately introduce his next point, “she’s a new parent, too.”
In that instant, Rachel understands everything.
“Oh,” Rachel says aloud, drawing the attention of her husband, Randall, laying beside her in bed. “It’s- it’s Tom.”
Randall looks at her, eyebrows raised, and she returns the surprised expression. He slowly folds the book he was reading over his thumb. “That’s weird.”
“Yeah. Super weird. Should I…”
“Answer it,” Randall advises, “maybe it’s some sort of emergency.”
“It better be for him to call me so late,” Rachel huffs, answering the phone and bringing it to her ear. “Hello, Mr. Wachowski?”
“Ah, hey, Rachel,” comes the Sheriff’s voice with an awkward laugh. “Sorry if I interrupted anything. Do you have a minute?”
“What for?” again, she looks to her husband, expressing her confusion. Randall watches her expression change as she listens to Tom’s response through the phone, the way her face softens with sympathy and her eyebrows softly knit with concern. She lifts her finger to him as she shuffles out of bed, putting on her slippers. “Yeah, Tom. We can talk. Take a second, call me back on FaceTime, okay? Okay...”
What Randall doesn’t know is that his brother-in-law had broken down crying on the other end. Rachel slips out of their bedroom and closes the door behind her, walking quickly through her house until she reaches the kitchen. In a calm silence, she starts to heat the kettle, gets out her favorite calming tea bag, and readies herself.
If it was an emergency, Tom wouldn’t have agreed to even hang up the phone. He would have come right out the gate with desperate urgency. What she heard from him was different. The danger had already passed, and this Tom was tired, downright worn out. While she stands by her kitchen counter, watching cars pass by in the darkness and listening to the water steadily heat up, she gets a text from her sister.
It’s a cute little picture of a rescued wild fox kit, captioned ‘Long nights at the office are worth it!’
So nothing was wrong with Maddie. That left something happening at Tom’s work, something else in his life, or maybe even something happening with their little entourage of aliens. Rachel sighs deeply through her nose. That still took some getting used to; but as long as Maddie was happy, and reassured her that this was the right thing for her, then she would support her. She didn’t like to brag, but she was a good sister in that way.
Tom calls back, and Rachel answers. He’s sitting outside on his porch, the phone on a short table angled at him. His guitar leans on one side of his seat, his service gun resting on the arm of the other side. Amidst the chirping of crickets and soft ambient breeze, Rachel hears his dog panting softly by his legs. The sheriff is chewing on his fingernails, arms tucked tightly against his chest, looking unfocused.
“So what happened?”
“Well, I thought Sonic and the boys were asleep…
...
CRASH!
“FUCK!”
Tom jumps out of his skin. Glass and metal clattering, a loud thump, and then the voice of someone shouting obscenities was not his ideal lullaby, and it sends him leaping out of bed like a fire was lit under his ass. He scrambles, in a t-shirt, boxers and mismatched socks, out into the kitchen where he heard the noise, gun in hand.
He was expecting to see Sonic, as his son’s voice was easily recognizable, even when swearing and strained. He wasn’t expecting to see him on the ground, clutching his ankle and whimpering. His ears are flat, his muzzle wrinkled, and when he looks up to Tom, his eyes are big and wet. He is the epitome of a sad kid who has scraped their knee on Christmas and is about to burst into holiday-disrupting-theatrics.
“Bud?” Tom asks, lowering his gun and setting it aside on the island. He kneels down next to Sonic, who shrinks away. “Hey, relax. You’re fine. What happened?”
His question is met by the sound of whirring tails coming quickly downstairs. “It’s my fault!” Tails cries out, dropping to the ground to stand beside his brother. “I-I left something on the stairs and…and Sonic tripped on it…”
“Hit the island,” Sonic mutters with tight lips. He hisses through intermittent groans of ‘owww’. “I think I broke my leg…!”
“What?” Tom raises an eyebrow. His heart skips a beat at the thought of his son being that badly injured, but at the same time, he doesn’t think it’s true. He’s broken a bone before, and no matter how tough Sonic may be, that kind of pain would have anyone screeching and howling. “Lemme see it.”
“No way! C-Call Maddie. She’s the vet! Hell, call 911! Get an ambulance down here! If my leg is broken and I have to wear a stupid cast and I can’t run, I’m going to die!” The blue blur slides away from his father’s approaching hands, hissing at him like he’s going to lash out and swat.
“Sonic- Sonic. You’re not going to die.” Tom sighs and puts his hands firmly on Sonic’s shoulders. “Come on, just let me look. Please?”
Making and sustaining eye contact seems to calm Sonic down a little, enough for him to let go of his held breath in a heavy sigh, his brow tightly knit together. He looks dolefully back to Tails and reaches out, the two boys holding each other’s hands. Sonic whimpers and turns his head into Tails’ chest.
“Okay. Don’t kick me if I touch something that hurts.” Tom gives them both a reassuring smile, then moves his hands gingerly to the leg that Sonic forced himself to let go of. He’s never paid so much attention to Sonic in all his life as he massages down his son’s leg, carefully testing his knee joint and watching for any signs of pain. Sonic flinches a lot, but nothing seems to hurt him until Tom reaches his ankle.
His ears pin, he whimpers again, and he lightly digs his hands into Tails’ palms. His whole body shivers and shakes like a nervous small dog, lips quivering like he’s going to burst into tears. All of his quills stand defensively on edge. Tom grimaces, feeling guilty, as he twists Sonic’s foot back and forth. “I’m sorry, bud…but, it’s not broken.” he whispers, manipulating him just a bit more before letting go. “It’s just sprained.”
“Sprained?”
“You twisted it funny. It’ll be sore, but you should be okay by tomorrow. No stupid cast necessary.” Tom gently pats the side of Sonic’s leg, reaching out to put his hand on his son’s face to draw his eyes back to him. “You’re good.”
Sonic sighs, breathing through his nose heavily to try and conceal a wet little sniffle. The weight of his head subtly rests into Tom’s palm. “Yeah. I-I knew that. I totally wasn’t about to freak out over breaking a leg. My whole, short, terribly boring life did not flash before my eyes for even a second. I’m all good!”
“I’m sorry, Sonic,” Tails mutters, his lip quivering, his ears equally flat. “I-”
“Hey, it’s okay!” Sonic smiles at him and hugs him, using Tails as leverage to help him stand up. “It was dark, n’ I should be asleep anyway. Just clean it up before you come meet me back in bed. Okay? You know me. I’ll walk it off. Don’t feel bad, little buddy.”
Tails sniffles and nods at him, offering him a little smile. He hovers back to the stairs, and Sonic turns his attention to Tom, looking sheepish again.
“Sorry for waking you up.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay. You actually sleep, alright? You’ll be one cranky hedgehog in the morning if you stay up too late. G’night, Blue. Love you.” Tom smiles back at him. They fist-bump, then Sonic turns to (dramatically) hobble back upstairs to bed. As soon as Sonic is out of sight, Tom’s heart skips a beat.
For a few long moments, he stays knelt down on the floor. As he stands up and takes his pistol from the kitchen island, he becomes aware of an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.
At first, he attributes it to the interaction between Sonic and Tails; a swelling of pride in seeing his middle son treat their youngest with such maturity, grace and love. It did warm his heart to see Sonic put himself aside for the sake of his little brother.
Maybe it was relief that Sonic was alright and that there was nothing to be fearful of.
Maybe it was fear.
The feeling grips him a little tighter.
Tom suddenly lets out a deep breath. He didn’t know he’d been holding it. Refilling his body with oxygen just makes him suddenly feel sick. It makes his throat tight, his eyes hot, his head start to pound and hurt. Without realizing it, he walks back into his bedroom, putting his gun back in the gun safe and sitting down on the edge of the bed. It’s as if he opens his eyes and he’s there, staring at his empty palms.
It was just fear. Fear of a situation that didn’t, and wouldn’t ever, happen again. Fear that lingers, that wraps around him. An albatross that closes his throat so tightly that his next attempted deep breath is only a wheeze. That feeling of being choked only serves to scare him even more, until his eyes are blurry with tears, even as they start to slip onto his cheeks.
His hands are shaking, his heart is pounding even harder. The animal part of his brain is telling him to fight, fly, or freeze. The human part is frustrated that this reaction is happening in response to something so mundane as a teenager twisting their ankle. The parental part is still concerned about the latter. As he lifts his arm to wipe the tears from his face, his muscles are so stiff he feels like he’s fighting early onset rigor mortis.
Tightly lashing out like a spring, he grabs his phone. He hesitates, white-knuckling the device in his palm. He opens the phone to stare at his lock screen, a picture of himself and his wife, and seeing her face (as well as the late hour) reminds him that she’s busy. He should only call her for emergencies. This was no emergency. He could breathe now, he just felt so stiff, so tired, and somehow still so scared.
He puts the phone down beside him and hunches his shoulders. He shuffles back onto the bed and brings his knees up. Smiling weakly to himself, he’s reminded of Sonic’s defensive position - he’d curl up just like Tom was now. Suppose it was a hedgehog thing. It wouldn’t be the only ‘hedgehog thing’ Tom does now. Sonic has taught him a lot. How to be patient, how to love. How to be so, so, so fucking scared.
He drops his head into his knees with a soft whimper, feeling like he’s looking at the world through a glass screen. This feeling will pass. It has to. Just take deep breaths.
Just breathe.
...
“It sounds like you had a major panic attack.” Rachel breathes.
Tom nods, his throat dry. His eyes flit over his sister’s features, and he laughs hollowly, his shoulders hunching inward. “Yeah. I’ve never had one before. I wanted to call Maddie, but she’s at work, and…” he trails off, clearly thinking about how to delicately introduce his next point, “she’s a new parent, too.”
In that instant, Rachel understands everything.
She understands why Tom went down swinging at her wedding. She understands why Maddie left her tied to a chair all day. And suddenly she starts seeing it everywhere; the way that Maddie cuddled with them on the couch and read them stories, the way Tom was constantly taking all three boys out for morning fishing trips. They housed, fed, clothed and protected them; Tom and Maddie Wachowski loved those aliens like their own sons. They had become their sons, and the wedded pair had already, readily, eagerly anointed themselves as their parents.
The realization that her little sister is now a mother like her is enough to nearly bring her to tears, but she’s grounded back in the moment by Tom’s heavy sigh through the phone.
“So, I wanted to talk to you,” he reclines in his outdoor seat, rubbing the back of his neck. “I remembered last summer when Jojo sprained her wrist. You were freaked out, but…you were…y’know, under control. I don’t think you had a panic attack.”
“Well,” Rachel breathes, laughing, “it kinda felt like I did. Nobody wants to see their kids getting hurt. I was lucky that Jo was so calm, she kinda helped me keep my cool.”
“So what’s wrong with me?” Tom asks, his tone vulnerable and weak, voice cracking with every syllable. “Am I not cut out for this parenting stuff, if my kid twisting his ankle sends me into a freakin’ paranoid spiral?”
“No, Tom…” her voice is tight and she releases the tension with a sigh, lightly hanging her head. “You’re not a bad parent. Not by a long shot.”
He looks back up at her, and for a while, there’s silence, filled with the ambience of the outdoors separated by hundreds of miles. A car drives by Rachel’s house as an owl calls out from the woods surrounding Tom’s. A moment of peace during a truce, a moment for both parents to catch their breath and see each other as just that - fellow parents.
“I mean, I may not know your whole situation with Sonic and his friends,” Rachel starts, “but I know a fair amount. Like, what happened at my wedding…that was so not okay. Throwing an electrified net on a 15 year old, then throwing him in a cage, just cause he’s a space-alien-hedgehog thing? Tom, you’ve seen that kid get hurt before. Hurt bad.”
“I’ve seen him die,” gasps Tom. It’s as if he’s only just now realizing it. He’s clearly getting choked up as he starts to ramble, his breathing picking up with each desperate word. “I’ve seen him lifeless on the pavement like- like roadkill! I’ve seen him struggling within an inch of his life and I held his hand while he got ready to be killed. I…I-”
“And that’s something no parent should ever have to see,” Rachel says quickly, cutting him off before he can wind himself up even more. “Doesn’t it make sense that you’d worry a little bit extra about him? Given everything you two have been through?”
Tom sniffles and takes a few heavy breaths, composing himself for the second time that night. He closes his eyes and lets his face fall into his hand. “I always thought the post traumatic stress would come from being a cop.” he mutters lowly, sounding resigned.
Rachel sighs warmly. “That’s parenting. Kids will change you in ways you didn’t ever think you’d be changed. Jo has taught me more about life than every experience I had without her. My advice to you, Tom? Tell Maddie about this when she gets home.”
The look Tom gives her is reminiscent of a guilty dog. “What if she’s tired and stressed out from work?”
“She’d be so much more stressed out learning about this incident in retrospect.”
“Mmm,” Tom nods, “yeah. You’re right. That’s on me for underestimating your wisdom, Rache.”
“More like underestimating how well I know my sister,” she smiles. “She loves you to itty bitty pieces. She wants to know. And y’know what, I bet she’d feel the exact same way if it was her who found Sonic hurt tonight. She’s not gonna think you’re weak or anything.”
“I think I am,” he sighs, “when your kid gets hurt, they need you to be the strong one for them, to make them feel like they’re going to be okay. How can I do that for Sonic when I’m constantly afraid that he’s not going to be okay?”
“Tom, you just told me that you told Sonic he would be fine. You told me that he’s asleep right now. If he was freaked out because of you, would he really be able to fall back asleep? You kept your shit together until he was safe, then you lost it. That’s good parenting. That’s being strong for your kid. Nobody could expect any parent to constantly keep their cool, let alone someone who’s almost lost their kid a couple times. You’re only human.”
Another silence settles as the Sheriff looks at her with an unreadable expression. Rachel slowly decodes it to be reverence and awe. His jaw sets and he smiles, looking down as he wipes a few fresh tears from his eyes. “You’re a good mom, Rachel.” he says, choking back a sob. “I’m sorry to bother you so late at night, but…I couldn’t think of anyone else I wanted advice from. About this. About kids.”
“I’m not just a good mom,” Rachel smiles still, “I’m a good sister. That means sister-in-law, too. I think, despite my reservations, you’re doing your best, Thomas Wachowski. I think those kids needed a good, strong Dad, and they got one.”
He smiles back at her, his face still tense, but there’s relief and light in his eyes. “Thank you. I needed to hear that - from you.”
For some time, the two parents just look at each other, soft and serene expressions on both of their faces, the warmth of which can be felt through their screens and across the miles. Rachel takes another drink of her tea when their eyes part, and Tom reaches down to scratch behind Ozzie’s ears.
“You gonna be alright tonight?” Rachel asks. She wishes she could give him a hug. That’s not a thought she has often.
Tom looks up and thumbs his nose with a shy grin. “I think I will be. Thanks again, Rachel. Talk later?”
“Alligator.” Rachel kisses her palm and blows it to the screen. Tom snatches it out of the air and puts it on his cheek. They hang up at the same time.
#sonic movie#sonic movie 2#tom wachowski#rachel deserves to be more than a side character. shes literally the only other parent in the series#more fanfics from me oh no!!#also i DO plan on continuing north american mammals. EVENTUALLY.
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Uranus in Gemini: Meaning, Traits & Compatibility
Uranus in Gemini is like a cosmic version of Snapchat filters – always changing and always surprising.
This planet loves to shake things up, and in Gemini, it’s a whole new level of unpredictability.
Get ready for some mind-blowing revelations and game-changing ideas!
Uranus is going to rock your world in the best way possible.
With its rebellious spirit and innovative energy, Uranus in Gemini is like a creativity bomb – except instead of destruction, it brings enlightenment and forward-thinking.
So buckle up, Buttercups, it’s time for an exciting cosmic awakening!
What Does Uranus in Gemini Mean?
The Rebel
Uranus in Gemini shakes up the status quo and disrupts conventional thinking.
This placement fosters a rebellious spirit that refuses to be boxed in by societal norms.
They’re the ones who will throw a curveball at a meeting, and everyone will secretly admire their chutzpah.
The Inventor
Gemini is known for their curiosity and love for learning. Uranus, the planet of innovation, takes this trait to the next level.
Uranus in Gemini people thrive on new, groundbreaking ideas and have a unique ability to think outside the box.
They are the ones who come up with the next big thing, leaving everyone else scrambling to catch up.
The Eccentric
Uranus is, without a doubt, the weirdest planet in our solar system.
It’s fitting that when it’s in Gemini, it produces some of the quirkiest, most eccentric people.
Uranus in Gemini people will always be offbeat, unique individuals, and that’s what makes them so endearing.
The Communicator
Gemini is the sign of communication, and Uranus in Gemini amplifies this quality.
People with this placement are excellent communicators, both verbally and through writing.
They have an uncanny ability to articulate complex ideas and make them accessible to everyone.
The Free Spirit
Finally, Uranus in Gemini fosters a strong sense of individuality and freedom.
People with this placement will always fight for their independence, no matter the cost.
They march to the beat of their own drum and will never let anyone else dictate their path in life.
Uranus in Gemini Strengths
The Gift of Gab
When Uranus is in Gemini, they have a quick wit and a sharp tongue.
They can talk a mile a minute, and they have the gift of gab. They are the life of the party, and they love to make people laugh.
They can carry a conversation on any topic, and they have a unique perspective on the world that is both insightful and hilarious.
The Rebel Yell
Uranus in Gemini is a rebel at heart. They don’t like to follow the rules, and they are always looking for new ways to push boundaries.
They are the ones who will dye their hair a crazy color, wear mismatched socks, and listen to music that nobody else has ever heard of.
They are always on the cutting edge of what’s new and exciting.
The Innovator
Uranus in Gemini is an innovator.
They have a unique way of looking at the world, and they are always coming up with new and exciting ideas.
They are the ones who will think outside the box and come up with a way to solve a problem that nobody else has thought of.
They are the inventors, the entrepreneurs, and the pioneers.
The Freedom Fighter
Uranus in Gemini values personal freedom above all else. They don’t like to be constrained by rules or expectations.
They want to live life on their own terms, and they will fight for their right to do so.
They are the ones who will quit their job to travel the world, or who will drop everything to follow their dreams.
The Eternal Student
Uranus in Gemini is always learning.
They are curious about the world around them, and they are always seeking new knowledge and experiences.
They are the eternal student, always open to new ideas and perspectives.
They are the ones who will take classes, read books, and attend lectures just for the fun of it.
Uranus in Gemini Struggles
The Witty and the Wackiness
They say that laughter is the best medicine, but with Uranus in Gemini, things can get a little too chuckle-worthy.
These individuals have an incredible knack for comedy and wit, but sometimes their humor toes the line between hilarious and just plain wacky.
Their sudden outbursts of puns and jokes can leave others scratching their heads and wondering what’s going on in their mind.
The Brainiac and the Burnout
Uranus in Gemini individuals are known for their mental prowess and quick thinking, but sometimes they can also experience burnout.
With their minds constantly firing on all cylinders, it’s easy for them to feel overwhelmed and overworked.
This can lead to forgetfulness, absent-mindedness, and a general feeling of being scatterbrained.
The Social Butterfly and the Commitment Phobe
People with Uranus in Gemini love to socialize and meet new people, but they can struggle with commitment.
Their fear of being tied down or missing out on something better can lead to a string of short-lived relationships and flings.
It’s not that they don’t want to settle down; they just need to find someone who can keep up with their ever-changing interests and passions.
The Innovator and the Rebel
Uranus is the planet of rebellion and innovation, and when it’s in Gemini, these traits are amplified.
Uranus in Gemini individuals have a natural instinct to challenge the status quo and think outside the box.
This can lead to groundbreaking ideas and incredible creativity, but it can also put them at odds with authority figures and traditional institutions.
The Restless and the Wanderlust
Uranus in Gemini individuals are always on the move, both physically and mentally.
They crave new experiences, new information, and new perspectives.
This can lead to restlessness and a constant need to be on the go.
They may struggle with feeling settled or finding a sense of home, but when they do, they bring their insatiable curiosity and thirst for exploration with them.
Uranus in Gemini Man
The Quirky Maverick
Uranus in Gemini men are the funky rebels of the zodiac. They are unpredictable, restless, and always exploring new horizons.
These men thrive on change and innovation no matter how unconventional they may seem to others.
Their unique perspective and adaptability help them to thrive in various fields including arts, sciences, and media.
natural communicators
Uranus in Gemini men are talkative and curious.
They love to discuss everything from politics to pop culture and never shy away from a lively debate.
They are natural communicators and often excel in roles that require public speaking or networking.
However, they also have a tendency to switch topics mid-conversation, which can leave others feeling a bit dizzy.
The Emotionally Detached
Uranus in Gemini men often have a detached and rational approach to their emotions.
They may appear aloof or unattached, but it’s just their way of processing their feelings.
They prefer to analyze and dissect their emotions rather than let them overwhelm them.
This trait can be useful in high-pressure situations, but it can also leave them feeling isolated from others.
The Tech-Savvy Trendsetter
Uranus in Gemini men are often tech-savvy and ahead of the curve on the latest trends.
They love gadgets, apps, and always have the newest smartphone.
Their innovative and tech-savvy mindset makes them great at coming up with new ideas and solutions to problems.
They are the cool kids that everyone wants to be friends with.
The Inquisitive Masculine Energy
Uranus in Gemini manifests in men as a curious and explorative masculine energy.
They view masculinity as a spectrum rather than a rigid set of traits and are not afraid to challenge traditional gender roles.
They embrace their individuality and encourage others to do the same.
They are trailblazers who push boundaries and the example of the concept of being a “man’s man” does not apply to them.
Uranus in Gemini Woman
The Social Chameleon
The Uranus in Gemini Woman is a social butterfly, but not in the usual way.
She is an expert at blending in with any crowd, adapting her personality and behavior to fit the situation.
One minute she’s the life of the party, the next she’s the quiet observer, taking in everything around her.
Her adaptable nature allows her to connect with various types of people, building a network of diverse relationships.
The Emotionally Independent
The Uranus in Gemini woman values her independence, especially when it comes to her emotions.
She’s not one to wear her heart on her sleeve or get bogged down by heavy feelings.
Instead, she takes a logical approach to her emotions, analyzing them from every angle before deciding how to act.
This can make her seem unemotional at first, but in reality, she’s just fiercely independent when it comes to her feelings.
The Professional Innovator
The Uranus in Gemini woman has a mind that’s always buzzing with new ideas and innovations, making her a force to be reckoned with in the professional world.
She’s not content with doing things the same way they’ve always been done.
She’s always looking for ways to improve and streamline processes.
Her out-of-the-box thinking and innovative ideas can make her a valuable asset in any workplace.
The Feminine Rebel
The Uranus in Gemini Woman is a feminist through and through, but not in the traditional sense.
She rebels against societal expectations of femininity, embracing her unique style and personality.
She’s not afraid to speak her mind, challenge the status quo, and stand up for what she believes in.
Her unconventional approach to femininity can inspire others to break free from outdated gender norms.
The Restless Wanderer
The Uranus in Gemini woman has a deep-seated need for freedom and adventure, making her a restless wanderer at heart.
She’s always looking for new experiences, whether that’s through travel, intellectual pursuits, or trying new things.
Her curiosity and thirst for knowledge can take her on exciting journeys, both physical and mental.
She needs to be free to explore, learn, and grow in her own way.
Gemini Uranus – Love & Compatibility
Cupid’s Musical Chairs
Uranus in Gemini is like a flirty game of musical chairs; they love variety and don’t like to sit in one spot for too long.
When it comes to love, Uranus in Gemini is known for switching partners and changing things up.
They are always on the lookout for the next exciting dance partner.
One Mind, Many Voices
In relationships, Uranus in Gemini has a need for intellectual stimulation.
They want a partner who can keep up with their quick wit and loves to bounce around ideas.
They need someone who is comfortable with the idea of having multiple perspectives on a topic and can engage in lively debates.
Embrace the Unexpected
Uranus in Gemini loves to keep things fresh, and they thrive in relationships where spontaneity is the norm.
They don’t want to be stuck in a rut and love to try new things with their partner.
However, this can be challenging for their partner, who may prefer a more predictable and stable relationship.
The Power of Communication
For Uranus in Gemini, communication is key.
They want to be able to talk openly and honestly with their partner, and they need their partner to do the same.
They don’t like to hold back their thoughts and feelings and prefer it when their partner does the same.
They thrive in relationships where both partners feel comfortable expressing themselves.
Freedom to Fly
Despite their need for communication and intellectual stimulation, Uranus in Gemini values their freedom above all else.
They need a partner who understands their need for space and independence.
They don’t want to be tied down and need a partner who can support their desire to explore new horizons.
Gemini Uranus – Career And Money
The Chatty Careerist
With Uranus in Gemini, these individuals are born communicators with an insatiable appetite for learning.
They thrive in careers that allow them to use their gift of gab, like journalism, public relations, or sales. The downside?
They can easily get distracted, jumping from one idea to the next without much follow-through.
But with the right focus, they can use their quick wit and mental agility to climb ladders and achieve great success.
The Entrepreneurial Maverick
Uranus in Gemini brings out the risk-taker in these individuals, with a penchant for entrepreneurship.
They love to think outside the box and come up with unique, innovative ideas that push the boundaries of convention.
But their restless nature can sometimes lead to impulsive decisions, so it’s important for them to find a balance between taking calculated risks and being financially responsible.
The Learning Addict
Under the influence of Uranus in Gemini, these individuals have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and a love of learning.
They enjoy exploring new subjects and expanding their understanding of the world.
This can lead them to excel in fields like education or research, where they can share their curiosity and thirst for knowledge with others.
However, they may struggle with indecision and a tendency to overthink, so it’s important for them to find ways to channel their intellect into productive action.
The Financial Maverick
Uranus in Gemini has a way of making these individuals fearless in their pursuit of financial success.
They enjoy exploring different investment strategies and are willing to take risks in order to secure their financial future.
However, this can sometimes lead to a lack of financial stability, as they may invest too heavily in risky ventures.
With the right guidance, they can use their natural financial savvy to build a secure foundation for their future.
The Social Media Star
With Uranus in Gemini, these individuals are naturals at social media, with a talent for creating engaging and shareable content.
They have a way with words and love to connect with others through their social media platforms.
This can lead to success in careers like social media management, digital marketing, or content creation.
However, they may struggle with finding the balance between their online and offline lives, so it’s important for them to maintain healthy boundaries and prioritize their relationships in real life.
Final Thoughts
These folks are the life of the party, always bringing fresh ideas and a witty sense of humor.
They’re constantly seeking change and crave variety in their relationships.
So, how to improve your relationship with Uranus in Gemini friends?
By staying open-minded, engaging in intellectual conversations, and being ready for an exciting and ever-changing ride.
Official post by Joanne at Sacred Joanne
https://sacredjoanne.com/uranus-in-gemini/
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disassociation 1 (part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5)
Andrés Cerpa / Fernando Pessoa / Penelope Scott / Richard Siken / Mary Oliver / Oscar Wilde / Clementine von Radics / Aracelis Girmay / Ocean Vuong
#web weaving#parallels#compilation#poetry#richard siken#mary oliver#ocean vuong#oscar wilde#penelope scott#hello and welcome to that horrible feeling on being absent in your own life <3#perhaps i will add more to this one day hehe#scrambled thoughts and mismatched socks
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You kind of already did 31 but pleaseeeeeeee
these ficlets keep getting longer ffs this is 2k
31. One is a sex worker, the other is a client AU
anakin's had his turn as a sex worker in my writing so it's Obi-Wan this time, paired with Vaderkin and i made it more dark than I thought would happen whoops but. warnings are: probably bordering extremely dubious consent even though no sex happens and this is just the lead up. a brief reference to underage sex work, though absolutely nothing comes of it. and vaderkin being a bit creepy.
There is a saying among the workers at the Establishment: if the imperial palace calls for you, you should hope the person that is displayed next to you is prettier.
Obi-Wan has never bought into prayers of any kind and this saying is only ever said with something akin to a worshipful dread. Still, when Ahsoka drapes a cloak of red around his shoulders and whispers those words to him—“May the others be your betters”—he thinks for a second about the nature of prayer and of hope and the futility of both in this galaxy.
“Don’t worry, little ‘Soka,” he smiles from under the cloak’s hood. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake.” He is, after all, one of the oldest workers here, makes most of his money these days tending bar and running the front desk, called in to serve mostly for virgin customers who want a gentler and more experienced hand to guide them in the art of pleasure. He doesn’t think any of the words could be used to describe the Emperor Vader, can’t see the imposing black-suited man interested in the art of pleasure.
Ahsoka can’t look him in the eye, but she hugs him tightly as he boards the shuttle that will take him to the Palace.
The ride there is quiet. Obi-Wan tries to avoid as many glances from the other people as he gives to them. Most of them are young, human. He seems to be the only male above 40. His chances are good.
Maybe he hadn’t been lying to Ahsoka. Maybe, truly, his name being included on the list had been a mistake
Something inside him hesitates though. He’d been out in the Upper levels a week ago, making his way home after one of his rare appointments with an old client turned friend. A child had fallen into the path of a small parade of speeders. A correctional officer had raised a whip. Obi-Wan had reacted on instinct, catching its lash with his forearm. The child had run off. Obi-Wan had stayed. He’d raised his head just enough, eons later, to see the durasteel outside of the largest speeder pass by his prone form, just enough to see the Imperial crest on its hull. Just for long enough to see a glint of a yellow eye from the window.
Bacta had treated his wounds, but his mind had not allowed him to rest easily, caught up in the memory of that eye--had he imagined the interest? Had he imagined it all?
And so to hear his name called tonight--the first calling since The Incident--had felt like the confirmation of all of his most unfounded fears.
Would tonight be the night he died? He had lived a long life. A rough one. Perhaps it is time.
Still, in the back of his head, a selfish, utterly human part of him whispered, may the others be your betters.
---
Those chosen do, often, come back. Sometimes they do not. Mostly they do. Obi-Wan has never truly decided which of these fates is the worse one. Those who survive don’t say anything for days on end, their eyes blank as they stare forward. Their bruises, if they are there, are easy to heal. But something is always wrong with their minds afterwards. And those who don’t come back...well. It’s hard to say what happens to them, where they go. Far away or down below.
Obi-Wan is forced to his knees in between a moderately aged female Togruta and a fairly young teenager. The boy is shaking. He can’t be more than sixteen.
They’re in the Entrance Hall. Obi-Wan has never been here before, but he supposes it makes sense. There will be one person who ventures further into the Palace. The rest will be dismissed out the doors that just shut. No need to bring the scum further in than they have to.
Distantly, like a funeral drum, Obi-Wan can hear the sound of feet falling, making their way closer. Just a single pair. He wants to look up, to watch the Emperor--because it has to be the Emperor--approach, but there’s a Guard behind him, holding his head down.
The footsteps are close now. There’s only ten of them--sometimes, Obi-Wan has heard that there can be as many as twenty or thirty--so the line is short. Vader paces quietly from the first to the last person, before stopping in the middle. Obi-Wan can just see the black of his boots if he flicks his eyes as far as they can go to the left. The boy next to him lets out a muffled sob. Obi-Wan wishes he could offer the kid some sort of comfort, some sort of reassurance that the Emperor will choose one of the other workers, a body more desirable than either of theirs, but there are no words to describe the guilty relief of a suffering passed onto someone else.
On some sort of invisible signal, the Guard behind Obi-Wan wrenches his head back by the hold he has on both the silken hood and his own hair. It’s far from comfortable, tilted so far back. The message is obvious. Submission is not optional. Respect will be shown through any means necessary.
Obi-Wan tries to keep the hulking form of Vader in his eyesight, even though to see ahead of him he has to close his eyes almost completely because of the angle. It’s impossible to see anything from the chest up, but he can still hear. Loud, mechanical breathing fills the halls. Vader stops at each person for no longer than five seconds before he continues down the line. Obi-Wan holds his breath, waiting for his turn. Does he turn his head as much as he can, to try and accentuate the gray at his temples? Does he lower his eyes?
He doesn’t, in the end, do either. Vader is wearing a mask, completely covering his face. He doesn’t even look human, except for the way he cocks his head slightly as he stares down at Obi-Wan. He feels flayed, just under the single look, but he can’t turn away either. He glowers up at him. Five seconds pass. Vader should be moving on by now. The fact that he hasn’t fills Obi-Wan with the sort of fear he’s only felt a handful of times in his life.
“This one,” Vader says through a voice modulator. Obi-Wan closes his eyes in defeat, thinks of Little Ahsoka back at the Establishment, thinks of what she’ll think if he doesn’t make it home.
But the boy next to him bursts into sobs and Obi-Wan opens his eyes to see that Vader’s hand isn’t pointing to him at all, but instead just to his right.
But Vader’s face is still pointed directly at Obi-Wan though, head still cocked. The question is as clear as if he actually spoke the words aloud. What will you do about this?
What will he do? What can he do? It’s the street from a week ago all over. A child is in danger. How can Obi-Wan ever live with himself if he doesn’t at least try to throw himself on the blade?
“No!” he says before he can think it through. The Guard behind him jerks his hair back roughly in punishment, but the monster in front of him runs two gloved fingers down his cheek, the pantomime of a lover’s caress. “Me instead. Choose me.”
“Quiet,” the Guard hisses to him, making him wince with the ferocity of the yank he gives his hair. Obi-Wan pants open-mouthed as he tries to think of an argument, of a single reason why the Emperor should not get what he wants, should settle for a washed up whore instead of a younger model. All he can think of is the moral justifications of it, and he’s not sure Vader would care for that line of reasoning.
“I’m asking,” he blurts out. The fingers pause from where they’ve been absent-mindedly touching his beard. “When has anyone ever asked?”
The Emperor takes a step back and seems to consider Obi-Wan, what he has to offer. He tries to preen, to throw his shoulders back and sit back on his heels to show off his body, but it’s hard when the Guard hasn’t let up on his hair. In fact the grip gets even tighter as the man behind him snorts a common insult.
A second later, the hand and the pressure disappear. Obi-Wan falls forward automatically at his sudden release. He scrambles away instinctively, even if that means closer to Vader. Vader who has his hand raised out in front of him clenching his gloved fist tight. Obi-Wan looks behind him at the guard who had held him. The man is scrabbling at his throat. Obi-Wan knows already it will be a futile effort. With Vader distracted by his execution, he turns to check on the boy. He’s looking down, refusing to make eye contact.
Probably for the better.
The Guard falls to the floor. The other nine Guards don’t move at all. Obi-Wan supposes there’s no room for loyalty in a galaxy like this.
“Come,” Vader says, running a hand through his hair. It’s a surprisingly gentle touch, seeing as that hand just took someone else’s life.
Slowly, Obi-Wan rises to his feet and follows behind him, through the twisting halls of the Imperial Palace. He thinks anyone could get lonely here if they have no one to keep them company. It’s so big. Obi-Wan shares his room with three other people, and he frets if one of them is still gone by the time he falls asleep.
This much space would drive anyone mad for another’s touch.
He blinks at himself, incredulous. Is he actually trying to feel compassion for the Emperor? Is it actually working?
The Emperor flings open a pair of elaborate doors without touching them, and suddenly Obi-Wan’s in the bedchambers of the most powerful man on the planet. And to think, he’s wearing mismatched and terribly darned socks.
He resolves to not ask Vader for permission to do anything with his own body for the entire night. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches as Vader takes off his cape and his gloves.
“Would you like to know my prices before or after?” He asks as cooly as possible.
“Your price is that it’s you here and not the boy.”
“Would you have wanted the boy?” Obi-Wan can’t hide the disgust in his tone.
“No,” the Emperor says succinctly. “But I did want to know what you would do. If you really were the same man as the one in the street.”
Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. “Why would you want to know that?”
“There’s so little good left in the galaxy. It’s fascinating that so much is concentrated in you.” Vader reaches up to unlatch his mask. A cascade of golden curls falls out.
He huffs. The Emperor of the Galactic Empire thinks there’s not enough good in the galaxy. It’s at the very least ironic. “It’s a greedy galaxy, your Imperial Majesty--”
The Emperor turns around to face him, helmet still held in his hands. Obi-Wan is surprised to learn he’s just a man. An attractive man, certainly, young and almost pretty with a perfect arch to his lips and a roguish scar cutting through a thick eyebrow. If he had been one of Obi-Wan’s workers, he’d have taken him under his wing, tried to protect him from the clients who would have paid extra to rough up that face.
He was saying something. Obi-Wan had meant to say something else. Oh. Right. “Good cannot be bought.”
The man in front of him--was it really Vader?--smiles, but it doesn’t reach his yellow eyes. “No,” he purrs, discarding his helmet and stalking forward. “But you can.”
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— makki brain dump
note: i don’t even feel that strongly about makki, but here are some of my thoughts about him
ft. hanamaki takahiro
warning: gn!reader, fluff
⤷ main page
— hanamaki takahiro.
❧ Makki doesn’t let others talk over you. He’ll subtly direct the conversation back to what you were saying, but he does it in a way that doesn’t put you on the spot. When you try to thank him later, he brushes it off and tells you that it wasn’t a big deal.
❧ He’s always listening to you. Even if you believe you’ve gone unheard and trail off, Makki’s going to prompt you to keep on going. He'll be gaming or whatever and just go “so what happened after that?” while his eyes are still glued to the screen.
❧ He doesn’t give you his jacket when you’re cold. Instead, he comes up behind you and wraps it around the both of you. He insists that it’s better this way because you’re sharing body warmth now. You two waddle around like a penguin for a while.
❧ He sends you memes regularly. Quite frankly, you don’t even want to know how many he has because he seems to have one for every possible occasion. Sometimes he’ll send a cute love meme, but more often than not, they’re cursed. He will spam your phone with cursed memes until you respond to him.
❧ He regularly refers to himself as your sugar baby. You don’t mind it too much until he tells someone he’s your sugar baby when they ask what he does for work. You have to scramble to explain that he’s not your sugar baby and just in between jobs at the moment.
❧ He hates plain socks. He thinks they’re boring. All of Makki’s socks have funky designs on them. He also always wears mismatched socks. He says he can’t be bothered to find the other matching sock when he’s putting them on.
❧ Makki is most definitely the type to put his cold feet on your legs underneath the covers. When you squeal and try to shove him aside, he feigns ignorance. “I didn’t realize my feet were cold. Maybe you’re just too warm.”
❧ He has a photo album on his phone dedicated to you. Hanamaki isn’t actively trying to hide it from you, you just have no clue it exists. Most of the pictures included in the album are candids that you don’t know he took. He thinks you look beautiful all of the time, but there’s just something about how you look when you’re completely unaware and totally relaxed that makes him smile.
❧ When you go to the fair or the arcade, he tries to win you a prize every time. It’s never anything big and Hanamaki sacrifices way too much money at the claw machine trying to win you some small stuffed animal, but he’d gladly do it again to see you playfully roll your eyes while smiling at him when you open your arms to accept your gift. He never tires of the kiss he gets as a reward for winning you something.
❧ Whenever he’s eating an orange, he’ll offer you a slice. When you reach out to accept it, Makki tosses it in his mouth to eat. After you call him a jerk and nudge his shoulder, Makki offers you another slice with the promise that you can actually have it this time.
❧ He doesn’t have a terrible singing voice. Sure, it’s not amazing, but you intentionally turn down the radio so you can listen to Makki singing along to the song. He notices every time and winks at you while continuing to sing.
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x you#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu fluff#hanamaki x reader#hanamaki takahiro x reader#hanamaki fluff#celeste.adores#adoring.hanamaki
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A Girl Named Ivy
Warning: None! Unless you dislike fluff
Word Count: 2350
Synopsis: Just a cute lazy day with Jake and his little girl
Thank you so much for this request @anditsmywholeheart , I can’t even begin to explain how much joy it brought me to write. Hopefully you love it--- and that you don’t mind that I named her, I find it a lot easier to write when I have names.
Taglist: @anditsmywholeheart @babydxll
Jake let out a weak sigh as he could feel small shifts of weight on the bed. The movements were slow, as if trying not to wake him up. It wasn't long before the shifting stopped and there was soft pattering leading away from the bed. Jake couldn't help but peak his eyes open to see what was happening. He could see a tiny figure standing at the window on the far side of the room. The small figure wore a set of blue floral pajamas, with soft brown hair falling over her shoulders, she was on her tippy toes trying to see outside.
"...Ivy... what are you doing?" Jake called in a groggy manner, which immediately caused the little girls head to turn and look at him.
"Mommies gone again…" she tells him lightly, "I wanted to see her before she left." Ivy admits in a sad tone. It was a rather normal thing for Ivy to check and see if (Y/N)'s car was there in the morning, she still hadn't managed to get herself up early enough despite all of her vows to do so.
Jake couldn't help but smile a little, "Come here sweetie." He tells her, lightly lifting his arm and moving the blanket a touch. Ivy was rather quick to scramble her way back to the side of the bed and climb back up so she could cuddle into Jake's chest.
Jake wraps his arm around her tiny figure giving her a small kiss on the top of her head, "Mommy will be back before you know it. She always is." He whispers against her hair, his hand rubbing her back in a loving way.
"But why does she have to go? You don't have to go away everyday." Ivy points out, wiping her little nose with the back of her hand.
Jake smiles a little, "Well, we have to make money so we can pay for all your toys and clothes." He tells her beginning to twirl her hair around his finger. It always surprised Jake just how much Ivy looked like him; she had his soft brown hair that always sat so sweetly on her shoulders, her eyes… they were the same color as (Y/N)'s but their shape was just like his when he was small.
"Well… I don't need any more toys." Ivy tells him, "Do you think if I tell Mommy that, she'd stay home with me?"
Jake softly laughs pushing her hair away from her face and looking into her eyes. "Maybe… but y'know we can have lots of fun without Mommy here sweetheart."
Ivy pouts a little, "You always say that…" She utters; she may have all of Jake's features but that pout was pure (Y/N).
"Annnnd? Don't we have fun?" He asks her. To which Ivy shakes her head. "No?! What do you mean no?!" Jake quickly responds, a small frown appearing on his lips. "Daddy isn't fun?" She again shook her head. "What?!" Jake quickly says again, hands moving to her sides, "Daddy isn't fun?!" He quickly asks, beginning to tickle Ivy’s sides.
She just as swiftly begins to giggle and try to push his hands away, "S-Stop--!" She giggles, Jake complies and instead pulls her into a tight hug for a moment.
"I think you just don't want to admit that Daddy is more fun than Mommy. It's okay you can tell me…!" Jake whispers by her ear, "I won't tell Mommy." He continues.
Ivy seems to think over this idea for a moment or two before lifting her little hand, "Pinky promise?" She whispers back as if (Y/N) was in the room now.
"Pinky promise." Jake tells her, locking one of his calloused pinkies with hers. They were so small, Jake couldn't help but stare at her tiny hand for a moment. Four years had gone by so fast, it felt like he closed his eyes and when he opened them again Ivy had sprouted up and was preparing to go to kindergarten.
Jake could still remember the first time he got to hold her in his arms… it felt...as if everything in his life had purposefully led up to that exact moment. Jake had tried his best to not let on how big of a deal this was to him to other people; of course, (Y/N) knew.
Just like the moment (Y/N) had told him that she was pregnant… his tough guy façade crumbled, and he became a crying mess. They were happy tears of course… just overwhelmingly happy ones. Jake held the small bundle close to him, "I'm your dad…!" He lightly whispered, to her--- and more importantly to himself. “...I’m your dad.”
Jake immediately bit his lip a little having recalled that very special moment in his life. He refused to cry as he looked down at his little girl who was growing up faster than he ever could have imagined.
"Daddy?" She lightly called him.
"Yes Ivy?" He responds softly, her hands cupping his cheeks.
"You look sad!" She tells him honestly, seeming to have noticed the change in how he looked at her. Jake could never quite grasp just how good kids were at picking up on people's emotions.
Jake shook his head giving her little palms a kiss, "No! I'm not sad, just thinking~" He tells her with a tender smile. "I was thinking about a fun thing we could do today… to surprise Mommy?" He lightly suggests.
"To surprise Mommy?!" Ivy soon beamed, her little cheeks were so cute when she smiled.
Jake nodded, "To surprise Mommy." He hums as she moves to kiss her nose. "What do you think of making cupcakes?"
"Chocolate cupcakes?!" Ivy quickly suggests,
"Is there any other kind?" Jake smiles at her, Ivy quickly sits up and starts to dance a little.
"Come on Daddy!! Let's go make them!" She urges, taking his hand and trying to pull him to sit up. She was clearly excited, pushing her hair out of her face.
Jake chuckles a little as he sits up, "First." He starts, "We have to get you dressed for the day okay?" He tells her.
She was already crawling her way towards the door, "Can I pick my clothes?!" Ivy eagerly asks, next to vibrating with the new found excitement for the day.
"Sure, honey." Jake smiles lightly watching as she happily hops off the side of the bed and begins running down the hall. "No white clothes Ivy. You hear me?!" He yells.
"Okay!" She yells back.
Jake now stood in the bathroom, brushing back Ivy's hair. She was now dressed in a light purple summer dress that ruffled down to a flowy bottom at her knees. On her feet were mismatched socks, one covered in orange flowers, the other ladybugs. And of course as a crowning glory she wore a long pink beaded necklace. "How do you want your hair this morning?" He lightly asks her, looking at her in the mirror.
She taps her chin, "Two buns?" Ivy suggests.
"Two buns eh?" Jake utters, "Not just one big bun?" He asks her, he wasn’t surprised by the choice. Ivy seemed to like her hair in two buns or a fancy braid normally; that being said (Y/N) normally did her hair because she was much better at it. Jake began to divide her hair so he could pull the two sections up the way she wanted.
"Are you going to have a big bun Daddy?" She asks, her gaze showing she was looking up at him in the bathroom mirror.
"Well I was thinking about it."
"Can I do it for you??" Ivy quickly asks him, watching as he tied the one side into a messy but sweet bun. It was different from how (Y/N) did her buns but Ivy knew her dad was trying his best.
"It'd be faster for me to do it, honey..." Jake tells her. Ivy did his hair very often and Jake really did love letting her play with it, but he assumed she would want to get straight to baking today.
Ivy bit at her cheek for a second watching him start on her second bun. "I want to do it for you." She reaffirms, "When you do buns they're so messy… I want Daddy to look pretty today." Ivy tells him pointedly.
Jake looks down at her pretending to be offended by that statement. "Hey! I thought I was pretty good at it…!”
Ivy seemed to make a slightly disgusted face as she shook her head, making Jake smile even wider. “Well how would you do it then?” He asks her, handing her the hair brush now that he had finished up her buns.
Ivy spun around on the stool and pulled him down by his arm, “Turn around!” She tells him, Jake gives her a peck on the cheek before sitting down with his back facing her. Her hands were quickly in his hair, yanking the brush mercilessly through any knots Jake had in his hair. He wouldn’t say anything, not wanting to kill her little creative spark. He just bit his lip and allowed her to tug and pull until finally she seemed happy with the little bun she had made on the top of his head. “Where is the thing Daddy?” Ivy asks him, clearly looking for an elastic or scrunchie.
“On the counter baby.” He replies, suddenly getting a sharp pull on his head. She was reaching for one of her floral scrunchies to put in his hair. Once she found one it took her a few minutes to get it in his hair.
“There!” She hums giving him a small smack on his shoulders.
Jake looked up at her, before getting up and turning to look in the mirror, “Oh wait!” Ivy stopped him pulling him down by his hand once more before opening a drawer and pulling out a white headband of (Y/N)’s and quickly pushing it down on Jake’s head. “There! Now you’re beautiful.” She hums.
Jake finally looked at himself in the mirror, curious to see just how messy his hair was. Ivy had actually done a bang up job for the most part, aside from a few little pieces poking up. “I love it.” He smiles, leaning down to give her little kisses on her cheek, “Thank you Ivy.”
Ivy grinned proudly at her handy work.
After a few more stops during their morning routine, Jake and Ivy were now in the kitchen. Ivy knew the drill: she had to get her stool, she also had to find her apron, and most importantly she had to put some music on for the two of them. Ivy began to dig through the records trying to find her favorite album he had buried away. Finally she pulled free an album and handed it to Jake carefully, knowing very well how delicate records were. “The space ship one!” She cheers, having picked out Boston’s album.
The sight of it made him smile, he knew she only liked it because it had a space ship on it but it still made him happy that she wanted to listen to something like that. “You know what to do.” He lightly tells her, not moving to help her just watching carefully as she placed the record on the turntable and very carefully moved the needle over it,
“Right there?” She asks him, wanting to make sure she would drop it in the right spot. Jake leaned a little closer and soon nodded,
“Right there. Remember to put it down slowly.” He says. Ivy did so with ease, having done this many many times, within seconds music began to fill the house. “Good job!” Jake hums offering his hand for a high five, Ivy happily hit it and began to the kitchen excitedly.
The rest of the afternoon was full of fun as Ivy worked with Jake to bake some beautiful surprise cupcakes for (Y/N). They were covered in batter and icing by the time they were done, sprinkles all over the counter from all of the decorating they had done. As it drew closer to the evening Ivy had cuddled herself up on the couch and fallen asleep watching a movie, she couldn’t wait for (Y/N) to get home so she could give her the prettiest cupcake she had made.
The front door of the house soon creaked open, keys jingling as (Y/N) called out. “I’m home!”
“In the kitchen.” Jake responded softly, not really wanting to wake Ivy up yet.
(Y/N) stepped into the kitchen to find Jake cleaning everything up as well as a plate full of cupcakes on the counter. It immediately brought a smile to (Y/N)’s lips, “You guys clearly had a fun day.”
Jake smiled back at her, “Those are supposed to be a surprise, so you better act surprised when she shows you them.” He points out, as he continued to scrub out one of the bowls.
(Y/N) came up behind Jake to hug him from behind and place a small kiss on his neck, “I will~” She smiles resting her head on his shoulder, “It was a fun day though?”
Jake nodded, turning a little to place a soft kiss on (Y/N)’s lips, “Y’know what?” He whispers,
“What?” (Y/N) asks.
“She says that I’m funner than you.” He grins being very proud of this.
“What?!” (Y/N) laughs, Jake just kept nodding, not saying anything else. “Well we’ve gotta change that.” She continues pulling back from him and beginning towards the hallway, “Is she in the living room?”
“Yeah she’s sleeping.” Jake hums,
(Y/N) nodded as she started her way down it, “Ivy! Mommies home!”
Jake could hear her call as he turned back to the dishes, his smile wouldn’t dampen. He still couldn’t believe just how lucky he was… to have this beautiful little family. More importantly, how lucky he was to have his sweet little girl named Ivy.
#gvf imagine#gvf fanfiction#josh gvf#jake gvf#sam gvf#danny gvf#gvf fic#Greta Van Fleet#greta van fic#greta van fleet roleplay#greta van fleet fan fiction#greta van fleet imagine#jake kiszka#josh kiszka#sam kiskza#danny wagner#jake kiszka x reader#jake kiszka fic#greta van fleet fluff
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pillow talk
on the subject of soft M, this is a gift for @evilbunnyking who deserves only good things, and recently surprised me with her greek (!!) M detective, Helena.
(A gentle exploration of casual intimacy.)
Pairing: Helena ‘El’ Papas and Mason
Notes: rating is teen, short and sweet, ~1.2k wordcount.
--
Mason stays over. feat. mismatched socks and conversations about ghosts.
-
"This okay?"
"Yeah.”
His hand finds her hair, running through the strands as she presses closer, nestling her face against his chest. She can hear his heartbeat through his shirt, strong and steady; feel the life of him here.
ao3 link
--
pillow talk
Helena still can't get used to the nightmares.
They’re less frequent, now that time has passed, but haven’t yet lost their sharpness; their potency. The images are as vivid as that first night, the pain acute - and it’s because of the nature of the wound, she has been told: the traces of venom in the bite leaving their own mark, a sense memory.
(The scar always aches, after.)
--
It's dark when she wakes in the early hours of the morning, fingers scrambling to tear back the bedsheets, the material clinging and claustrophobic against her heated skin.
Her heart is sprinting within her chest, leaving her breathless, and it takes her a moment to find her bearings, to recognise the warm colours of her apartment, its soft edges distinct from the harsh dereliction of the warehouse where unit bravo had found her.
It's always the same dream, the same night. The makeshift clinic, the escape. Metal and shadows and sharp teeth, the sickly, cloying fear that had stuck to her teeth and tightened her throat as she limped through trash-strewn halls, not knowing what waited around the corner.
"El."
Her name, spoken softly, comes from the shadows on the other side of the apartment, his voice carrying well in the quiet of the early morning. Peering through the semi-lit darkness, she makes out the amber halo of a lit cigarette, the orange flicker illuminating the sharp lines of his features.
Mason.
He's perched on the sill, the window cracked so that the smoke doesn't crowd the apartment. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, she remembers, stacks of paperwork balanced precariously around her, Mason's arm tucked around her waist as he'd flicked through some files of his own, searching for - something, a name, she thinks.
She doesn't remember making the move over to the bed; he must have carried her over himself, and the thought curls in the center of her chest, soft and warm.
He's watching her now, grey eyes shadowed in the flickering light, a crease furrowing the space between his brows.
She can’t help but wonder how long he has been there. The whole time, probably.
Stubbing out the remains of the cigarette into the tray he’d balanced on the sill, he slides the window shut and comes over to the edge of the bed. His hand traces along the arch of her cheek, gentle as his fingers slip back to tuck a messy curl behind her ear.
Catching her eye, he asks, "You okay, sweetheart?"
"Just a bad dream," she says after a moment, her voice carefully neutral, but the way he looks at her, stare unwavering, tells her that he doesn’t believe her, not for a second.
He doesn’t push it however, letting his hand fall back to his lap, following her movements as she reaches out to take it. "Not much I can do about dreams."
"What, no good at fighting ghosts?"
He lets out a soft laugh, a low rumble in the quiet. “It’s usually better when I can punch them.”
Tilting his head to the side, he looks at her, grey stare steady and unwavering. There’s not much she can hide from him when he looks at her like that.
"Is that what we're fighting, ghosts?"
Her smile slips. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
She looks away. Feels the bed tilt under his weight as he sits himself down on the edge of the bed. The length of his thigh presses against hers, warm and steadying.
He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to.
The sky is starting to brighten outside, low slung clouds tinted pink and orange over the crest of trees. It's quiet, that moment before dawn where everything lies still, and she's reminded of that first night on the roof, seeing the forest spread out like a painting before them, the peace she found there.
She lets out a low sigh, glancing back to find his eyes on her, irises like rings of silver, pupils blown in the low light. He’s wearing just his henley, the soft material thin in the chill of the room, and she can see tension in the line of his jaw, beneath the stubble.
"You look cold over there.” Dropping her hand to her side, she pats the space on the bed beside her. "There’s space enough for two"
He meets her gaze, a dark brow rising. “You propositioning me?”
She snorts, pushing her hair back from her face as she gives him a look. “Actually, no.”
He gives her a smirk, wide and slow, and she rolls her eyes, a smile finding her lips all the same.
The atmosphere between them is easy, comfortable, and she can see him considering her offer, lower lip caught between his teeth as he glances over the pillows and comforter.
This is still - new, between them. Comfortable intimacy, and nothing more. Time spent in each other's company, for the sake of it.
She waits for him to come to a decision, the crease between his brows smoothing away.
“I’m going to need more space than that, sweetheart.”
She meets his lopsided grin with one of her own, something warm and sweet blooming within her chest, before she scoots over, nodding towards the window.
“Leave your shoes over there.”
He nods, the heat of him moving away as he leans down, tugging at the laces of his boots. He’s wearing mismatched socks, she can't help but notice - one plain, the other decorated with some sort of spiral pattern - and it pulls a small laugh from her as he yanks them off too, tucking them into the leather tongue before tossing the lot across the room.
She opens her mouth to make a smart comment, but then he’s climbing onto the bed beside her, all warmth and cedar and cigarette smoke. His movements are awkward at first, and he can't be completely comfortable in those jeans, but he settles easily enough as his arms find her waist, pulling her close.
His lips are soft as they brush against her temple, his voice a low murmur. "This okay?"
"Yeah."
His hand finds her hair, running through the dark curls as she presses closer, nestling her face against his chest. She can hear his heartbeat through his shirt, strong and steady; a reminder that she is here, that this is real.
His voice is a low rumble beneath her ear, vibrating in his chest as he asks, “You wake up like this often?"
She lets out a breath, feeling the tension fall away, like grains of sand between her fingers. "Every now and then. More so, lately."
He hums, accepting that. He settles his hand at her nape, thumb rubbing against the soft hairs there.
Silence falls between them again as exhaustion drags at the edges of her consciousness, and she feels herself slipping towards sleep.
She almost doesn’t hear him when he continues, "You should call me. Next time."
Her fingers curl into the soft fabric of his shirt.
I will, she says, or at least she thinks she does.
In the morning, she won’t remember.
#twc#the wayhaven chronicles#agent sunshine#mason twc#evilbunnyking#detective helena 'el' papas#a little m softness for your week!#this will need editing but it can wait until morning#long long week
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“Let’s share my coat, since you’re so cold.” For Buddie plz bc imagine the potential 💛🥺
So sorry about the long wait, my darling. I hope you enjoy <3
Hold My Hand When No One’s Looking
911/Buddie
Honestly, Eddie hadn’t noticed it right away. He and Buck were relatively the same size (though the other man was a bit wider in the chest and arms) and spent much of their day in uniforms. It also so happened that the two of them had similar styles when it came to their civilian clothing. There was a lot of denim and a lot of circle-necked shirts in their shared wardrobe.
He’d known that asking Buck to move in with him would mean surrendering to the fact that everything he owned would slowly become ‘theirs’. His favourite show became their late-night binge, his unhealthy snack choices mysteriously disappeared whenever Buck was left alone to babysit Christopher, and one time he swore that his toothbrush had been moved – though he’d never been able to prove it. But Eddie didn’t mind, not really. Buck had already stolen his heart, so he’d happily let him steal the rest of his life.
Telling Carla that very thing when she’d asked him about his mismatched socks had earned him a side-splitting laugh and a text to Buck, who later teased him mercilessly for the rest of the week.
He still had no regrets about letting him in.
Because that was what you did where there was love and trust. You didn’t mind sharing because you had someone who wanted to share with you in the first place.
He was even becoming better at opening up about personal things. He still struggled to admit when he was scared or upset about something because for so long, he’d understood that expressing his feelings wasn’t his job. Though he knew better now, it was still a monumental task for Eddie to share some anecdote about his childhood or speak up when Buck said something that struck an errant nerve.
But it was worth it, he vowed. It was worth it to try, and he didn’t mind sharing those things with Buck. He didn’t think he minded sharing anything with his partner.
That is to say: he was fine, until he searched through his closet one morning, scrambling to get to work on time because someone had hit the snooze button one too many times.
“Where is my grey sweatshirt?” He threw the pile of clothes from the closet floor to the bed. “Where are any of my sweatshirts?”
“Laundry?” Buck called from the bathroom, poking his head out with a toothbrush still dangling from his lips.
“There’s no way I got every single one of my sweatshirts dirty since the last time I did the laundry.” As he continued his search, he could hear Buck rinse and spit before beginning his morning routine of styling his hair with way too much product for Eddie’s liking (though he’d never complain because it gave him a chance to play with his hair throughout the day until it was exactly to his preferences). Sure enough, he found a collection of clothes in the hamper that definitely resembled his but he did not remember wearing.
Though he did remember watching Buck spill ketchup on a grey sweater that looked suspiciously like his.
How had he not noticed before? How long had Buck just been taking clothes out of his closet? Why hadn’t he bothered to ask first? He would have been happy to share – well maybe not elated but he wouldn’t have minded – but for Buck to just take them without permission (and then get them dirty)? It bothered him more than he thought it should have.
He wants to wear your clothes, the untamed romantic portion of his brain swooned.
He’s stretching out your shirts without asking, the frantic portion grumbled as he searched for a wearable sweatshirt from the pile of clothes that had apparently become communal without his knowledge.
“Did you find it?” Buck reentered the bedroom, now looking much more put together than Eddie felt.
“I found something.” He grumbled as he threw the black shirt over his head, grimacing at the old clothes smell that lingered on the fabric. “When we get home, you’re doing laundry.”
Buck squawked as he threw on his own – clean – shirt. “Why do I have to do it?”
Because it’s your fault I don’t have any clothes to wear. If he’d had time, he might have launched into a lecture about why this small thing frustrated him so much. But alas, they were already running behind, so he silenced them both with a kiss.
“No complaints.” He gently ordered, smirking at the way Buck immediately melted under his touch. It was a nice reminder that the feeling of adoration was very much mutual between them.
“Okay.”
“Let’s go.” He smacked Buck on the behind as they stumbled out the bedroom door. “If we’re late again, Bobby will make us scrub the truck with a toothbrush. Again.”
After that morning, it was as though Eddie became hyperaware of how often Buck wore his clothes. At least twice per week, he’d find his favourite t-shirt in the back of his boyfriend’s closet, or search for several minutes only to discover someone else’s ass in his only clean jeans.
Once, he’d grabbed one of Buck’s pants in protest, but spent the entire day pulling at the inseam and ended up rolling the pantlegs just to avoid tripping.
And yet, when the boy with the giraffe legs wore his pants, it looked hot.
Did it look hot? Of course, Eddie had surrendered to his physical attraction to Buck long ago. Nearly anything that man wore would get him going. Was there something about seeing Buck in his clothes that made him look exceptionally appealing?
The day he pulled one of his nicer dress shirts over his head, only to find the sleeves had been completely stretched (and there were definitely a few seams missing) was the day he decided that no amount of sexiness would let him forgive Buck for stealing his clothes.
Maybe it was petty of him to start hiding his good clothes. And maybe it was immature to start separating their laundry – not to mention a waste of water – but at least he knew he’d have his own clean clothes to wear. It wasn’t like Buck was lacking for wardrobe. The man took up the majority of their shared closet with his selections. “Something for every occasion.” He’d told Eddie. Which made it all the more confusing that he would want to take from Eddie’s meager pile.
“Hey, Eddie, can I borrow your green long sleeve?” He asked as he searched the closet for the item without waiting for a reply. Of course, Eddie knew that he wouldn’t find the shirt amongst its brethren because he’d hidden it in a bin under the bed for this exact occasion.
At least he’s finally asking for permission. Too late for him, now.
“I don’t have a green long sleeve.” Eddie continued to dress with the picture of innocence masking his satisfied smirk.
“I’m sure you do.” Buck mumbled as he headed towards the dresser (also 70% Buckley). “I wore it to Bobby’s BBQ three weeks ago.”
“Oh, so he admits to wearing my clothes.” His mumbled sarcasm was intended to only pacify his own needs, but unfortunately, his boyfriend had excellent hearing at the most inconvenient of times.
“What do you mean ‘he admits’?”
Well, Eddie glanced at the alarm clock to confirm they had just enough time to get into their discussion, he might as well bring it up now instead of months in the future when it had grown into an even worse frustration and festered into every aspect of their relationship. Or they could nip it in the bud now.
Despite the topic of discussion, he was still surprised when he gave a long sigh and turned around only to find a very shirtless Buck standing before him. He was only momentarily distracted by the smooth lines and soft, exposed skin – he was only human – but he recovered with most of his dignity intact.
“You have so many clothes but you always wear mine. Why?”
Of course, Buck looked sheepishly adorable, and perhaps a little confused at the hostility being directed towards him. “I like your clothes. I didn’t think you minded.”
“Well I do mind. You keep stretching the fabric and then you get them dirty and I have nothing to wear.” Eddie was proud of his composure in the face such a stunned and sweetly wide-eyed expression.
“Oh, I-I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
The logical portion of his brain knew very well that if Eddie simply told Buck that this was bothering him, he’d stop immediately. Why it took him so long to bring it up and then felt surprised by the outcome, he still wasn’t sure. One look at the sincerity on his boyfriend’s face and him reaching an arm to summon him to his side.
Buck took his hand immediately, letting himself stumble into Eddie’s embrace and throw his arms around his waist with practiced ease. This was comfortable. This, he could do: hold Buck close and tell him the truth.
“I don’t like that you didn’t ask me first if you could borrow my clothes. That bothers me more than a few ruined shirts (although, I’m still not letting you wear my green long sleeve. It’s one of my favourite shirts and I’d like to preserve some of the shape).” Buck opened his mouth to call out his lie from moments earlier but wisely closed it a moment later. “Just ask, okay?”
The man in his arms quickly nodded, a shy smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ll ask before borrowing your clothes again.”
He knew he was being too cheeky for his own good, but how could he resist those kissable lips? “I’m sorry, I’m what, now?” Buck scrunched his face, preparing to protest, silenced a moment later by Eddie pulling him just close enough for their lips to meet.
Kissing Buck had quickly become one of Eddie’s favourite past times. A quick peck at work, a long reunion after a long day, a sloppy smooch against the truck after one of them had consumed too much alcohol but they were both drunk on each other (and he’d wisely kept that particular nugget of poetry to himself, lest he face more ridicule). The largest change when taking the sidestep from ‘best friends’ to ‘lovers’ had been their level of physical contact, which had always been comfortably close. Now, there was no space between them. No barriers.
But they still had to wear their own clothes. That was where Eddie drew the line when it came to sharing their lives. It was an arbitrary line, to be sure, but it was one to which he held firm. As predicted, Buck was quick to respect the line and stick mostly to his own wardrobe. When he asked to borrow a dress shirt or shorts, he made a habit of coming up behind Eddie and wrapping his arms around his middle, gently murmuring his clothing request in Eddie’s ear like a salacious secret. Was it a dirty move? Absolutely. Did Eddie cave every single time? Without a doubt. Did he respect that his boyfriend exploited his weaknesses? Somehow, it made him love him more. He also respected that Buck didn’t abuse his super power for every clothing item. He accepted Eddie’s distaste for ill-fitting clothing and always turned to his wardrobe first.
Miraculously, many of Buck’s clothes started getting thrown in the donation hamper – almost as though he hadn’t worn them in months or years and no longer had need of them. Soon enough, their wardrobe had evened out and Eddie could actually mark the distinction between his and Buck’s side of the dresser.
Suddenly he could breathe again.
“It wasn’t about the clothes.” Eddie informed him one night as they lay in bed.
Of course, Buck propped up on his elbows to face Eddie despite the darkness. “What wasn’t?”
“The clothes borrowing thing.”
“The clothes borrowing things wasn’t about the clothes?” It was understandable to hear confusion in his voice.
“I brought it up to Frank the other day. And we talked about why it bothered me so much.”
“You said that I was stretching out your clothes (which I’m choosing to take as a compliment, by the way).” As a show of comfort, Eddie ran a hand under the sleeve of Buck’s night shirt, only to laugh when his boyfriend pulled away a moment later. “Why are your hands always so cold?”
“Not all of us are a furnace.” He gently reminded, knowing it would go completely unmarked by the human stove. “And while I am definitely not a fan of you stretching my shirts, it wasn’t actually about that.” One thing he loved about Buck from long before their romance began, was his ability to wait for Eddie to gather the courage to continue speaking. He rarely prompted or interjected when time stretched between them; he gave Eddie the space to find the words.
“It felt like I was losing a part of myself when I saw you in my clothes.” Surely, he could find more words than that. “When I look around this room – when I look around the house – I see us. I see you and Christopher making a pillow fort even though I told you not to take the cushions off the couch. I see me and my son trying to bake a cake for your birthday and actually making one that was edible.”
“Well”
“Are you going to tell Christopher that you hated the cake he made you?”
It was a cheap shot but it hit its mark every single time. “Wow.”
“I see you and me getting ready in the bathroom the first time I told you I loved you.”
It was one of his fondest memories, and one he would treasure forever; the day he’d been brushing his teeth beside Buck, staring at the man who’d come to mean so much to him, and the words tumbled out (along with a glob of foam) before he’d realized how true they were.
“We are all over this house and I love that. But my clothes? They were this thing that was just mine – one little thing I didn’t have to share. And when you took them without asking, it was like you were taking more than just my shirt. If that makes sense.” Clearly, he was out of practice with this sort of discussion (and he ever had this sort of discussion?) because the rambling was making him lightheaded.
“It does.” He could feel his boyfriend shift in the moonlight to something less than a hover, relaxing onto his shoulder so they both faced the ceiling but still felt connected to each other. “And I never meant to make you feel that way. I guess it was that cliched thing where I like smelling like you and having a piece of you with me all the time.” Eddie willed his beating heart to calm.
“Buck, we live and work together, how are you not sick of having me around?”
Another wonderful thing about dating Buck was his newfound ability to feel his eyes on him from across the room. Even in the middle of an emergency, he could look up and find Buck and know what they needed to do. When he was at his side, the stare was overwhelming.
“I will never get sick of you.” Buck’s voice was filled with more emotion than Eddie had words to describe and yet he knew exactly how he felt. “But I won’t wear your clothes anymore.”
His instinct was to protest, to concede to Buck and let him have whatever would make him happy. It had been his instinct for most of his life: make sacrifices so his loved ones would be happy.
You are allowed to have what you want. Buck will still be happy.
He found Buck’s lips in the darkness. “Thank you.”
--
The scene was a mess. One kitchen fire had spread to several houses before emergency services were even called – Buck admired that the neighbours had all tried to deal with the problem themselves; Eddie thought they were idiots for trying to douse the grease fire with water and then continue to pour water when the flames grew higher. It was a simple enough task to put out the flames and get everyone to safety but it left foam and shivering bodies and bits of debris scattered from the lawn to the street. The cleanup took longer than the rescue, completely unaided by the mid-day son beating down on the scene, melting both foam and firefighter with equal measure.
Mercifully, Bobby was the first to remove his jacket and throw it on the pavement so he could work with more ease, leading the way for his crew to strip off their heavy turnout gear and throw it in a pile. While their equipment wasn’t any less boiling to the touch, they were at least given this small reprieve while they continued to work.
And if Buck and Eddie were separately caught distractedly watching their boyfriend work in their form-fitting pants and sweat-soaked shirts, that was an added bonus of just doing their job.
Once they were finally in a position to leave (after doling a few lectures and congratulations to the civilians who’d tried really hard and only made things worse), the crew grabbed their coats from the pile and headed back to the trucks. Eddie would never admit it, but sometimes, he was distracted by the mere sight of Buck. The blond was teased constantly for his so-called ‘heart eyes’ whenever he thought no one was looking, but Eddie knew he was just as bad. It was difficult not to – considering his partner’s attractive physical features – but even to admire Buck’s enthusiasm and heart were unavoidable when he let himself enjoy a moment of peace.
Life since they’d begun their romance had been calm in a way Eddie never imagined his life to be – because there never really was a moment of calm, and yet it was the most serene he’d felt in a very long time. Every day was an adrenaline rush of emergency calls and worrying for his son. He still awoke with nightmares of the past and future reminding him that every one of his failings had consequences. His wounds still ached in the daylight and his life was constantly in peril. He still stumbled over milestones when it came to raising Christopher without the mother of his child, and no amount of forgiveness could completely erase the shame he felt in asking for help. But through it all, through every loss and victory both at work and at home, he didn’t feel alone. He had a partner in all things who loved his son and tried every day to be there for the two of them.
He wished he could say he wasn’t surprised at how well Buck fit into their domestic lives but it had never occurred to him to imagine it until he was asking his boyfriend of six months to move into his home because so many of his things were there anyways. The first morning he awoke to fresh coffee and the smoke alarm screeching in his ear, it somehow sealed his fate: he and Buck fit comically well together.
And the man knew him in a way no one had (not his wife, not parents, not any friend he’d ever had). He liked to think he knew Buck just as well but he enjoyed every time that he discovered something new about his partner. It sent a shiver of delight through his bones when he realized that he never wanted to stop learning about this man who made him feel happy.
He did, however, need to talk to Bobby about ordering a new jacket because his current one was much too big, especially in the shoulder area. Which was odd because he didn’t remember having that problem earlier. Of course, Eddie rolled his eyes, he must have grabbed the wrong coat – probably Buck’s – which would explain his sudden lack of stature. As he swung the offending item off his back, he searched for his partner in order to toss the coat in his face (as one does when one is hopelessly in love with a dork), only to stop short when he finally caught sight of him.
Whether by accident or design, Buck had grabbed Eddie’s coat and was proudly wearing it as he went about his normal duties, completely unaware that the sleeves were just a little too short, and the back was stretched a little too tightly. In fact, it was stretched taut in a manner that displayed the LAFD logo and bright stripes for all to see; and right underneath was Eddie’s last name. Four letters he’d seen all his life were suddenly given a different meaning.
‘Diaz’ had never been just his, it has always been something he shared: first with his family, and then Shannon, and then to Christopher the moment he held his son in his arms. He had been lectured by May once about the concept of ownership and the woman having to take the husband’s last name as though she belonged to him. He was well away of the history of name changes in marriages and significance in contemporary society of couples choosing different ways to express their commitment to one another. Call him old fashioned – and he knew that he was – but he had never seen Shannon taking his last name as a symbol of ownership; to Eddie, it meant that they were a family. A clan. Together in all things. There was a sense of pride in knowing that his name would live on when he was gone and that he was able to share this thing with the people he cared for most.
As if it were nothing at all, there was Buck, walking around in public with the name Diaz on display. Anyone who didn’t know them might believe that was his name. What would Buck say if a stranger called him ‘Mr. Diaz’ or ‘Firefighter Diaz’? Would he blush and smile, would he vehemently correct them, would he brush it off but realize he didn’t want to be associated with that name ever again?
Did he want that? Did he want Buck associated with his last name? There was no guarantee when they got married that either of them would change their names. Maybe, they could hyphenate.
When they got married.
Eddie didn’t ask for his jacket back.
--
Later, when someone asked him how dinner went, Eddie would have no earthly idea what they even ordered. He remembered confirming with Buck that they had reservations for their anniversary dinner, he remembered Hen picking up Christopher for his overnight playdate, he remembered kissing Buck against the bathroom door when he emerged in his dress shirt and tie, he remembered driving to the restaurant too afraid to hold his boyfriend’s hand because his palms were suspiciously clammy.
It was just a dinner at a nicer restaurant to celebrate their anniversary together. They’d had one of these already and a million dates in between. Yet it sent his heart racing every time. Not only was he a fan of Buck when he dressed to the nines (he loved that man in everything and nothing, but the tight dress pants were a treat) but it was also a celebration of their time together. Of how far they’d come as a couple and as individuals. Going out in public came with a small amount of anxiety and guilt, of course, but they’d worked through every setback as partners and would continue to do so.
On their first official date, Eddie had called Buck at 3am to inform him that they could never see each other again because he was betraying his wife’s memory by moving on. Another time, they had run into one of Buck’s previous conquests who was alarmingly cavalier about their sex history but incredibly judgmental about Buck’s current situation. Introducing Buck to his parents was more than a little nerve-racking (though significantly better than meeting the Buckleys for the first time) but had turned out amiably enough when they saw how much Eddie and Christopher cared for the man – and more importantly, how much Buck cared about Christopher.
Christopher had been his saving grace in so many ways, not the least of which was figuring out how to introduce Buck at school functions. ‘Boyfriends’ was the term they used most often but it still felt juvenile whenever he said it out loud. ‘Lover’ had made both of them double over in laughter, and ‘special friend’ was off the table before it had left his mouth. Though he’d never said it out loud, Eddie was saying the term ‘Partner’ for a special occasion.
The first time Eddie had brought Buck to the afterschool pick up so his teachers could meet the other adult with special permission to care for Christopher, he’d stressed to the point of tearing a small hole in the steering wheel cover about what to call him.
And then Christopher had run into his best friend’s arms and introduced everyone to ‘His Buck’ as though that name was the only explanation anyone needed. But it did the trick. Everyone greeted him with kindness and respect and when one of the teachers asked Eddie if this was, indeed, ‘His Buck’, all he’d been able to do was blush and nod.
They’d overcome every little thing that life had thrown their way. They could get through one little dinner.
“You have been fidgety all night.” Buck teased through another mouthful of garlic bread. Or maybe they couldn’t. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing is up with me.” He lied. “I’m just tired. Long shift.”
“Boring shift. Four false alarms, seven car accidents, and one heart attack. I would have killed for a house fire or even someone stuck in a tree.”
“How would they have gotten stuck in a tree?”
Buck shrugged, stuffing another loaf into his mouth. “Maybe they were skydiving but the wind picked up and they got carried away.”
They continued their hypothetical discussion (which turned to the topic of craziest saves, most disgusting encounters, and most obvious lies) until their shared appetizer arrived and he realized how at ease he felt despite his earlier tension. That was another miraculous thing about being with Buck. Without meaning to – for he did it far too often to be intentional – he could pull Eddie from whatever wave was threatening to pull him under and keep him company by just being himself. They would talk and laugh and find companionship with one another until suddenly, the waves had subsided.
“Where’s my phone?” Buck patted his entire body, despite only possessing two pockets in which he could fit his cell. Upon finding nothing, he concluded “I must have left it in the truck, I’m just going to go grab it.”
When Buck reached for Eddie’s jacket pocket, knowing the keys were always in the right, Eddie felt a new wave of panic suddenly submerge him and he shouted “Don’t touch that!” too loudly for anyone at the adjoining tables to misunderstand him.
The way his boyfriend instantly paled, told him that no one had misunderstood his harsh reaction. Buck released the jacket, letting it fall to the ground, but hesitated to grab it. A thousand curses and warning bells echoed through Eddie’s mind, knowing full well how far his partner’s mind could travel down a dangerous path before he ever reached him.
“I’m sorry, Eddie,” he sputtered. “I know we talked about the clothes thing, I just forgot.” Only then did he finally reach a hand to take the jacket on the tasteless restaurant carpet. “Can I grab-”
“No.” He snatched the offending object before Buck could finish his sentence; flinging it away with such force that the contents of his pockets spilt onto the floor. Another curse barely left his lips before both men were on their hands and knees, scrambling to retrieve the objects.
Buck found it first.
“What’s this?”
Eddie froze with a hand on his keys, eyes locked on his partner – his best friend – holding the small velvet box that had once been housed in his jacket pocket. Abandoning all else, Eddie crawled to meet Buck beside the table. He breathlessly watched the other man examine the box, feeling the edges with sharp anticipation
A voice that wasn’t his own whispered in the space between them “open it.” With medical gentility, Buck pulled open the lid and Eddie watched his expressions shift as understanding took hold.
He’d been so careful, to the point of paranoia, about picking out the perfect ring. There had been incognito browser searches, late-night chats with Hen about same-sex protocol (for which he repaid her with many cups of espresso), and one very anxious expedition to the jewelers to find the perfect one. And right at the finish line, he fumbled over his own two feet.
The only memory that mattered, though, was the look in Buck’s eyes when he saw the ring and realized what it symbolized to both of them. What Eddie was asking for wasn’t marriage: it was everything. A life of sharing their darkest selves and celebrating every triumph. Being both an individual and a pair in equal measure – partners in every sense. Respect and trust and joy would become home, security would be a given; everything was asked with that circle bonding them together.
“I’m sorry for grabbing your jacket.” Buck whispered when he finally looked away from the box in his shaking hands. The laugh that escaped Eddie was barely more than a cry of barely restrained tears but it brought a smile to both their faces.
“It’s okay.” Neither could look away now that they’d found each other in the silence. “Do you like it?”
“It’s nice. Did Maddie help you pick it out?”
“She offered when I went to ask for her blessing but this was all me.”
“You asked for her blessing? How traditional.”
“I’m a traditional kind of guy.”
“I know. Sophia told me what you did to her first boyfriend.”
“It was only meant to scare the guy. How was I to know he had asthma?”
“He was 15, you shouldn’t have done it anyway. I think it might be illegal now.”
“Oh my god.” Both men looked up at the waitress standing over them with their food in hand. “Will you ask him already?” A few chuckles from curious onlookers reminded them that they were still kneeling in the middle of a restaurant with Buck holding the ring he wasn’t meant to see yet.
The blush that crept on his partner’s face matched his own, but Eddie’s only focus was on fulfilling the server’s request.
“Marry me, Buck?”
His smile outshone the entire city of Los Angeles.
“Yes.”
As cheers erupted around them, Eddie scooted across the carpet to pull his fiancé into a kiss saturated with joy and laughter. His hands fairly shook as they clasped Buck’s cheeks to hold them steady but nothing else matter to him but that smile.
Slipping the engagement band onto his finger was prolonged by the trembling in both their hands but with time, he stared down at the circle, knowing it was finally where it belonged.
He only realized he had stared for too long when the waitress cleared her throat to grab their attention.
“If you folks wouldn’t mind taking your seats; these plates are kinda hot.” The men scrambled back into their booth, offering copious apologies to the woman who simply rolled her eyes and told them that dessert would be on the house. A handful of patrons offered their congratulations but Eddie rarely turned his attention away from the man across from him. Every time their eyes met for the rest of the night, he could feel the dopey-eyed grin that refused to melt away. He hoped it never did.
The evening had not gone the way he’d planned in any shape of the word but for years to come, he would relish in telling the story of their engagement, and of the full lives they shared together.
#cj writes things#softboiidiaz#love sunny#buddie#buddie fic#911 fox#911 fic#evan buckley#eddie diaz#established relationship#clothes sharing
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penelope garcia x emily prentiss
a/n: my self-indulgent rarepair. sweet penelope and her goth gf. they love each other!
content warnings: SMUT (18+), brat/daddy, yes emily is called daddy i TOLD you this was self indulgent, overstimulation if you squint, oral sex briefly, soft dom!emily and sub!penelope, basically just filthy smut and pretty lingerie
word count: 2191
in which penelope is wearing pretty lingerie and emily wants to keep the moment forever
“Do you like it?” Penelope preens, stretching across the white comforter on Emily’s bed. Her arms rise over her head, allowing Emily a full view of her torso, adorned in bright pink lingerie. The ruffled straps weave across Penelope’s stomach and chest in ways Emily can’t even begin to understand, so she thanks the universe she doesn’t have to. She’ll just fuck Penelope with it on.
“It’s pretty, Pen,” Emily murmurs, running her hands up Penelope’s sides and coming to rest on her breasts. When Penelope gives a soft--nearly imperceptible--whine, Emily tweaks her left nipple through the lacey pink fabric with a chuckle. “Shh, Princess. Let me look at you.”
Penelope sticks out her bottom lip, but Emily is unfazed. She taps Penelope’s protruded lip, mumbles, “put that away,” then continues letting her hands roam Penelope’s body. Her fingertips brush every inch of bare skin she can reach, lighting Penelope on fire. Emily’s touching, just touching, reveling in the soft, supple woman before her. Emily could do this all day. But after what feels like ages, (to Penelope, of course,) Penelope starts to get antsy. Emily’s warm, callused hands are moving everywhere except where Penelope needs to feel her. It’s when Emily grips Penelope’s thighs just above the white thigh-high socks she’s wearing, revelling in the half-moon shapes her trimmed nails leave, that Penelope snaps.
“Are you going to touch me, or not?” Penelope asks, a bite in her words. She knows she’s starting trouble. She knows that Emily’s eyebrow will quirk; that her eye will twitch. She knows she’s overstepped and she’s not being particularly good right now, but Penelope doesn’t mind because she also knows that means Emily will fuck her like she’s being bad.
Penelope’s right, as usual, because as soon as the testy words leave her mouth, Emily’s hands are off of her body and she’s stood at the foot of the bed, looming over Penelope, almost scary. “I thought this was a gift for me, you brat,” Emily says calmly, her left eyebrow raised in mock-disbelief. “You’re not gonna let me enjoy my gift on my own time?”
Penelope shakes her head quickly, the blonde ponytails on the sides of her head swishing. This is what she’s been aching for, for Emily to be mean, for Emily to rough-handle her. This is how it always goes, Penelope knows. Next, Penelope predicts, Emily will tell her to turn over and get on her hands and knees. Penelope knows exactly how Emily works, which is why Emily absolutely catches her off guard by turning away from the bed and stalking to the closet.
Her butt looks cute in that underwear, Penelope thinks, but her thoughts are abruptly cut off by Emily whipping around, shit-eating grin on her face, Hitachi wand in her hand.
Immediately, a sensual combination of regret and arousal washes over Penelope. She sits up, scrambling away from Emily and up against the headboard. “No, Emmy, please no,” she pleads with a coquettish look in her eye.
Emily is a sight to behold in front of her, dressed in only a mismatched bra and underwear set, as if she hadn’t been expecting Penelope to come over. It makes Penelope warm with desire, that idea of Emily carelessly choosing her undergarments while Penelope had agonized over picking the perfect pink set for her girlfriend. Emily returns to the end of her bed, twirling the vibrator as if it’s a baton. Penelope squeaks at the motion of Emily’s tanned, toned arms.
“What’s your color?” Emily asks gently, even though the only color she can fathom right now is the dark pink spot on Penelope’s panties where her arousal is seeping through the fabric.
“Greener than the grass in the Garden of Eden,” Penelope says.
Emily moves to sit in between Penelope’s legs where she sits up against the headboard. Shifting the energy of the room back into one of a scene, Emily pouts at Penelope mockingly. “Impatient little brat just couldn’t wait for me to fuck her, huh?” she teases.
Penelope nods. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she murmurs.
Emily reaches to plug the wand in, and Penelope squirms preemptively upon hearing the tell-tale sound of the vibrations.
“I think,” Emily starts, running the wand against Penelope’s inner thigh in a feather-light touch, “I need to teach you a lesson in patience.” She presses the vibrator against Penelope’s clit experimentally, grinning when she cries out in response. “Can you be quiet for me, Princess?” Emily asks, leaning in to kiss Penelope’s inner thighs repeatedly. God, she wants to taste her, but for tonight's purposes, it doesn’t quite seem to be in the cards. Then Emily contemplates for half of a second, then licks a wide stripe up Penelope’s arousal, through her lingerie. She wraps her lips around Penelope’s clit, sucking once, then pulling away. Satiated, she sits back on her heels and focuses her attention back on the vibrator.
“Oh, Daddy,” Penelope whines.
“Shh,” Emily reminds. She pulls Penelope’s lace underwear to the side, tucking the vibrator underneath so it sits snugly against her clit. Penelope starts to writhe at the stimulation, bucking her hips up against the toy. Emily pushes the heels of both of her hands on Penelope’s hip bones, pinning her down. “You have to stay still for the rest of what I have planned for you, princess.”
Penelope looks at Emily and lets her bitten lips part. “There’s more?” Her facial expression reads, but she dares not to speak.
Understanding, Emily says, “Yes, there’s more.” Penelope lets out a tiny squeak, and Emily shoots her a look.
“S-sorry Daddy, it just---oh---feels good,” Penelope speaks through a moan.
Emily shakes her head, laughing. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, because speaking without permission on any other day would guarantee a few bruises on your ass.”
Penelope smiles widely for a moment, but is cut off by her own pleasure, face twisting and eyes screwing shut as she tries to suppress another moan.
“Penny,” Emily sings, taking advantage of Penelope’s obscured vision. She clambers off the bed, all limbs, and starts rummaging through her bedside table. She can hear Penelope letting out soft whimpers next to her, and the noises only serve to fluster her in her quest to find what she’s looking for. After a moment, her hands feel smooth plastic, and she grins. Her camera.
Well, technically, it’s Penelope’s camera, but after multiple nights of wishing they’d had it at Emily’s apartment, the yellow Polaroid had found a new home with Emily. They’d only ever used it innocently--a picture of Emily while she was napping, a picture of Penelope when she’d tried a new makeup idea, a selfie of the two of them that had come out horribly overexposed---but Emily’s stroke of genius extends far beyond her job and she had decided recently that the sweet camera would be better suited for a more naughty fate.
When Emily turns back to Penelope, she’s rutting her hips against the vibrator.
“Penelope. Cut that out,” she barks, but when Penelope peeks up at her, her visceral reaction to seeing the camera breaks Emily’s resolve. Penelope’s eyes widen and her cheeks flush.
“You’re gonna take pictures of me, Daddy?” She asks, pushing the words out quickly.
“Yeah, Daddy’s gonna take pictures of you, Princess, is that okay?” Emily replies gently, looking for consent.
Penelope nods with a squeak. There’s a wet spot on the bed underneath her, and Emily knows what she’s gonna say next.
“I might--mm--might not last much longer, Emmy,” Penelope whimpers, and tears of frustration fill her eyes.
“Hold it for me, baby,” Emily says, crawling back onto the bed and situating herself back between Penelope’s legs. Penelope juts her lips out in a pout, and Emily snaps a quick picture.
“Hey,” Penelope protests. A tear rolls down her cheek, leaving a mascara track in its wake. “Emmy I--”
“Hold. It,” Emily emphasizes, but turns down the vibrator a notch anyways. “Can you pose for me, pretty girl?”
Penelope shakes her head, but sticks her thumb in her mouth provocatively with a look at the camera. There’s a click and a flash as the photo is taken.
“Good girl, Princess,” Emily says, setting the camera to the side and moving in to kiss Penelope’s neck. She rubs her nose against the soft skin, breathing in Penelope’s perfume. Emily thinks that she might just like to live in this spot forever. But she can’t, she knows, so she settles for sucking a deep mark in the crook of Penelope’s neck. Penelope gasps, and the gasp morphs into a loud moan.
“Okay, pretty girl, let’s get you off,” Emily mumbles against Penelope’s jawline, letting her hand wander to the vibrator, shutting it off and pulling it away. Penelope whimpers at the loss of contact.
“Daddy,” Penelope whines pleadingly, and Emily presses a chaste kiss to her lips.
“You’re so sweet for me, Princess,” Emily says, repositioning to rest her head on Penelope’s thigh. “So soft, so beautiful.” Emily speaks mostly to herself, enjoying the feeling of Penelope’s gaze on her as she nips and kisses her inner thighs.
Penelope weaves her hands through Emily’s hair and tugs gently, subtly trying to pull her closer. Emily’s mouth opens to reprimand her needy baby, but she figures she’s equally as eager, so she decides against it. One of Emily’s fingers circles Penelope’s entrance teasingly.
“Who’s all this for?” Emily asks, looking up at Penelope. She’s frustrated, incredibly frustrated, and instead of telling Emily what she already knows--that Penelope’s pussy is Emily’s only, and Emily is the only one who can get her this wet--Penelope chokes out a sob.
“Please, please, please,” She chants.
“You’re just so fucking disobedient today,” Emily murmurs, granting Penelope what she wants and sliding a finger into her. “Think I spoil you too much, what do you think?” Emily’s words tell Penelope she’s a brat, but her actions contradict as a second finger joins her first, pumping in and out of Penelope at the pace Emily knows will get her off.
Penelope moans, high-pitched and delicate. “I’m sorry, Daddy, really.”
“It’s okay, baby,” Emily whispers, curling her fingers to elicit a reaction from Penelope. It works. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”
Penelope’s overwhelmed by the sensation of her Daddy’s fingers working her towards her orgasm paired with the sweet words coming out of her mouth.
“Say it,” Emily demands.
“I’m your good girl,” Penelope whimpers. At her words, Emily’s thumb comes to circle her clit rapidly, drawing her to the edge. “I’m, I’m--” Penelope starts.
“I know, sweet girl. Cum for me,” Emily says, working Penelope through her orgasm.
Penelope, who had been decently good about not moving, squirms through her release. Her legs are flailing, her hips are bucking, all in an attempt to move away from Emily and the overstimulation. Emily lets out a short laugh at Penelope’s desperation, and pulls her hand away from her.
“Good?” Emily asks, after Penelope has calmed.
“Mhm,” Penelope hums, adjusting to lay down.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me now,” Emily calls as she moves to the bathroom and prepares a warm, damp washcloth.
“Too late, I’m asleep already,” Penelope replies. Her eyes are closed, arms wrapped around Emily’s pillow. When Emily returns, she taps Penelope’s ankle gently.
“Let me clean you up, baby,” she whispers.
Penelope peeks one eye open at her. “I have to take this off,” she says, gesturing to her lingerie.
“I’ll help,” Emily offers, but Penelope responds with a short laugh.
“If you could figure out how to get this off, it would’ve been off already,” she says, sticking her tongue out at Emily playfully. She’s right.
After Penelope’s undressed and decently clean, Emily gasps. “Oh, man!” She exclaims sadly. “I only took two pictures.”
Penelope pouts. “One for you, and one for me. No more tonight, I’m sleepy.” Emily sets the photos on her bedside table and crawls into bed next to Penelope. She pulls Penelope against her chest, working the hair ties out of her hair, and massaging where the ponytails were situated against her scalp.
“I know you wanted me to be mean to you tonight, but I just couldn’t do it,” Emily says, carding her fingers through Penelope’s hair. “You looked so pretty.”
“I’m always pretty,” Penelope quips, looking up at Emily to see her playful scoff. “But seriously, I liked this better tonight.”
“Yeah?” Emily asks, vulnerable.
“Yeah,” Penelope responds simply. She could elaborate, tell Emily despite how much she loves rough play and her daddy, Emmy is who she fell in love with, and their nights together are equally as satisfying. She could say that, she thinks, but Emily already knows. She knows by the way Penelope snuggles closer into her chest and by the way their hands intertwine perfectly. She knows by Penelope’s eyes--they’re always lovesick--and by her smile.
Penelope closes her eyes, letting one hand hold Emily’s and the other rest on Emily’s chest. They lay there for a moment, just enjoying each other’s company. Emily is nearly asleep when Penelope shoots upright, wide awake.
“Oh my god, Em, I forgot to get you off.”
#emily prentiss#penelope garcia#emily prentiss smut#emily prentiss fanfic#emily prentiss fluff#penelope garcia fanfic#penelope garcia fanfiction#emily x penelope#prentiss x garcia#criminal minds#cm#criminal minds smut#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic
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Zaddy
Boba x fem!reader, smut
Boba offers to be your daddy.
Lyrics are from Baddie by Dylan & Dakota
***
You were vibing with your music blaring while everyone was out. You danced around in your underwear, sing songing along with it. “You could be my daddy, zaddy,” you belted out, making eye contact with Fett.
“— shit!” You jumped down off the observation table and scrambled to put your clothes on. This is why we don’t get distracted after a shower, you thought to yourself, frantically jumping into your pants. When you’d pulled your shirt over your head, you shakily turned around to face him.
Fett was standing there, leaning against the doorway with an amused look on his face. “Nice tattoos,” he commented. You blushed at their location.
“Sorry about... the table...” you mumbled. He smiled. “It survived.” You felt yourself growing redder. Fennec appeared behind him. “What’s the matter?” She peered around him.
“Nothing,” you tried to act casual and leaned against the table you’d just been dancing on. You realized that your music was still playing.
“... I’m a good girl, but I can make it nasty,” the ship sang to everyone. You rushed to the comm and slapped the button to turn it off. “Nothing’s going on.” You tried to convince everyone.
“Nice tunes,” Fennec squeezed past Fett, who was still lingering in the doorway. She kept going, to the cockpit. You were left with Fett, whom you recently called both daddy and zaddy while staring directly into his face. You winced internally. “Well, I gotta.. yeah.” You tried to squeeze past him to just leave the room. You had to go somewhere else to finish being embarrassed. He stopped you with a hand on your arm. “I could be your daddy, you know. Though I admit I don’t know what a zaddy is.”
You were so shocked the only thing you could think of was to give the definition of zaddy. “It’s, uh... it’s a guy that is good looking and has swag. Basically.”
“What’s swag?”
“It’s uh... are you... are you teasing me?” You tone went up at the end.
He smiled mischievously. “Perhaps.” He dropped his arm. You stared at him, wide eyed. You finished processing what he’d initially said. “So, uh..” you winced internally again at your brilliant start to the sentence. “... you —“
”Hey what’s up guys?” Din paused on his way down the corridor.
Oh no. “Nothing,” you tried to smile casually. Boba turned to Din with a smile playing on his lips, “She can’t catch a break is what’s going on.”
“Huh?” Din’s helmet tilted in confusion.
“Whelp, great talk guys, gotta go,” you speed walked down the corridor. You weren’t sure but you thought you heard gentle laughter.
You grabbed a book and got into your hammock, relatively alone. You had decided Fett was teasing you the entire conversation. Why would he seriously say that he would be your daddy? You fiddled with you book. You thought about how close you’d been to him, his strong hand resting lightly on your upper arm. You sighed. Oh, great — and he’d seen you in your mismatched underwear. You’d forgotten that part already. You put your face in your hands for a moment. Shit. What a day. You decided to call it and curled up for sleep.
***
You had woken early, having gone to sleep relatively early the day before. You opened the Slave 1 up to the desert and walked out into it. The light from the suns was just starting to appear on the horizon. You took off your boots and socks and stretched your toes out into the sand. You stood there, just watching the sky change. You heard someone on the gangway of the ship. You partially turned to see who else was up early. It was Fett. Your heart jumped; you still hadn’t recovered from his teasing of you yesterday. You nodded and turned around, trying to remain calm.
He came up to your right side and stood there. “Communing with the desert?” He nodded towards your discarded footwear.
You smiled, “Something like that.”
“Let me take you somewhere for the sunrise.”
You looked at him curiously.
“We have to hurry or we’ll miss it.”
You nodded and sat down to quickly put your shoes back on. You popped up, ready. He led you to his speeder, parked to the side of Slave 1. You both got on. You realized you had to hold on to him. You inhaled and wrapped your arms around him tentatively.
“I don’t bite. Unless you like.” He didn’t turn around, so you had no idea if he was serious or not. You snuggled into him softly, grabbing each arm with the opposite hand. “I’m ready.” He nodded and you two took off, skimming over the sand. The suns were almost breaking through the horizon when you reached an outcrop of rocks. You stopped near the base of it.
Hopping off, you and Fett followed a well worn path up to the top. You looked out over a vast expanse of canyon. It was very shallow, but huge. Like an enormous river bed. Fett pulled you down, so you sat there with him. The suns broke through the horizon and started to shine across the canyon. You watched, waiting. Suddenly a shimmering mirage appeared. Slowly at first, it dribbled into the canyon giving it a warm, filmy feeling. It didn’t look like part of reality. The golden mirage continued to spread, seeping out from its point of origin. It widened and took over the floor of of the big riverbed, glimmering like water. It was a river of light and air. You watched it unfold, open mouthed. It lasted for several glorious minutes, then faded into the day.
You turned to Fett, “That was breathtaking.”
He was already looking at you. “Yes, breathtaking,” he said, staring into your eyes. His gaze trailed down to your lips. You felt soft leather on your lips and bit your lower lip. He leaned in. You were stupefied. You felt his lips touch yours and instinctively closed your eyes. He kissed you lightly. You leaned into him and kissed back. You felt a hand slide up your thigh, and gave a soft moan. He grabbed your hips and pulled you into his lap. You sat there on your knees, straddling him. He snaked his arms around your waist and stopped to look at you. “You want to go back, or stay here?”
“Stay here.” You slowly rolled your hips into him for emphasis. He exhaled heavily through his nose and grabbed your hips. You rolled your hips again, harder this time. You felt his cock getting hard. You kept going. He mmmd into your chest, and his grip grew tighter. You put your hands on his torso, feeling his uneven breathing.
You kissed him deeply, enjoying the fact that he was kissing back. You bit your lip and voiced your desires, “I want to feel you inside me.” You felt his cock jump and smiled wickedly. Your hands went to his pants. His hands went to your shoulders, stripping your jacket off. You paused in your work to let him pull your arms out of it. You finally got his cock out of his pants. You realized you were still in yours. You undid them and kicked them off. He pulled you back into his lap. You grabbed his cock and nuzzled it into your wet folds. He groaned and gripped your thighs.
You ground your pussy on the tip of his cock, teasing him. “Hn, I thought you wanted me to be inside of you,” he grunted. You smiled again, “Patience, daddy.” You tried out the moniker.
“Daddy isn’t very good at being patient,” he ground out. His use of the word lit a fire in your pussy. You slowly impaled yourself on him, making his eyes close in pleasure. He felt good. He stretched you out perfectly. You moaned and started to ride him. He grabbed your ass and slid his hands up your hips, under your shirt. His hands kept going and pulled it up and over your head. You were totally nude in the early sunshine. He looked up an you, entranced. The soft leather of his gloves glided over your body. It felt delicious. You started to fuck him harder, holding on to his clothing for purchase. He groaned your name, pulling you closer to him. You continued to bounce on his cock, your mouth open slightly as you made eye contact with him. His eyes were hazy with lust.
“I’m close,” he grunted. It made your pussy clutch to hear him say it. “Daddy I wanna feel you cum in me,” you panted. He growled at you and came as if on command. His head fell forward onto your shoulder. You stilled and wrapped your legs around him. You were so worked up you ground against his still hard cock. You felt one of his hands travel down to your groin. He found your clit and rubbed fast circles on it, making your body shudder in pleasure. “Ooh fuck daddy...” you saw stars as an orgasm ripped through your body. You moaned his first name as your orgasm continued, squeezing his hips between your legs. “Daddy, you feel so good,” you murmured. His lips found yours. You cupped his face with both hands as the kiss became passionate. You were totally enveloped by the experience. He grabbed the back of your head with his hand to keep you there. When you finally came up for air, you gasped for it. But you wanted more. The two of you sat there, kissing like teenagers for awhile.
When you finally dressed the suns had both cleared the horizon by a fair margin. You smiled at Boba, as he had asked you to continue to call him by. He was already on the speeder, waiting. “Ready to head back?”
“Not really, but we should.” You turned towards Boba and walked the short distance to the speeder. Hopping on behind him, you snuggled into him readily this time. He looked over his shoulder, “So, tell me, am I a zaddy?”
You gave a small laugh, “Of course, zaddy.”
#boba fett smut#boba x reader#boba fett x reader#boba fett x y/n#boba fett fanfiction#boba fett x female reader#boba fett x you#the mandalorian#star wars smut
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cantarella
vil schoenheit + neige leblanche
female reader
full imagine
angst
note: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED YOUR REQUEST I AM SO SORRY OHMYGOD AND IM SORRY IF THIS ISNT THE REQUEST U WANTED HHHH vil might be out of character here uhhh
play- cantarella: kaito ft. hatsune miku
.・゜-: ✧ :- -: ✧ :-゜・．
“You thought you could drink this powerful potion you knew so well”
the ensemble played in a graceful tone. it was a waltz. vil’s right arm was supporting your back as his left was outstretched. your feet matched his and the pace of the music. it was pure bliss. how funny though. you were dancing with your knight. the person who swore on their life to protect you. the party was getting boring, as it always has for you, and you needed a partner for the upcoming dance.
you and vil had already practiced this multiple times since you were children. the feeling stayed the same for you- but for vil? he was ecstatic. he was finally near you not as a mere knight but as a person. it gave him pure joy. but of course, good things come to an end and you had to switch partners. though, vil expected you to switch with some random noble the random noble he caught a glimpse of before passing you to the mad clad in white and sky blue and his eyes widened. it was neige leblanche.
vil had already known of the black haired man’s limerence towards you. after all, the look neige gave you was very familiar to the blonde haired man. since he, too, stared at you with those same, loving eyes. a sigh of defeat escaped from vil’s lips. he knows he can’t do anything about it. a woman of high nobility like you? ending up with him? sure vil had high confidence but even he has doubts of his own.
“y/n,” a sweet voice rang through your ears. you didn’t even notice you had to switch partners with vil. you looked up and saw shiny brown orbs and silky black hair. the man before you was breathtaking. “neige...” you spoke. neige laughed softly as you both danced without ever making a single mistake through the lively ballroom.
“how have you been, y/n?” he asks, getting closer to you. “ah, i have been well. you?” he twirls you around before gripping on your waist and hand softly and pulling you closer to him that you can feel his breath practically fanning your face. you silently gulped at his abrupt action. “good now that i’ve met you here.” although neige’s face was covered half by a white masquerade mask, you could tell that his eyes were shining.
neige leblanche. the crowned prince of the neighboring kingdom of pomefiore. you already expected to meet him here. the person who ordered you to kill this man has predicted everything correctly. you were known to be very good with expressing your emotions. people have ordered you to kill their target and you have never been caught. not even once. you have never been suspected. how could they suspect the princess of pomefiore to have done such a cruel thing?
the song ended before you knew it and you walked towards vil to see how he was holding up for the remaining parts of the ball but neige grabbed your hand, “oh, sir leblanche? is something the matter?” neige frowned slightly at your formality. you weren’t formal earlier while the two of you were dancing, so why? he shook off his frown and chuckled for a moment, “ah, you see, i just so happen to travel far just to attend this ball that you had invited me to. so i was wondering if you would give me a room to stay in just for tonight?”
you bit your lip. no, you didn’t hesitate. it’s just that you weren’t really in a position to grant him a room to stay in. your parents decide that. neige seemed to have read your mind and snapped his gloved fingers, “mm, i see! i already asked your parents but i just needed to see if you would be alright in seeing me tomorrow for breakfast,” he started, “after all, you might be surprised to see me at your breakfast table tomorrow morning.” ah, so that’s how it is.
“oh of course i’m alright with it! i haven’t seen you since grandma’s funeral. i’ve always wanted to catch up with you!” you grabbed his hands and held it tight, indicating how happy you truly were. neige glance up to see vil narrowing his gaze at the black haired prince. all he could do was grin in a mocking manner before kissing your hand and taking his leave. vil was powerless. he couldn’t do anything. he had no authority to force neige out of the kingdom or your heart. he was always second. he hated it.
you noticed vil looking down and ready to draw his sword but you lowered it and smiled at him, “it’s okay, vil! i know he has good intentions.” vil, even if he wasn’t your knight, couldn’t disagree with you. he has a soft spot for the princess. all the fellow guards knew. “now,” you cleared your throat and intertwined your hands with his gloved ones, “let’s go, okay?”
morning soon arrived rather quickly. it almost seemed like the ball was just ended a few hours ago. you stretched your arms in bed and yawned a bit before receiving a knock at your door from vil. “princess y/n, neige leblanche is here to see you.” his voice seemed drained of life. it’s like he was defeated from a duel. you panicked and scrambled to get your indoor dress for today. a few moments of no response and vil knocked again, slightly glad you were taking time to reply. looks like sir leblanche has to wait until breakfast. vil thought to himself, smirking at the man who was shorter than him. neige noticed vil’s self-victory and gritted his teeth.
“apologies. if the princess hasn’t woken up yet, tell her i’ll be-”
“i apologize,” you quickly squeak out, slamming the door open. you fiddle with your fingers as neige observes your ghastly attire. the dress has clearly not been ironed as wrinkles were clearly visible. your shoes were mismatched and your socks have not been pulled up properly. you obviously didn’t have the help of a maid. neige stifled his laughter but failed and started chuckling at how you presented yourself. noticing how neige was laughing, your cheeks flushed from embarrassment. “mm, nothing to be embarrassed about y/n. i find it cute,” he whispered before leaning back.
“going back to the reason of why i am here, i simply ask for your presence at the garden this afternoon,” your cheeks heated up at the thought of simply being with neige at the garden. walking together, possibly holding hands, talking about literally anything, oh how the thought made your heart flutter with excitement. “definitely! i’ll see you there soon, sir leblan-” in one swift movement, neige already has you pinned against the doors, causing vil to step back as he draws his sword, ready to behead the crowned prince. vil carefully watched his movements as neige put a hand under your chin and tilted it up so you would have nothing to stare at but his shining orbs. you almost got yourself mesmerized in them.
“i’m tired of the formalities, princess. just call me neige,” he lets go of you and walks away, leaving you stunned and your heart ready to jump out of your chest. vil immediately rushed next to you and held you in his arms. “princess? princess y/n, are you alright?” he gently shook your figure. you glanced up at your childhood friend who is currently your knight and chuckled, “vil, why do i feel this way whenever he’s near me?”
the invitation from neige to meet him at the garden drew near and you felt excited. you helped the chefs in preparing the snacks and tea that would be served for the both of you. your orbs narrowly glanced at the tea. jasmine, huh? you thought to himself, silently bringing out a vile that contained white powder that looked similar to arsenic. you bought the vile to the teacup and tapped the rim of the vile, allowing some powder to escape from its container.
you walked out the door, surprised to see vil. was he always there? you shook your head, hoping he hadn’t noticed you walking in with the poison. you made sure to keep it hidden in your fists.
“vil, all you have to do is stay by my side! i’ll never abandon you, so you won’t either, right?”
your child voice echoed in his head. things just had to get complicated. it just had to take a wrong turn. just as it always had with vil.
-
“that knight is absolutely spineless,” neige muttered to himself as he made his way towards the garden where he was supposed to meet you. his eyes landed on your ephemeral figure. it drew him closer. “y/n!” you lifted your head up from your lap and smiled at the man in front of you, “sir lebl- i mean, neige!” you greeted, getting up from your seat to do a curtsey. neige appreciated the gesture as the two of you sat down in front of each other. nothing much has happened except for when the tea was served.
you glanced at the man seated in front of you. you had already taken the teacup that didn’t contain any poison. neige sensed the presence of the loyal knight named vil behind the large hedges of the garden. vil was left in the shadows. what could’ve he done? nothing. he was letting you go without putting up a fight. it sickened him. this wasn’t who he was but he couldn’t help but be that weak, powerless person since he was just a mere knight.
neige takes a sip of the jasmine tea and instantly felt his throat burn. a cough escaped his throat along with a spot of blood that stained his white gloves. your eyes widened. the poison people usually gave you were subtle and killed the victim in an instant. why was neige in pain? why is he suffering? did you acquire the wrong poison? you slowly walked towards neige as he fell on you, his eyes almost lifeless. you orbs widened as he placed an empty vile in your hand and smiled. you immediately realized that was the vile that contained the poison.
he knows.
at this point, you weren’t worried on getting caught. you were worried about his safety. vil stepped out of the bushes and rushed towards the two of you. neige was then brought into the care of the paramedics as the guilt slowly consumed you until you were never able to sleep.
the clashing of swords woke you up in the dead of night. what on earth was causing the ruckus? you walked up to your balcony to see neige and vil having a duel with neige looking injured. rushing outside, you ran towards the garden despite your feet aching without any shoes.
vil raised his sword to swing at neige who was obviously worn out. you stepped in between the two men and expected vil’s sword to have an impact on you but you felt nothing. only the drip of cold liquid on your face. neige’s blood.
neige had prevented the sword from harming you with the help of his hand. the back haired male dropped to his knees as you cradled his tired body in your arms. tears escaping your eyes.
the blonde haired knight’s hands shook violently. what did he do wrong? he almost harmed you. he almost killed you.
“vil, all you have to do is stay by my side! i’ll never abandon you, so you won’t either, right?” your child self grinned brightly, holding his hand. vil only stared at you before bursting out in a fit of laughter. “hah, once i become king, i’ll be the one abandoning you,” he said, cockily. you pouted before punching him. “you’re so full of yourself! bleh, you becoming king would never happen!” you taunted before running away from vil. the blonde was left dumbfounded and doubtful but chased after you, “just watch me! if i become king, i’ll protect you, you know!”
protect you.
he had failed you.
vil stared at neige clutching his hand and you holding it as he walked away from the scene. he couldn’t face you. before vil could walk away completely, he looked around his shoulder to see neige’s face contort into a mischievous smirk as he hugged you. a finger pressed to his lips. vil’s eyes widened. this...
this was his plan all along.
his plan to force you to poison him.
his plan to make you his.
.・゜-: ✧ :- -: ✧ :-゜・．
a/n: I KEPT CHANGING THE PLOT OF THIS SHIT IM GOING TO CRY AND PROBABLY DO A REMAKE OF THIS SINCE ITS SO SHITTY AND CONFUSING UHJDSK IM SO SORRY
#neige leblanche#neige leblanche x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#vil schoenheit#vil schoenheit x reader#pomefiore#royal sword academy#twisted wonderland imagine#twst#twst fanfic#angst#twst angst#i accidentally deleted your ask#cantarella
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could you write prompt 46 and 50 with maxwell lord please? :)
Thank you so much for the request! I...well I was writing this as a blurb and it turned into a 2,400-word oneshot...I hope that’s ok....
#46 Family Traditions & #50 Christmas Movies with Maxwell Lord
Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader
Rating: 18 + for language
My Masterlist
Taglist: @josepedropascal @yespolkadotkitty @oldstuffnewstuff @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 Let me know if you wanna be added. :D
Christmas in Aspen
If someone had asked you a month ago what your plans for Christmas were, you would have said spending it with your family in Maine. Eating lobster, and watching Christmas movies, listening to your older twin brothers arguing over the wishbone from the Turkey, Aunt Marge telling one of her outlandish tales of a dalliance with a younger man while you shared amused looks with your father. You would have never thought you would be in a lodge in Aspen with your boss.
Maxwell Lord was a man who held control of all things in his life. He ran his business, personal life, and employees with a firm hand and that included you. You had lasted longer than the last four secretaries, all of which had slept with him expected him to fall madly in love with them, and had their hearts shattered when he coldly rejected them.
Upon first meeting him you had flat out told him you were not going to be another notch in his best post and if he respected you then you wouldn’t have any problems with him. You worked well together, he was the cunning ruthless businessman, and you had become his humanity.
In the year you had been working for him, he had learned as much from you as you had learned from him. Such as using manners and including you in decisions. Except the Christmas season had seemed to bring out the worst in Maxwell Lord. Maybe it was the appearance of his toxic mother who informed him she booked herself an exclusive spa getaway in Paris for the holiday season or the amount of work that came at the end of the year but he was excruciating.
“Cancel your plans for tomorrow, we are going to the lodge in Aspen,” he tosses his heavy outer coat onto your desk and goes into his office slamming the door behind him.
You quickly spin from your chair ignoring the coat, and follow him into the office, “Maxwell? I can’t go to Aspen...it’s Christmas.”
“I need you in Aspen with me, if you’re unable to do that I can find someone else to take your place and can find yourself a new job,” he sneers from behind the oak desk and you take a step back at the hostility rolling off him in waves.
Never one to be intimidated you bite back, “Fine then Mr. Lord, pray to tell me what we will be doing in Aspen so that I may make the appropriate arrangements.”
You see a small fracture in his composure at the use of his last name but he continues to glare, “I am a very busy man, please make sure the jet is fueled and the lodge is prepared for our arrival. I am sure you can figure out the rest.”
“Fine,” you snap leaving his office and slamming the door behind you. You shake out his coat and place it on the rack outside his door. Sitting back at your desk and running your hands through your hair you make the appropriate calls and get everything prepared for the weekend. Saving your parent’s number for last. To say your family was less than thrilled about you spending the holiday with your boss in Aspen was an understatement but what could you do?
Despite everything you had seen the man say and do over the past year you couldn’t deny how you felt about him. Maxwell Lord; with his mismatched patterns, suspenders, blonde hair, and ring-covered fingers had wormed his way into your heart. Because beneath all the vanity, money, and attitude you knew who he really was inside, a man who just needed to be loved.
You sigh glancing at the clock and move to collect your things, the door to his office opens slowly and he approaches your desk cautiously. He sighs running his hand through his hair, and you look up into his tired dull eyes. “Listen...I’m sorry about how I behaved in there...I know that it’s hard to be away from your family on the holiday but I…”
“You what?” you whisper and his eyes soften.
“I need you with me...I have to close this deal and they only want to meet this weekend, if it was any other time you know I wouldn’t keep you from your family.”
You stand and come around the desk before him, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He lowers his gaze before looking back into your eyes and holding contact. You feel your lungs constrict as his hand comes up to gently rest against your cheek and you subconsciously lean into his hold. Never breaking eye contact, he leans down and you lean forward until he suddenly pulls away, withdrawing and walking out of the office. You stand there confused...what the hell…
The next morning you pull on a pair of fleece leggings, a grey sweater dress with your black knee-high boots, and catch a taxi to the airport. You board the jet and sit down across from Maxwell who arrived early as usual. The stewardess hands you a steaming cup of coffee and you down half of it before taking off. The whole flight is tense as Maxwell ignores you, reading through paperwork and jotting down notes every few minutes. You keep your eyes on him and catch him several times trying to look at you before quickly averting his eyes.
When you land you disembark and the driver greets you both. You slide into the back of the limo behind him and your leg brushes against him in the backseat. He looks down and doesn’t say anything only shifting closer. The drive is short and the town is charming as the storefronts glitter in the twinkle lights, and brightly colored decorations. Children run up and down the sidewalk and a lopsided snowman sits in the snow with a corncob pipe and button nose.
You feel a pang of sadness thinking of the snowman building competition your family hosts every year. Maxwell notices your lips turning down and whispers, “What’s wrong?”
You sniffle, “My family has this tradition, every Christmas Eve we all go outside and everyone tries to outdo each other with the best snowman. I won a few years ago, it was great! At the end of the summer season, I got a bikini for cheap and brought it with me and made a snowman laying on the ground sunbathing in the bikini.” You laugh at the memory and Maxwell chuckles beside you.
“What other traditions does your family have?”
“Oh, we have a whole bunch! We always bake cookies and decorate them together, the snowman competition, and we always watch It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“What’s that?”
You freeze and look at him, mouth gaping, “You don’t know what It’s a Wonderful Life is?!”
He shakes his head and you huff crossing your arms, “Well that is what we are doing tonight after all these damn meetings, we are watching a Christmas movie!”
“Alright then, if that will make you happy,” he nods and your heart stops as you meet his smiling eyes. His smile drops slightly and he looks down at your lips. You lean toward him and he leans toward you...you’re just about to kiss when the car comes to a stop.
“Mr. Lord we are here sir,” the driver says from the front seat and you jump away scrambling to get out of the limo. Your cheeks burning in the frigid air.
You hear him exit behind you and brush against you as he walks into the lodge. You clear your throat and follow him inside. The clients are already there in the living space and Maxwell introduces you both before you excuse yourself to talk with the other assistants over by the bar. Pouring yourself and Maxwell a cup of coffee and bringing it over to him, he nods and you shiver as his fingers brush against your own.
The meeting takes most of the afternoon and into the beginning of the evening. Your feet aching from standing in your heels as you shift from foot to foot. The group begins to wrap things up and trickle out until all that’s left is you and Maxwell. “Did you want me to order some dinner?”
“Yes, that sounds good. I am going to go shower from traveling.” He retreats into the master bedroom and you walk over to the phone ordering the Christmas dinner special from the local restaurant. The food arrives before Maxwell remerges and you work on placing it on plates. Filling them to the brim with prime rib, mashed potatoes, green beans, and fresh-baked rolls.
The smell of food drawls out Maxwell and he comes out wearing a pair of red flannel pants and a white t-shirt holding a small bag in one hand. Your mouth drops open, having never seen him in such comfortable clothes before. “This is for you,” he pushes the bag into your hands, “Go take a shower and change, I’ll open the wine.”
You cock your head at him and walk backward toward your bedroom. When you close the door behind you, you pour the contents of the bag on your bed and laugh. Red flannel pajama bottoms and a white v-neck shirt come tumbling out. He...he bought you matching pajamas...You smile broadly before quickly showering and pulling on the clothes a pair of fuzzy black socks tumbling onto the floor.
You walk out and see him lounging on the couch the plates untouched on the coffee table before him. A bottle of red wine uncorked and breathing. He looks up and a small smile graces his lips as you give him a little turn, “What do you think?” you tease.
“I think you’re beautiful,” he says so quietly you almost miss it.
You plop down on the couch beside him and he pours you each a glass of wine handing it to you. You tuck into your dinners and his watch beeps from his wrist. He reaches for the remote turning it on and flipping through the channels. The opening credits of It’s A Wonderful Life begins and you turn with a huge grin at Maxwell.
“You looked up the channel and the time?”
“I...It’s important to you. It’s no big deal I just called the front desk to look in the TV guide.”
“Thank you,” you finish your dinners in silence, and when you're done you pull over the wool blanket draped over the couch. Pulling it over both of you and placing your head on his shoulder. You smile when you feel his head tilt to lay atop your own and you sigh.
Halfway through the movie the doorbell rings and Maxwell rises to get it, returning with hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and a big bowl of popcorn. “Did you...did you order this?”
“I...I wanted to do something special for you...since it’s Christmas,” he hands you a mug of the steaming liquid and you blow before taking a drink moaning at the sweet flavor. Maxwell gulps and watches your lips with rapt attention. You look into his eyes and slowly put down your mug, leaning into him and he leans into you. You can feel his warm breath on your lips when the doorbell rings again. You jump and scurry back to the other side of the couch.
“Fuck,” Maxwell hisses and goes to the door yanking it open, “What the fuck do you want?!”
Wide-eyed and mouths gaping is a whole choir of Christmas carolers. “Oh...shit,” Maxwell lets out a breath and turns back to your grimacing. You look back and forth between the choir and Maxwell’s face and burst out laughing. A few of the adults start laughing too until everyone except Maxwell is cracking up. You rise from the couch and go over to the door wrapping an arm around his waist and laying your head on his chest.
The man has an ego the size of an elephant he never likes when people laugh at him but he forgives you as he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tight against his chest. “Please sing for us,” you sigh and the choir sings Carol of the Bells, a personal favorite of yours.
When they’re done you clap and cheer and poke him in the chest until he joins too. They thank you before going over to the next lodge. You close the door and turn to Maxwell smiling, “that was lovely, this whole evening has been perfect. I like my family traditions but...I’ve really enjoyed sharing them with you.”
“I have too...it’s been a very long time since I have spent a Christmas with someone...even longer since it was someone I care about.”
You tense and look into his eyes for any sign of teasing and when you find none you move closer. You lean into him and he leans into you. No one opens the door or rings the doorbell, or speaks when your lips finally meet his.
His lips are soft and warm against yours and his arms envelope around your waist, pulling your arms up to wrap around his neck, your fingers sliding through his hair musing it. His lips travel down your neck and he moans, “Fuck I have been wanting to do this for months…”
You pull away and look at him, lips swollen, eyes blown open, and his hair...god he looks freshly fucked. “You have?” the question comes out more vulnerable than you’d hoped, “Don’t lie to me, Maxwell...I refuse to be another one of your conquests.”
He scoffs, turning away, “Do you think they are even in the same league as you!? If I wanted to just fuck you, baby you and I both know I would have done it already,” he’s angry and pacing, months of frustration boiling to the surface. “Do you honestly fucking think I would have made up some bull shit deal to spend Christmas with any of them?! Do you think I would have called their father to ask about their family traditions!? Do you think I wo-”
You grab the front of his shirt and smack your lips to his. This kiss is hungrier than the others, both of you pining for the other for so long. The volcano of emotion erupting between you until you can no longer breathe. Panting you press your forehead into his, “You love me, don’t you Maxwell Lord?” you murmur against his lips.
He presses his lips gently against yours, “I really fucking do…” he whispers back.
You smile and look up meeting his eyes, “Merry Christmas Maxwell.”
He returns the smile before pulling you back in for another kiss, “Merry Christmas Darling.”
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How do you think The Kid would act/react when the reader in Sound and Color has to finally go back to work?
Note: This takes place after “On the Nature of Daylight” and "Quantum Entanglement.” It’s a little too long for a drabble, but not quite long enough for a story.
“Theory of Relativity”
Eight hours. That’s how long she said she would be gone, but he had no way of knowing if it had been eight minutes or eight years since she left. Time, for Henry, did not follow a linear pattern. It could slip suddenly and twist back in on itself, going retrograde, or stretch from the gravity of his emotions, lengthening the distance he had to travel to move from one second to another. She had given him instructions before she left for work—a list of things he could do in her absence to keep himself occupied—but they hadn’t stuck in his mind and he couldn’t remember where he’d left the slip of paper she’d scribbled on when his responses went from hums of understanding to a blank stare as he retreated into himself.
It wasn’t that he always needed her direction. He had established a sort of routine that he followed. When the sun began to filter through the curtains around his bed in the morning, the little orange cat he had rescued would wake him up by chewing on his hair, letting him know she wanted breakfast. He would go downstairs and measure out her cat food. She was skittish and watchful while she ate, and if he wasn’t there, she usually became too anxious to finish her meal, so Henry sat beside her and buried his fingers in her soft fur, scratching her behind the ears now and then until she was done.
That’s where the woman usually found him when she came into the kitchen in her bathrobe and started to make coffee—sitting on the floor with the cat. She always smiled at him and sometimes he felt the corners of his lips twitch reflexively in response. She would scramble some eggs while he made toast, and then they would eat together in comfortable silence.
After breakfast, he moved through the house like her shadow as he completed his own rituals. He sat under the window in her office and laid out the newspaper on the floor so he could scan over the pages, searching for words that stood out to him as though they were printed in bold font. Power. Penitent. Pisces. Pangborn. Possession. Plural. Parabola. When he had gone through each page, he would reassemble them in reverse order and leave them on her desk while he went to take a bath.
Sometimes after lunch he played piano or cut a length of string and laid on the floor watching the cat go wild over it. When the sun started to go down, the woman would flick on a lamp next to the couch, and Henry would curl up under a blanket and read about brain elasticity in a medical journal until his eyes grew heavy and he found himself sinking into the haze of sleep.
Now, without her there to anchor him in time and space, he couldn’t put the events of the day into order. He shuffled through every room in the house as though he might find her hiding in any one of them even though he knew she was gone. He felt her absence pull at him like a tether. He thought if he followed it like a rope in the darkness, he would find her at the other end, but she had told him to stay in the house. When he couldn’t think of what to do next, his mind circled back to that simple command, and he focused all of his energy on obeying it.
The dog crate in the basement had long been disassembled and hauled to the dump. She had tried to ask him once why he’d locked himself inside of it while she was gone. He felt a strange kind of pain radiate from her when she searched his face, trying so hard to understand. It wasn’t her own pain, he realized. It was the pain she thought he should feel, but he only felt disoriented and exposed by the cavernous space of the living room with its two-story windows that looked out onto the moonlit lake. He tilted his head to the side. “It was quiet,” he told her without meeting her eyes. “I was quiet.”
Henry’s fingers brushed over the cool metal of a doorknob. He pushed it open without thinking, stepping over the threshold into her bedroom. It felt haunted by her presence even though she wasn’t there. Her scent hung in the air, something warm and sweet and dappled with shades of pink and white. He padded over to the bed in his mismatched socks and pulled back the covers. It felt strange to be in her room without her, but he knew she would forgive him his trespasses. Sometimes she knew what he needed before he did, and right now, he needed her.
He crawled onto the bed and burrowed down under the blankets, inhaling the scent of her floral shampoo on her pillow. His mind went still, no longer ruminating on how long it would be before she returned. She had been here before, leaving an indelible imprint on time and space. He could feel her radiance somewhere in the universe, resonating at the same frequency as his own. If he wanted to, he could grab hold of the tether and pull her back to him. But she had told him to wait for her. She had promised he would be okay, and that she would be home as soon as she could. Her words replayed over and over again in his mind. He held onto her pillow tightly and listened to the ticking of the clock in the hall. “Trust me,” she had told him before she left. And he did.
(part of Sound and Color: a series of The Kid/Henry stories/drabbles)
@girlinthecorner @hiddlelecki @skrsgardspam @scxrsgxrd @grandpa-sweaters @stevesharrlngtons @upirs
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