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cosmal · 2 years

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𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 — 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

note — this is for @sparklingsin spookinktober!! it was queued to be posted on halloween but tumblr deleted it!! so I had to rewrite it :((( so I'm sorry that this is so late and so terrible!! I tried my best to rewrite it like it was fr. i do genuinely hate this now, i’m sorry.

summary — eddie comes back after a week and sees you in your angel costume. he has to fuck you right then and there.

warnings/tags — fem!afab!reader, she/her pronouns, smut, mdni, piv, fingering, needy!reader

wc — 1.8k

“Steve, have you seen Eddie yet?” You stand on your tiptoes to get closer to his face, leaning over the breakfast bar that separates the two of you.

Steve probably yells too eagerly. The music is loud, but you’re not exactly far away, “Y/N like I said fifteen minutes ago, he’ll be here at 9 o’clock.”

“What’s the time?” You laugh. Winding Steve up is always fun.

Steve sighs like he’s annoyed. You know he’s really not, “8:45.”

“Awesome. I’m gonna go sit on the couch until he gets here.” You tell him before spinning on your heels. The feathers of your angel wings tickle his face as you turn and Steve wrinkles his nose.

“I’m sure you will, Y/N!” he calls before you turn the corner.

And you do exactly that. You’ve waited for Eddie to get back all week, what’s fifteen more minutes? By the time Eddie arrives, the wiry angel wings on your back have grown a little itchy. You’d take them off if you weren’t excited to show Eddie your costume.

Picking at a loose thread on your frilly, white skirt, you don’t even notice the pair of knees in ripped, black denim, hovering over your own. Eddie leans forward to nudge your leg with his and you startle.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Eddie does that signature smile of his, it almost fries your brain and you forget to react.

“Oh my god, Eds!” It’s a blur of feathers when you leap from the small couch. Pushing your arms over his shoulders and leaning your whole weight into him. He almost topples when he wraps his own arms around your back. “Eddie,”

Eddie’s mouth finds its home in the juncture of your neck like it always does, breathing in your lost scene and pressing his lips to your skin. “Y/N.”

He pulls away, but not before you give him one last squeeze, holding you out at arm's length. “God, baby. You look so fucking hot,” he groans.

You turn your hips until your skirt swishes, “You think?”

Eddie reaches around to fiddle with one of the feathers, smoothing it out between his thumb and pointer. “Shit, yeah.”

“Where’s your costume?” you ask, poking him in the chest until he rocks on the balls of his feet. Heavy boots thump along with the bass of the music.

“I’m in it,” he laughs.

“Yeah?”

Eddie swishes like you did but the only thing that moves is his leather jacket that stiffly flaps around his waist, “Yeah. Your boyfriend.”

You roll your eyes like you’re actually not amused by his answer, “You wear that every day.”

“Well, you haven’t seen me in it for an entire week.” He leans in to peck your cheek. Twice for good measure. You grasp his jacket in firm hands and hold him close.

You hum, “Yeah. Missed you.”

Eddie leans in again to snake his arms around to give your ass a squeeze, bunching your skirt in his hands. You’ve forgotten where you are for a moment when he says, “Wanna show me how much you missed me?”

Pretending to act like you don’t want Eddie more than anything at this moment would be harder than telling him exactly what you want — so you don’t. You run a hand down his chest, over the cotton of his shirt, feeling the bumps and divots tentatively until your reach his waist. Hooking a finger around a belt loop to tug him closer.

“I think I do.” you smile.

Eddie groans, “Shit,”

You can’t even pretend to be surprised at how quickly it takes Eddie to drag you to the nearest bathroom. His insatiable need has you giggling the entire way there. Pushing through strangers and ignoring the pointed look Robin shoots you from the bottom of the stairs.

Once you’re inside, Eddie fumbles with the lock on the door while you tug at his free arm, “C’mon, Eds,” you whine.

Eddie cheers when he gets the door to lock, turning to lift you up and onto the basin. The ceramics are cold where it touches the bare skin on your legs and you gasp. Eddie is quick to catch any noise with his mouth when he leans in to kiss you.

“Fuck,” kiss, “angel,” kiss, “you look so hot.”

Your laughter peels from within you and you’re huffing into his mouth, “I thought I was the one who was supposed to be showing you how much I missed you.”

He pulls away to lift your skirt up so it pools around your waist, tugging your panties down until they stretch over your knees, “Just sit there looking all pretty, that’s enough for me, baby.”

Eddie lets you do as you please, placing a firm grip to stable yourself on his shoulders when he traces the tip of his finger up your slit. Grazing down to your entrance to gather the slick that’s already begun to pool on the counter.

“So messy,” he coos, exploring with his finger to push through your pudgy folds, “Missed this pussy, angel.”

You lean forward to press the top of your head into his shoulder, wrapping a hand around his bicep. When he finally slips a finger inside you, you let out the tiniest gasp and your hand tightens in its grip until the leather of his jacket squeaks.

You angle your head up to leave a line of lazy kisses along his neck. Your hot breath and tiny gasps are a whisper against Eddie’s skin. He pushes a second finger in, now middle and marriage, and you hiccup against his skin. Eddie pushes in further, determined to get you to make more pretty noises that get him all worked up.

“Eds,” you pant uselessly. More tiny gasps.

“Y/N,” he almost mocks, exploring deeper inside your weeping hole. Slick traces down his palm and threatens to dirty his sleeve. If Eddie has ever cared about that, he’s never shown it.

You rock your hips against the bench to try and get closer to his hand, his palm pushing into your clit. The stickiness of his thumb and pinky thudding against your skin echo in the tiny bathroom.

Eddie can sense your neediness, “Slow down, baby.”

You grip the hair around the base of his neck which only causes him to groan out. “Need,” you pant.

“What d‘you need, hmm?” Eddie asks, pulling back to check you over. Using his free hand to brush the hair from your eyes. You blink at him slowly.

“Fuck me, Eddie. Please.” Your eyes are terribly pleading and Eddie stills, deep-seated inside you. “Missed you- need you, Eds.”

Eddie can see you working yourself up and kisses you on the highest part of your cheek. Pulling his hand from you he says, “Yeah? Need my cock?”

“Please.”

“You’re so, very polite,” he coos.

There’s a metal zzz of his zipper unravelling and the shushing of his jeans being pushed down just below his ass, before he’s tugging at his cock with familiarity. A familiarity that has your stomach aching.

Eddie wraps his wet hand around the fat of your thigh to tug you closer to the edge of the basin and you yelp, bracing yourself on his chest.

Once you’re close enough, the ruddy tip of his cock presses into your clit and you jolt, head lulling into the juncture of his neck. Eddie wraps his arms around your back and holds you close, dotting kisses over your clavicle. His teeth scrape and nip playfully until goosebumps raise your skin.

“Ready?” he asks as he runs his cock down your slit to line up with your entrance.

“Uh-“ you stutter, wrapping your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles together, “Uh-huh.”

Eddie sinks in and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. “That’s it,” he groans, breath trembling, “Fuck.”

You squeeze him closer like it’s possible and gasp when the air is forced from your lungs at the proximity. Your hands tremble around stiff leather and your hips ache when he rocks in to the hilt. Filling you completely.

“Ah — Eddie,” you gasp, harder when he’s rocking in stronger.

Eddie starts to move, slow and tentatively, rolling his hips into your wet heat. Spreading your legs further apart and your underwear slips down onto the floor.

“Please,” you plead, “harder.” You dig your knees into his side.

Eddie grips your thigh to hold it up and closer to him and when he feels as if he’s not hitting the right angle, he hooks his arms under both of your legs to lift you from the counter.

Gasping, you sink down onto him, keeping your arms and ankles hooked around his body.

Eddie moves to grasp at your ass, squeezing fat between his fingers to keep you upright. Lifting you up and you help him settle back down until you find a perfect rhythm.

“So,” Eddie grunts, hard to be heard over the sounds of skin slapping and your pitched-up moans. You’re also lucky the music outside is loud enough to muffle anything. “so wet, sweetheart.”

You hum what sounds like an uh-huh, trying your best to meet his movements. Eddie’s grip is tight and it stings. Pain turns to pleasure when he starts to hit the spongy spot deep inside you.

Eddie’s doing his best to fuck you onto him. Especially when your pelvis burns and your arms ache, going limp against his frame.

His grunts mix in with your Ah ah ah’s, Eddie has no free hands to smother your noises so he plants his lips to yours, catching any sounds.

“Eddie,” you say against his lips, hot and wet, “M’gonna…”

“Cum f’me, baby,” he says, speeding up.

When he’s repeatedly hitting your sweet spot at the perfect rhythm, the coil in your core snaps, bleeding through your abdomen until you’re clamping around Eddie—tensing up in his hold.

Weak and panty, Eddie throws you back down to the basin, hips stuttering inside you.

“Fuck, where can I?”

“Inside,” you say. No, beg.

“You sure?” he groans.

You nod your head, clamping your twitching walls around him and that’s all it takes. Dragging, now slowly through your gummy heat, his own cum sobbing from your hole when he’s finished.

He’s pulling out, slowly when he watches your face crumple, keeping your legs hooked around his sides. Placing a wet kiss against your damp hairline, he says, “That was amazing- You’re amazing.”

“I know,” you grin, resting your legs down until your knees click.

“Mmm,” he kisses you again, “M’never leaving for that long, ever again.”

“Never,” you agree.

There’s a beat, that’s not very silent, filled with the party that’s still thrumming. Loud chants and chatter fill the bathroom from the crack under the door.

“We should really go home,” he says.

“I think so,” you hum, “I think I heard about ten people knocking on the door.”

“Shit,” Eddie snorts.

“Shit.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson headcannon #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction

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danielfuckingricciardo · 1 year

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A Family Christmas - Max Verstappen x Reader

Pairing - Max Verstappen x Reader

Word Count - 2.8k

Content Warning - None, just fluff

Synopsis - You invite your boyfriend Max to spend Christmas with your family for the first time, and hope that they don’t scare him away.

Author’s Note - First of the Christmas fics, so here’s some wholesome Max fluff for you! I had this one queued and ready to go so I didn’t accidentally forget to post this and then mess up my plans for Christmas fics for a second time!! Enjoy!

Christmas Eve, 3pm - Monaco

“Stop stressing, my love, they’re gonna love you!” You say, placing a reassuring hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder and rubbing it gently.

“You really think so?” Max says, turning to face you, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

“Of course I do. I love you, so they will. I’m more worried about them, they’re not exactly conventional.” You say, chuckling slightly.

You plant a quick kiss to his lips before returning to your suitcase which is laid out on the bed, clearly overfilled and destined never to zip. You sigh before closing the lid and mounting the suitcase to try and force it to close, beginning to battle with the zip.

“I wouldn’t say my family is exactly conventional, (y/n).” Max says, laughing as he watches you straddle the suitcase, an exhausted sigh escaping your lips as you finally give up and roll off the case and onto the bed.

You pat the unoccupied space on the bed beside you, and Max throws himself down onto the sheets, grabbing your hand and giving it a quick squeeze the way he always did.

“I suppose, but my family are a lot. They’re lovely, don’t get me wrong, but they’re highly unpredictable and very different to the type of people you see around here, besides, I’ve never..” You say, trailing off before your final words.

“You’ve never what?” Max asks, rolling over to face you.

You mirror his action, now facing one another, your faces practically touching as most of the bed was still occupied by your half-zipped suitcase.

“I’ve never brought a guy home for Christmas before, never mind a Formula One world champion! Previous relationships either never made it to Christmas or were too new for me to be like ‘oh, come meet my crazy family!’” You say with a sigh, and Max chuckles slightly.

“I feel privileged to be the first.” He says, and you smile.

“You won’t feel privileged when you meet them, you’ll probably be wishing that you went along with my initial plans to sack off Christmas entirely and spend two weeks in Bali.” You chuckle, and Max shakes his head.

“Now you’re the one who needs to stop stressing. If they’re anything like you, then I just know that they’re going to be lovely. Now we need to get that suitcase closed if we have any chance of making the flight.” Max says, pressing a small kiss to your lips before standing from the bed and staring intently at the suitcase.

He unzips the suitcase you had struggled so much to close, and begins digging through it, pulling out two pairs of almost identical black heels.

“Do you really need both pairs?” Max says, and you roll your eyes.

“I like the luxury of having choice. Not that you’d understand that, Mr. ‘I-only-own-one-suit’.” You say, smirking as you try and hold back your laughter.

“Hey! At least I managed to zip my case!” He says, closing your case and pressing down firmly on the lid as the zip slides around with ease.

“My shoes!” You exclaim, sitting up from the bed to see both pairs lying beside the zipped suitcase.

“There’s space in mine, if you’re so determined to bring both pairs I think I can squeeze them in.”

“Oh, I do love you, Max Verstappen.” You say, grabbing the shoes and thrusting them into his arms.

“I love you too. Now you’d better get your things together if we’re going to make the flight.” He says, and you jump off of the bed, press a quick kiss to his cheek, and disappear out of the room to make your final checks before leaving the apartment for the remainder of the festive season.

Christmas Day - 12pm - Your Home Town

Your car pulls into your grandparents’ driveway, and as Max reaches for the door handle, you reach out to top him.

“Okay, so, quick briefing before we go in. Mum has warned everyone to be on their best behaviour today, so they should be pretty normal by their standards. My uncle is very sarcastic, sometimes you can’t actually tell if he’s joking or not, but he is, I promise. My grandad will probably keep trying to feed you like he’s fattening you up for next year’s Christmas dinner, just decline, but he probably will ask you if you’re hungry every fifteen minutes. Also if he says anything offensive, just ignore him. Political correctness isn’t a term in his vocabulary, so don’t engage him in politics at all. If in doubt, talk about your job, they’ll love that. And just…” You say, trailing off when you realise you don’t exactly know what you want to say. You feel tears welling up in your eyes as you try and somehow come up with the words you needed to say.

“Just what? Please don’t cry.” Max says, taking your hand and giving it that familiar reassuring squeeze.

“They don’t have a lot, we never did. Sure, we’ve always been able to get by, but it’s been tough over the years. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed of it, if anything I’m proud of what I’ve achieved, and what I’ve been able to do for them because of it. But you just need to know that they’re not going to be like the people you grew up with, and I want you to be prepared for that.” You say, blinking away your tears.

“(Y/n), my love, if anything, that only makes me want to meet them more. You know my family, what they’re like. I always wanted to be able to have this, a normal family Christmas. Money isn’t what makes a Christmas good, it’s the people you spend it with. And I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be today than with you and your family, right here.” Max says, his hand finding the side of your face to wipe away a stray tear with his thumb.

“I love you so much, you know that?” You say, smiling as another tear runs down your cheek.

“I love you too.” Max says, pressing his forehead to yours and joining your lips in a quick kiss, “Now, we’d better go in, we don’t want to be late for dinner, do we?”

“No, I’m starving, and I’ve been craving my grandmother’s roast potatoes since last year.” You say, chuckling slightly as you wipe away the last remnants of a tear from your eye.

You take a deep breath before pushing the door handle, and are immediately greeted by the familiar sounds of voices and laughter, with some Christmas song you couldn’t quite identify playing in the background. The door swings open, and your mother immediately rushes towards you, her arms open to embrace you in a tight hug.

“I’ve missed you so much, sweetie, oh, Merry Christmas!” She says, wrapping her arms around you, careful not to spill the glass of Prosecco she held in one hand as she does so.

“I’ve missed you too, so much. Merry Christmas mum!” You respond, squeezing her tightly.

As you pull away, you realise everyone else has entered the kitchen where you stood, their eyes darting between you and Max, who was standing awkwardly behind you with his arms filled with bags of presents.

“Everyone, this is Max. Now, be nice, after all, he has your presents.” You say, chuckling slightly to ease the tension.

“Set those down on the table, dear, now, would you like a drink?” Your grandmother says, gesturing towards Max with a bottle of Prosecco.

“Oh, that would be great, thanks!” Max responds as he carefully sets down the presents on the table beside the neatly stacked pile already there.

“Can I have one too? I’m far too sober considering it’s already after twelve.” You laugh, setting your backpack down on the floor and kicking off your shoes. Max follows your lead and does the same, sliding his shoes carefully beside yours.

“Of course dear, might have to open another bottle soon. Your mum and auntie have been drinking me dry since breakfast.” Your grandmother laughs, passing you and Max a slender glass each with a smile.

“I’m glad you’re here, walking past that great pile of presents was agony, your dad had to keep stopping me from sneaking one from the top of the pile and sneaking off to the bathroom to unwrap it!” Your mum says, and you wander over to the present table, rubbing your hands together excitedly as you scan the pile.

“They do look tempting, I don’t blame you. We should go sit down and open them all!” You exclaim, and your dad pops his head around the kitchen door with a half-empty pint glass in his hand.

“Did someone say presents?” He says, and you grin, running over to him and wrapping your arms around him.

“Merry Christmas, dad!” You exclaim.

“Merry Christmas, love.” He says, “Now lets get these presents opened. You know, I caught your mother trying to sneak one up to the bathroom when she thought we weren’t looking?”

“Hey, stop trying to expose my present addiction! Max, love, would you help me carry some of these into the lounge?” Your mother says, placing her glass down to fill her arms with presents.

“Of course I will.” Max says, setting his own glass down and grabbing the bags you and he had brought with you.

You follow behind him, your own arms filled with presents, and he turns quickly to see you behind him and gives you a small smile. So far, so good, you think to yourself.

1pm

“Oh, I love it, (y/n), it’s beautiful! Thank you so much!” Your mother says as she passes the necklace you’d bought her to your father, who fastens the clasp around her neck.

“Actually, I can’t take credit for this one. Max picked it out when we were in Abu Dhabi.” You say, turning to your boyfriend who offers your mother a shy smile.

“A good sign for your future engagement ring.” Your uncle pipes up from the corner of the room, and you shoot him a steely glance as your auntie jabs him in the ribs with her elbow, nodding her head at you and Max with a smile.

“Okay, your turn Max dear. This one has your name on it!” Your mum says to break the silence, picking up a flat, rectangular object wrapped in shiny blue paper, adorned with a matching blue bow.

“For me? Really?” Max stutters out, standing to take the present graciously from your mother’s hands.

He unwraps the gift carefully, unfolding the ribbon and peeling away the tape to slowly slide the object out of its wrapping.

He notices the familiar backing of a photo frame and flips it over, and his eyes go wide as he looks at the image, his hand immediately moving to caress the image gently. You look up at him from your seated position on the floor and give him a reassuring pat him on the knee. He looks at you, and you notice his eyes are glassy, with tears forming in his waterlines, threatening to set themselves free.

“It’s not much, I know, but I hope you like it.” Your mum says, and Max looks up at her, smiling brightly at her.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” He says, struggling to hold back his tears, and she smiles warmly in return.

“Show me!” You say, and Max lifts the photo frame to reveal an image of the two of you following the race in Japan, your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist as he kisses you sweetly.

“Oh, mum, that’s so lovely.” You say, standing to wrap your arms around Max’s shoulders and press a quick kiss to his cheek. He sniffs the tears away, and looks at you with a smile, before returning the favour, kissing you on the apple of your cheek.

2pm

“They’re really comfy, actually, how did you know my size?” Max asks your grandmother across the dinner table.

“Google, dear, you can find out anything you want on there.” She replies, and you chuckle.

“It’s a rite of passage to receive at least one terrible pair of slippers for Christmas. And I like that we match now!” You say, shuffling your feet below the table in your new Elmo slippers which matched Max’s own garishly blue Cookie Monster slippers he was wearing beside you.

“I wasn’t exactly sure what to buy you dear, (y/n) has been hiding you away from us since last year and my daughter-in-law wasn’t exactly much help.” Your grandmother says, earning a scowl from your mother and a smile from Max.

“Well I think you all bought me wonderful gifts. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to have bought anything for me, it was a pleasant surprise.” Max says as he pops a roast potato in his mouth.

“Why wouldn’t we buy you anything? Dear, you’re part of the family now.” Your grandmother says, and you nudge Max’s shoulder with your own, a big smile on your face.

“It’s like Hotel California, you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. Trust me.” Your uncle says across the table, and you shake your head while laughing.

“Don’t worry sir, I don’t plan on leaving any time soon.” Max says, looking over at you. His free hand finds your own and he gives it a small squeeze.

6pm

The evening rolls around, and you find yourself cuddled up with Max on the sofa, a box of chocolates resting in your lap, and The Sound of Music playing on the TV.

Max reaches to grab a chocolate, and you turn to him, a scandalised look on your face as you realise it was one of your favourites.

“Stop eating all the best ones!” You exclaim, and Max chuckles.

“Okay, here, you can have it.” Max says, holding the chocolate to your lips. But as you go to bite it, he pulls it away and places it in his own mouth.

“You dick!” You exclaim, slapping him on the arm as he laughs through a mouthful of chocolate. “Right, that’s it, no more chocolates for you!”

“Not fair, they’re my favourites too. But here, you can have the other one.” He says, grabbing the only other identical chocolate in the box and holding it to your lips. You bite it in half, allowing the filling to ooze out of the centre and onto Max’s fingers.

“You can have the other half, because I’m not a chocolate hog like you!” You say, and Max eats the other half, sucking the dripped filling off of his fingers as he does so.

“That was really hot, you know.” You whisper in Max’s ear, and his cheeks flush a shade of red so bright you can see them even in the darkened room.

“Your family are literally in the other room, (y/n)!” Max whisper yells, turning towards the door of the room to make sure no one could hear him.

“Eh, they’re busy playing some card game.” You respond, grabbing another chocolate from the box and holding it between your teeth.

You turn to Max and bring your face closer to his, encouraging him to take a bite from the chocolate in your mouth. He bites it, tossing the confectionary back into his mouth before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.

As you pull away for air, and to chew the chocolate in your mouth before you choke, you whisper a quiet ‘Merry Christmas Maxy.’ And he wraps his arm tightly around your shoulders.

“Merry Christmas, (y/n), today was wonderful. Your family are wonderfully weird, just like you. I couldn’t think of any other way I would have wanted to spend today.” He says, and you smile a wicked smile.

“Oh, I definitely could think of one way, involving lots of chocolate sauce, but we can always do that on New Year’s Eve.” You say, winking at Max before settling down in his arms to watch the rest of the movie, content in the knowledge that the family Christmas had been a success, and New Year’s Eve was going to be very exciting indeed.

#Max Verstappen x reader #max Verstappen x you #max Verstappen imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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chicken-delight · 4 months

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speech to text. God remember my speech to text erathat was fucking crazy. I need to start doing that again. Ever since I discovered Pamela des barres freshman year of high school, or actually really, it goes as far back to like being in the One Direction and being fascinated, by whoever it was the normal girl that Louis Tomlinson was dating that Eleanor girl. And like Louis was my guy but I wasn’t jealous of Eleanor. I was like fascinated with her because I guess a little bit of it was like wow she got my man, but I also was fascinated with how she dressed, and was really bummed out that like she didn’t have a strong social media presence. Anyways. But when I discovered Pamela des barres, it really cemented the fact that I love the presence of “the woman“ in my favorite forms of art. And this entire thought was queued by that picture that has a Jane in the background the picture of Richard and Robbie and is it Elliott? I can’t remember, even though I just looked at it. but I don’t know. The woman behind the man is always just been more fascinating and more alluring to me. Because it takes a lot to be in a relationship with a man in general, but it takes a lot to be in a relationship with a man who is a creative. Because OK I already know this isn’t gonna come out the way I want it to come out but I’m just hoping that you guys are understanding where I’m coming from. Because there is something about a creative man, and I’ve only really had experience with musicians and writers where they are like children who just got done eating a lot of candy and just have all that energy. Except the energy is creative energy. And they have so much of it that they don’t know what to do with it and a lot of the time it’s you know the tale is old this time that there is the number one love and everything comes after that. I think Anita Pallenberg has a quote about that. Is like you can be in a relationship with a musician, but you must always know that the music is going to come first. And it’s not the way it should be, but it is the way that it is. and there’s not a very clear line between if it’s just how creative people are in general or if it’s the person. But they have all this energy. They just need to focus on getting it out or else they’re gonna explode. So it takes a lot of patience. It really is like raising a child. Willy is my child. He is my father. It’s like your nurturing it but you’re also in awe and it moves you. One of my favorite things about Pamela des barres. is she can describe the feeling you get when you listen to something that really moves you and how that makes you wanna be connected with the people who make it and make you feel so good. And it’s beyond good it’s very spiritual. It’s like the closest thing to ecstasy that I can imagine. Is when you listen to a song that really speaks to you. so there’s a weird dynamic in between whoever is making it and their partner who loves them but must also love the art. it obviously doesn’t have to be a woman it’s whoever is on the receiving end of that. And it’s even cooler when we find out that the partners of these Rockstars are creatives themselves because then that makes the relationship i think a little bit different. It’s a mutual muse. Anyways, I’m just rambling. Don’t read this. But read it. So just makes me happy especially because the band is heavy on my mind to see pictures of Jane of Dominique and ricks wife. I forget what her name is. because the partner of any creative. And I don’t just mean art. Teachers are creative. Lawyers are creative journalist are creative being a stay at home parent is creative. But there’s a certain role of the partner that is very sacrificial. And in the most healthy of relationships understand that whatever their partner is doing whatever they are creating is bigger than them. The energy is so wild and so big that it is almost beyond them and when it’s bursting it’s bursting and it needs to get out. And I think what the band we’re doing out, Woodstock is the prime one of the prime examples of that that I know of where

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urfavemcustan · 1 year

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Christmas with Carmy

a/n: merry Christmas y'all! This is a VERY rough draft lmao

The Beef closed early on Christmas Eve, giving you and Carmy some time together before Christmas Day. While the both of you had off for Christmas, you knew that it wouldn't be peaceful. You had stupidly agreed to spend Christmas with both of your families, the morning would be spent with yours and the evening spent with his. You’d be going to Sugar’s house for dinner with practically his entire family.

“Y’know it’s gonna be a shitshow,” He warned softly as you held the phone to your ear, listening to Sugar’s invitation.

“We’ll be there!” You answered, giving Carmy a cheerful smile.

So, you promised that Christmas Eve would be only for the two of you. While Carmy was at the Beef, you got the apartment ready for your Christmas movie marathon.

You had just finished wrapping his gift when you heard his footsteps in the doorway. You hurried to throw it under the tree as he walked in.

You suspiciously jumped up from the ground and ran over to him, “hi! How was work?” you wrapped you arms around him and he placed his firm hands on your sides.

He didn’t question your weird behavior as he knew had something to do with Christmas,“Awful, there was practically a rush all day,” he greeted you with a kiss, “let’s not talk about work anymore.”

“Are you ready to get festive?” You asked excitedly. It was Christmas, your favorite time of the year. Unfortunately, neither of you were able to get in spirit up until now due to your crazy work schedules. You just finished putting all the ornaments and wrapping all the gift only for it all to be over tomorrow.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he sighed with content as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. He wasn’t lying, this was the first time a Christmas celebration of his would be peaceful, “let me take a shower first and then we’ll start our first movie?”

While Carmy showered, you popped some popcorn and queued the first movie The Ref, your favorite.

Eventually, you heard the water shut off, “The pjs on the bed are for you!” You called out, referencing the matching pajamas you bought.

“Ah,” he responded. Wanting to be a good sport, he put the outfit on without a fight. It’s just us it’s just us he told himself.

“Aw so cute!” You cooed. He walked into the living room wearing the same Christmas Story pink bunny onesie as you.

“I’m glad you think so,” he shook his head. Never in a million years would he think that anyone could get him to wear something like this. Something about you was different, he didn’t mind looking stupid as long as he was with you.

The two of you got snuggled up on the couch and started binging, only pausing to grab the food you ordered in.

This day would quickly become one of your favorite memories together. While some couples planned date nights, the two of you had to plan out nights in. Your shared longing for relaxation together was finally fulfilled this one day.

“Merry Christmas,” he pressed a kiss onto your forehead and nodded to the cable box that flashed 12:00. You had truly spent all of Christmas Eve together on the couch and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Merry Christmas,” you tilted your neck up to kiss him. He deepened the kiss and you almost lost focus, nearly forgetting your 12:00 plans, “wait, I have a present for you.”

Carmy lifted an eyebrow, “yeah?” You knew he wasn’t thinking about the type of gift you were.

“Under the tree!” You playfully swatted at him.

You both sat cross legged in front of the tree, holding the gifts you got each other.

Carmy timidly handed you your gift first, “I hope you like them.” He ran his hand through his hair.

You carefully opened the delicate packaging to find the prettiest pair of earrings you’ve ever seen. They had your birthstone dangling in the center beautifully.

“Oh my God Carmy,” you gasped. You probably mentioned wanting earrings twice yet he still picked up on it. Honestly, you knew you would love any gift from him but to see how much he cares is better than anything he could’ve given you.

“You like them?” He felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“I love them Carmy thank you,” you kissed him, “now open your gift!”

Carmy was used to solely receiving gifts related to cooking. Whether it be knives, cook books from influencers he knew nothing about, aprons or useless kitchen gadgets with the one purpose of collecting dust, he’s gotten it for Christmas.

When picking out a gift for Carmy you knew not to get him anything that would suggest change to his system in the kitchen. So, you decided to get him a gift based on a different interest of his.

“Is this?” Carmy held up his gift in front him to get a better look. It was a leather jacket with patches on it.

“I hope so?” You prayed your research did you well. You knew virtually nothing about vintage clothing, “did I do good?”

He knew exactly what it was. It was a piece he’s dreamt of owning for years but never treated himself to buying.

“You did amazing. Thank you.”

#carmy x reader #carmy fluff #Carmen fluff #carmen x reader

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meltwonu · 3 years

Text

60. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole.”

80. “Don’t ruin the sofa.”

“I’ll just have to cum inside you then.”

notes; sugar-daddy!joshua, sugar-baby!reader, daddy!kink, possessive!joshua, dirty talk, degradation, name-calling, hair pulling, only a whisper of angst otherwise this would be a lil too sad! HAHAHA AND YES I AM DOING A SUGAR DADDY AU HAHAAHHA 😈😈😈 It’s been a long time coming 😗 And yes,,, I might switch some up and do some sugar-mommy moments but we will see heheh I’ve got some ideas 😮‍💨~ Also just as a reminder, my schedule is now back to normal! And you can find that info in the link in my bio that reads ‘masterlists/schedule’ just in case you’re unsure 💕 As always, thank you for requesting! Enjoy! 💕

*queued post.

Joshua sees the way you stumble out of the dark hallway of the packed club from his place in the VIP section; eyes focusing on the way you’re stumbling and smiling softly to yourself as you tug your short dress down.

Was it all his fault?

He knew he’d been too strict with his rules - too scared to give in to his emotions when you told him you actually liked him and too quick to cut ties in order to save himself what he thought would be a headache.

But now that he’d seen you for the first time in weeks, and now with a different man’s hands all over your body, he couldn’t deny the way his entire body flared up in both annoyance and arousal to claim you as his, once again.

So he does what he knows best - fingertips flying over the keyboard of his phone as he makes his way out of the club with pursed lips and furrowed brows.

‘Can you give me a courtesy and see me one more time? I’ll pay you if that’s what you want, sweetheart.’

The text comes at a mild surprise to you as your eyes dart across your phone screen and the notification of a deposit for a taxi makes you bite your bottom lip as you contemplate your options.

Joshua had ended your ‘relationship’ just a few weeks ago and you’d been trying to get over him since.

You knew at the beginning that all he’d asked for was your company and paid you for it, but down the line you found yourself wanting more than that.

And while you’d been willing to make it work despite his overly hectic schedule, Joshua had asked that the two of you end your relationship before it got too complicated on his end - claiming to be too swamped with work to add you into the mix of his worries.

But as you clambered into the backseat of a taxi, soft sighs spilling from your lips, you can’t help but deny the way your heart beats against your chest at the prospect of seeing Joshua one more time.

You’d just hoped it was for the same reason you were thinking of.

“Hello??”

Your heels clack on the marble tiles of Joshua’s penthouse - the passcode still unchanged as you’d let yourself in after a few minutes of pacing in front of his door.

“Joshua?”

“In the living room, sweetheart.”

Your heart beats against your chest at his warm voice; goosebumps rising on your skin as you make your way over to him.

He sits on the sofa with a glass of liquor in his hands - suit undone as he leans into the sofa cushions comfortably.

“You look beautiful tonight, sweetheart. Such a shame it wasn’t for me, hmm? You always wore that pretty ‘lil dress for our dates... I missed seeing you.”

You bite your lip as you awkwardly stand by the side of the sofa; fingertips playing with the short hem of your dress as you watch him take a sip of his drink before he puts it down on the coffee table.

There’s a knowing smirk on his lips as he runs his fingertips through his mussed hair and you can’t help but raise a brow when he looks at you.

“Did you let him cum inside you?”

“W--what…?”

Your breath stutters as your cheeks start to feel hot from the surprise.

How had he known that?

You shift from one foot to the other; slowly starting to feel the arousal building in your body from the way he looks you over up and down.

“I--n-no, I--I d-didn’t… I--I made him w-wear a--a condom...” You whisper back softly; too stunned to move as Joshua chuckles and stands from his spot on the sofa.

“Good. ‘Cause now I will. And I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole.”

“Ngh… ‘Shua…”

His hips rock into you from behind; his hands roaming all over your body as your fingertips dig into the sofa cushion when the head of his cock taps your sweet spot with each thrust.

“Mm, I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart… It hasn’t been the same without you here. You left quite a few of your things here, y’know? I haven’t gotten rid of them.”

Your heart does a flip in your chest as your walls clench around his cock - soft whines spilling from your lips when you feel his fingertips sliding through your locks of hair just before he tightens his grip and pulls.

“Could you imagine how I felt when I saw you in that club, stumbling out of the dark hallway pulling that dress of yours down, knowing you’d just had someone elses’ cock inside this cunt of yours? And the way I felt thinking you had his cum inside this cunt too.”

“J--Joshua…!” Your back arches as he tugs you by the hair and brings you closer to himself until your back is almost touching his warm chest.

“It made me realize how much I don’t like seeing you in that position unless it’s because of me.”

You let out a shaky moan as he lets go of your hair; your body hitting the plush cushions as he starts to double his pace.

“Mmnh… D-daddy… O--only, a-ah, d-daddy is allowed t-to cum inside--inside of my p-pussy…” Muttering, you slowly start to match his movements as you work your hips back to meet his harsh pace.

“Y-yeah? You wanna be with daddy again, hmm? Daddy’s willing to make it work for you, sweetheart.” Joshua smirks at your back as he brings a hand around to your frontside - fingertips on your sensitive clit in less than a second as you mewl out his name.

“Mmh, y-yeah… I missed, ngh, d-daddy so much… And daddy’s c-cock too…” Your toes curl with each snap of his hips that match the way he pinches and plays with your clit. “It didn’t, a-ah, f-feel the same when he f-fucked me…”

“That’s because only daddy can fuck you this good, right, sweetheart? Only daddy’s cock fills you up this much, and you’re such a good little cockslut for taking all of it inside your filthy ‘lil cunt.”

“Ngh, d-daddy…! H--harder…! M-make me c-cum...!”

He scoffs under his breath as he starts to do just what you’ve asked; your body jerking forward as your face plants into one of the sofa cushions.

“Look at you. So desperate for cock even after someone’s already fucked your needy ‘lil hole, huh? I can’t imagine what I would’ve done to punish you if you’d let him cum inside of you, sweetheart.”

Joshua licks his lips at the way your walls only suck him in deeper and by the way you’re tightening up around him, he knows you’re close to your orgasm as he starts to fuck you harder.

“But now only daddy’s cock is gonna fuck this pretty ‘lil cunt,” He leans over your back, lips kissing your shoulder as you shiver, “You’re mine, sweetheart. Only mine, okay?”

“Mmnh... Y-yes, d-daddy...”

“Good, now I want you to be a good girl and cum with me.”

You let out a cry as his cock pounds your g-spot, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you start to feel his cock throbbing inside of you.

“D-daddy, don’t r-ruin the sofa... It’s, a-ah, my favorite...” You slur out; too focused on the pleasure to speak properly.

“I’ll just have to cum inside you then. Be sure to not spill a drop of it, sweetheart.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you and Joshua chase your orgasms - loud moans mixing in with each others’ own as your orgasm finally washes over your bodies.

And Joshua doesn’t slow down his pace as your walls flutter around him; a smirk etching itself onto his lips as he fucks his cum deeper and deeper into your needy cunt as you drool onto the cushions.

“So pretty and all mine, sweetheart.” He whispers, “My good ‘lil cockslut, aren’t you?”

You nod shakily as you ride out the pleasure; oversensitivity starting to bite when he doesn’t let up and continues to play with your clit as his hips rock into your ass.

“J--Joshua... D-daddy, I’m, ngh, s-sensitive n-now...” You whine softly - hips shaking as you try to shy away from his skillful fingers.

He licks his lips, pinching your clit once more before he slows down his movements.

“How many?”

“H-huh...?” You wipe the drool from the sides of your lips as Joshua keeps your pussy full of his cock and cum. “H-how many w-what...?”

“How many guys did you fuck when you were away from me, sweetheart? Because it’s how many times I’m gonna cum in this filthy ‘lil cunt tonight.”

#Joshua smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #Joshua scenarios #Joshua imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #Joshua fic #svt fic #Joshua hong

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bevioletskies · 3 years

Text

the first time (ever i saw your face)

summary: On their six-month anniversary, Apollo and Klavier decide to pose a seemingly harmless question: what did they think of each other when they first met? As it turns out, the topic is a little more complicated than they originally thought.

word count: 4.9k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day one of seven (prompt: "firsts"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some distant point in time after Spirit of Justice where Apollo and Trucy have learned that they’re siblings. Mild spoiler warning for the end of Apollo Justice; warning for brief mentions of alcohol. Fic title is from the song The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face by Roberta Flack.

“...why does this look like something out of a direct-to-streaming movie adaptation of a YA novel that has a three-star average rating on Goodreads?”

“If you’re trying to say you don’t like it, baby, you could just say so.”

“No, no, I - I’m actually kinda into it. It’s like we’ve walked onto the set of a staged proposal, though if you ask me to marry you right now, I will start laughing.”

Klavier sighed. “I’m starting to think the phrase ‘romance is dead’ was invented specifically for you.” Nevertheless, he tugged gently on Apollo’s hand. “Come on, liebe, I got our favorite snacks, I queued our favorite movies...and before you ask, nein, there is no engagement ring, so stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not...totally opposed to getting married, you know,” Apollo added as he followed Klavier. “It’s just...it’s a little early for me. This is only our six-month anniversary, after all.”

“Fair enough,” Klavier hummed, the two of them settling down in their spots. He’d learned long ago that Apollo wasn’t one for flashy, photo op-worthy dates, that he preferred more intimate, low-key settings. And so, for their six-month anniversary, Klavier had taken them to his family estate. He had cleared out the conservatory overlooking the garden of all its furniture, filling it with blankets and pillows, drapes and string lights, and a projector whose screen covered the entire back wall. It reminded Apollo of what he himself had done for their three-month anniversary - because apparently, he was that kind of person now - when he’d planned a weekend’s stay in a cozy lakeside cabin. “A conversation for another time, ja?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Apollo draped one of the blankets over his and Klavier’s laps, then lowered his head to rest on Klavier’s shoulder. Smiling, Klavier turned to briefly kiss Apollo’s temples, then reached for his laptop so he could start the movie. They spent the first fifteen or so minutes in companionable silence, sharing a bag of popcorn and a bottle of wine while they watched, until Apollo eventually spoke again. “...weird, isn’t it?”

“The movie? Not particularly,” Klavier shrugged. “If anything, I’d say the plot twist is a bit predictable.”

“No, not the movie. I mean...this.” Apollo gestured aimlessly. “You and me. Us.”

Klavier’s expression darkened somewhat. “Are you...having doubts about our relationship, Apollo?”

“Wh - no, no, not at all!” Apollo protested, sitting up. “It’s just...I guess it’s mostly weird for me. Like, if someone told me, say, a couple years ago, that I was gonna be in a relationship with you, of all people...hell, can you imagine if someone told me that on the day we met? I-I wouldn’t believe it!”

“You weren’t shy about your distaste for me, true,” Klavier agreed, his slight frown relaxing into an amused smile.

“I don’t think that’s an...entirely accurate assessment of, uh, of how I felt,” Apollo said carefully.

Now it was Klavier’s turn to straighten up, looking at him curiously. “Really?” he asked. “Then what did you think of me when we first met?”

“You first,” Apollo retorted, seemingly on instinct. He then softened. “I mean, only if you want to. I’m kinda curious.”

“I don’t mind,” Klavier reassured him, setting down his wine glass so he could squeeze Apollo’s hand. He hesitated, thinking it over. “...I expected to hate you from the very beginning, to be perfectly honest. And, for a moment there...I did.”

Apollo’s eyes widened. “Wh...what?”

“‘Disgraced Defense Attorney Dismantled By His Disciple’, I believe the headline was,” Klavier continued. He then smiled wryly. “A bit dramatic, if you ask me. But then again, I’m not a big fan of alliteration, so I might just be biased.”

“Did you really hate me?” Apollo’s shout had dropped to a mere whisper. “Because...because you didn’t wanna believe it, did you? About…what had happened. What he’d done.”

“It wasn’t all bad memories, all the time, you know.” Klavier gently released Apollo’s hand so he could brush his hair out of his eyes, though he kept his head ducked low. “We had our moments, him and I. We weren’t close, but...we weren’t estranged, either. In fact, I...I first heard your name from him, not from the papers.”

“He told you about me.” It wasn’t a question. “I guess I should’ve suspected, but I never really knew what your relationship was like...before. I mean, he never once mentioned having a brother, so I kinda assumed…”

“As everyone does,” Klavier shrugged, far too casually for Apollo’s liking. “Anyway, your question was about you and me, not me and him, ja? He told me all the usual things people have to say about you - loud, eager to please, a little bit sensitive. I didn’t think much of it at the time, other than the fact you had a strange name.”

Apollo rolled his eyes, sinking back into the cushions. “Wonderful. Fantastic. Glad to know I made a great first impression.”

“And then when the headlines came along...and Mama and Papa called…” Klavier’s face darkened once more; he cleared his throat. “I looked you up. I hadn’t bothered when I first heard your name, but I had to know. Still, I...I found almost nothing. No photos, no social accounts...nichts. Just a single line on a college graduate roster and the same articles I’d been reading before.”

“...I see.” Apollo fiddled with the ends of his blanket, just so he would have something to do with his hands. “So, when we finally met in person…”

_____

The first thing Klavier noticed was Apollo’s eyes - large, round, expressive to a fault. The color of melted chocolate, though in the sunlight, more akin to the color of honey. Those eyes of Apollo’s, curious and maybe a little bit accusatory, narrowed right at him as he arrived at the entrance of People Park. He internally winced at the sight of Apollo’s companion, who was arguing with the police officer standing guard at the scene. Despite the time that had passed since he last saw her, he could never forget Trucy Enigmar-now-Wright.

Are you working for Phoenix Wright now? Klavier wanted to ask as he approached them. Why? Don’t you know what he’s done? Don’t you see what he’s become?

“I must say I'm used to being inspected by the ladies...but this is the first time I've felt this way with a man,” he said instead, leaning forward to smile somewhat condescendingly at them. Klavier was momentarily struck by how similar they were - how their hair was the exact same shade of brown, how the dusting of freckles across their identically shaped noses matched too perfectly, how their furrowed brows and perplexed frowns were one and the same. The only difference was their eyes, hers more the color of a stormy sea. Perhaps there’s a song lyric there? Klavier mused to himself. Ach, now is not the time.

“Mr...Gavin?” Apollo said disbelievingly, his eyes now widening. His arms, previously crossed tightly against his chest, fell to his sides. The motion caught Klavier’s eye, drawing his attention to the glint of the golden bracelet sitting on Apollo’s left wrist. He wondered if there was some sort of significance to it, what with the way Apollo clutched it tightly with his right hand.

“Ah, fräulein,” Klavier continued, his eyes flickering back upwards. He wondered if she knew him, if she recognized him at all. Clearly, Apollo had no idea who he was; he wasn’t sure how to feel about that just yet. “What is a sweet morsel like you doing in such a dismal place? Can I help?”

“Yes! The police man officer fellow here won't let us in!” Trucy complained, huffing. She brandished an envelope in Klavier’s face, nearly swatting him on the nose as she did. He flinched slightly, surprised by how brazen she was. “We even have a letter of request!”

Klavier’s smile softened into one that was a little more genuine. He couldn’t help but be instantly charmed by her. “You must be exhausted, standing out here. I will take you to the scene of the crime.”

“Ooh! Really?” Trucy exclaimed, brightening. Apollo looked skeptical in comparison, his intense gaze traversing the length of Klavier’s body. Usually, he would have preened at the attention, been flattered by the obvious interest and maybe made a show of looking back, but he knew that wasn’t what Apollo was looking for. I am not him, Klavier thought fiercely. I am not the one you trusted, the one who taught you everything you know. I could never -

“By your leave, officer,” Klavier said with a nod and a wink. He barely heard the officer’s affirmation over his own thoughts. Then, he turned back to Trucy and tilted his head towards the park. “Very well. This way, fräulein.”

Trucy’s giggle was sweet, melodic, as she happily followed him through the entrance. He made a show of lifting the police tape for her to duck under, which she seemed easily amused by. Apollo, meanwhile, was left standing on the street, staring at them incredulously, before he finally seemed to register what was happening. “Hey! What about me?!” he cried. His voice gets raspier the louder he gets, Klavier couldn’t help but observe. Interesting.

Once Apollo had caught up, Klavier turned to grin at them both, teeth clenched beneath his lips. Trucy was rocking back and forth on her heels, beaming back, while Apollo had braced his hands on his hips indignantly, like he had something he wanted to say and was just waiting for the opportune moment to say it. Ach, those eyes, those hands, those freckles, Klavier thought rather stupidly. Wait - you’re not supposed to think he’s cute, Klavier, hör auf!

“On that note, enjoy your investigation,” he remarked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the flash of a white lab coat further into the park that told him he needed to leave if he didn’t want to be reprimanded - or worse, Snackoo-ed.

“Thank you! Will we see you again?” Trucy asked, hopeful.

Klavier hesitated. Apollo still hadn’t said a thing about the obvious elephant in the room, still staring at Klavier like he was a ghost. He wanted Apollo to say something, anything, to ask questions, to start the conversation that he himself admittedly didn’t want to take responsibility for. But Apollo was clearly stunned into silence, and any courage Klavier had had when he first walked up to them moments ago was long gone.

“Ask the wind, fräulein. I'll be riding on it,” he said, shooting them one last saccharine smile. He could hear the click-click of Ema’s shoes against the cobblestone as she approached. With that, he turned and left, his chest aching in confusion.

_____

The silence was heavy, heavier than Apollo expected. Klavier had turned the movie volume down long ago, leaving them with nothing but the sound of their own quiet breaths. “Makes sense,” Apollo finally said, shooting Klavier a sympathetic smile. “To you, I...I jumped ship from one corrupt defense attorney to another. At least, that’s what it seemed like at the time, right?”

“Part of me wanted to confront you right then and there, but I didn’t want to do it. Not in front of everyone, especially not in front of her. But the other part of me...I just wanted to learn more about you. To get to know you before I decided whether it was a battle worth fighting. Whether he was worth defending.” Klavier then smiled back; now it was his turn to drop his head onto Apollo’s shoulder. “Besides, you were cute, and I’m weak.”

“‘Were’, huh?” Apollo teased, nudging him. “Well, I’m glad Trucy’s presence, your curiosity, and my cuteness apparently deterred you enough to walk away. To think, what would you have done if you didn’t think I was cute - ”

“Achtung, you’re such an arschgeige sometimes,” Klavier groaned, laughing. “Anyway...I got my answer in court soon enough. I could trust you, and he...he wasn’t worth defending. Not one bit.”

“No, not at all,” Apollo agreed. “Still, I’m...I’m sorry, Klav. Not for what I did, I mean, I-I had to, but just...how it all played out. How messy things got. Whenever we, y’know, come here to see your parents, I still see that look in their eyes. It’s that face that you make when you think no one’s looking.” He swallowed. “Mr. Wright says Trucy does that, too. Less now that she’s got me and Mom, but…well.”

“It wasn’t you, Apollo, it was me. It all started with me believing he wouldn’t lie to me.” Klavier’s laughter was bitter now. “Anyway, I’m starting to think we’re all a little too observant for our own good. None of us can ever let things go, nein?”

“We’d be horrible lawyers if we could,” Apollo chuckled, rubbing Klavier’s arm reassuringly. “But fine, fine, I’ll stop psychoanalyzing you now. It’s my turn, anyway.”

“I want to hear this,” Klavier said, snuggling closer. “Lay it on me, baby. Tell me how you fell for me in two seconds flat.”

“I’m gonna lay into you in two seconds flat if you don’t let me talk,” Apollo said dryly, elbowing him again. “I, uh, I don’t think I remember it as clearly as you do, but…”

_____

��Excuse me, coming through.”

It was a voice, a smooth, musical voice, polite but firm, that caught Apollo’s attention first. He turned in its direction, confused by how familiar it felt, how similar it sounded to another voice he knew, but with a light, lilting cadence and a strangely affected accent whose origins he couldn’t quite place.

“Ah! It’s you! Mr. Gavin!”

Apollo’s eyes widened, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, then narrowed at the sight before him. Striding towards them with a swagger in his step was a man who, as far as Apollo could tell, was supposed to be behind bars. Only, his skin was a few shades darker, his hair a shade or two lighter, and he was wearing, for reasons Apollo couldn’t fathom, eyeliner and leather and chains instead of a neatly-pressed suit and wire-rimmed glasses. Who’s THIS guy? Apollo thought, his stomach turning.

“I must say I'm used to being inspected by the ladies...but this is the first time I've felt this way with a man,” the man said, leaning in close; his smile was a little wider than Apollo would have liked. Apollo also didn’t want to think about how pretty he was, how long his eyelashes were or how smooth his skin seemed to be. This can’t be him, Apollo decided, though he was still frozen in place. He could only vaguely feel Trucy’s fingers tugging gently on his shirt sleeve. No, it can’t be - it’s not - but who -

“Mr...Gavin?” Apollo said stupidly. He felt a phantom pinch on his left wrist; he released his arms from where they were crossed so he could rub the spot where it hurt, though the moment he touched it, he realized he hadn’t been in pain at all. The man’s eyes flickered down, following his fingers in curiosity, before moving back up to continue smiling beatifically at Trucy.

“Ah, fräulein,” he said; he was practically simpering now. “What is a sweet morsel like you doing in such a dismal place? Can I help?” Apollo barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Of course, he internally sighed, he’s one of those guys.

“Yes! The police man officer fellow here won't let us in!” Trucy whined, shoving the envelope in the man’s face. Apollo had to bite back a laugh at his startled expression, a contrast to his otherwise indifferent smile. “We even have a letter of request!”

“You must be exhausted, standing out here,” the man murmured sympathetically, eyes sparkling. He seemed intrigued, though Apollo couldn't blame him. He supposed he and Trucy looked like a completely mismatched pair. “I will take you to the scene of the crime.”

“Ooh! Really?” Trucy exclaimed, her entire face lighting up. Apollo tried not to smile himself; her energy was infectious. Then, the man’s words finally clicked in his mind. Wait - really?! But why would he - how can he - who is he?

“By your leave, officer,” the man ordered, winking. A pleasant shiver went down Apollo’s spine, one that he was trying his best to ignore. No good was going to come out of that train of thought, not when this man was clearly someone he needed to worry about - though in what way, he wasn’t sure yet. He seemed too generous, too open. Whether he was a police officer, a detective, or, god forbid, a prosecutor, Apollo didn’t trust him not to lead them astray, not one bit. “Very well. This way, fräulein.”

Before Apollo knew it, the man was walking away with Trucy in tow, leaving him behind. “Hey! What about me?!” he shouted, jogging after them. By the time he caught up, both of them were grinning at him amusedly, as if watching him trip over his own feet was some hysterical inside joke. Huffing, he braced his hands on his hips, ready to open his mouth and protest. The man’s gaze briefly travelled down to his hands once more. What’s that all about? Apollo wondered, confused. What’s he looking at? Is it my bracelet? It’s not that weird, is it? Wait, or can he tell that it’s -

“On that note, enjoy your investigation,” the man said, speaking a little quicker than he did before. He suddenly seemed distracted, like he couldn’t wait to get away from them.

“Thank you!” Trucy chirped, bouncing up and down on her toes. “Will we see you again?”

“Ask the wind, fräulein,” the man said, recovering. He seemed almost too focused on Trucy, like something about Apollo bothered him. Maybe he already knew who Apollo was, what Apollo had done. Was he angry? Resentful? Waiting for the right moment to strike? A shiver of a different kind tingled throughout Apollo’s body at the very thought; the phrase “kill them with kindness” was coming to mind. “I'll be riding on it.” He then left without another word, leaving Apollo to stare stupidly after him, his heartbeat in his throat.

“...who was that?” Apollo exclaimed, stunned, as if he wasn’t confused enough by everything else that was going on. His mind was racing with possibility, with anxiety that he really, really didn’t need. Before he could get into it, however, his jumbled thoughts were quickly cut off by Trucy’s surprised cry.

“Eek! Apollo, look - a c-corpse!”

_____

“...interesting,” Klavier said after a moment’s silence. “Did she really think the mannequin was a dead body?”

“Seriously, Klav?” Apollo groaned. “Surprised you didn’t fixate on the part where I thought you were pretty.”

“‘Were’?” Klavier echoed mockingly, grinning. His expression then sobered. “So...mixed feelings all around, it seems. I suppose it shouldn’t be all that shocking, though. We weren’t...total strangers, after all.”

“You practically were to me,” Apollo murmured, tangling his fingers in Klavier’s hair. Klavier leaned into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed in contentment. “At least you knew I existed, while I...he never…” He then shook his head. “Y’know, I-I’m not sure if I really wanna think about this anymore. Not if it makes us think about him.”

“It’s not one of our happiest memories, nein,” Klavier agreed, humming. “I like where we are now...where we can trust each other. There’s little I hate more than ambiguity. And not knowing how I was supposed to feel about you…”

“Sucks, right?” Apollo let out a hollow laugh. “But at least we were on the same page, in a, uh, weird way. I guess that’s always been our thing. Even when you’re driving me up the wall in court - which is all the time, so don’t even question me, I see that look on your face - we’re, y’know, generally working towards the same goal.”

Klavier’s fingers danced along the length of Apollo’s forearm, tapping out a rhythm that Apollo couldn’t quite pick out. “I’d like to think so. I was never really sure until...ach, well. You remember.”

_____

Apollo was still trembling as he exited the courtroom with Trucy by his side. She was putting on a brave face for them both, but he had a feeling that she was more torn up about what had happened than he was. He wanted to comfort her, to reassure her somehow after they’d learned the truth behind her biological father’s death, but for once, he was completely speechless.

“Polly?” Trucy’s voice was tentative. “I’m...kinda hungry.”

“I...oh.” Apollo looked at her curiously. Out of all the things he’d expected her to say, that hadn’t been one of them. “Do you wanna get something to eat? We could go to Eldoon’s if you want.”

“No, that’s okay,” Trucy reassured him. Her face then lit up. “I was actually thinking about the courthouse café! We can get cake and drinks and stuff. A little sugar goes a long way!”

Apollo smiled softly. “Sure, Trucy. Whatever you’d like.”

And so, they found themselves a small table at the courthouse café - and maybe calling it that was rather generous on Trucy’s part - with two thick slices of Swiss rolls and tall glasses of milk tea. Admittedly, Apollo still felt numb, but Trucy’s running commentary of her thoughts on the trial kept him going. “Now all we need is for Vera to wake up,” Trucy said, gripping her fork with determination. “I’m still so worried about her! What if she doesn’t - ”

“We can’t think like that, okay?” Apollo said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “We gotta have hope. That’s all we can do, you know?”

“I guess,” Trucy murmured, chewing her bottom lip fretfully. She went quiet for a minute or so, poking at the last bits of her drink’s half-melted ice with her straw. “Hey, um...Daddy says he’s meeting up with a friend later today, and he wants to have dinner. And when he says ‘friend’, he usually means Mr. Edgeworth. You know, the prosecutor?”

“Yeah, I’ve definitely heard of him.” Apollo sat up a little straighter at the word ‘prosecutor’. In his stupor over the whole ordeal, he’d barely spared a thought for Klavier; he could only vaguely guess how he was doing. “What about him?”

“I was just wondering if, maybe, you’d wanna...join us?” Trucy suggested. He’d never seen her so hesitant before. “For dinner, I mean.”

“...oh.” Apollo paused. “No, uh - not today, sorry. I should really go home and sleep all of this - ” he gestured aimlessly “ - off. I feel like I need to sleep for, like, three days straight.”

“Sure, of course,” Trucy nodded, smiling faintly. “But….you’re still coming back to the agency, right? Maybe not tomorrow, but like...in a few days?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely,” Apollo promised, surprised by how quickly he’d responded. In all his hesitation, his doubts about law and what it was meant to be, what it could be, he was finally starting to feel like the Wright Anything Agency was where he belonged.

After they finished eating, he and Trucy parted ways after a long, much-needed hug on the courthouse steps. Apollo then went to fetch his bike from the rack adjacent to the courthouse parking lot, only to spot a familiar face lingering nearby, seemingly in no rush to leave.

“...Gavin?” Apollo said carefully.

Klavier turned sharply at the sound of Apollo’s voice. His smile was a touch too wide, his eyes suspiciously glossy. “Ah, Herr Forehead,” he greeted, ducking his head; his voice sounded trapped in his own throat. “Good show in there, as always. You never fail to impress.”

“Thanks. Hey, um - I’m surprised to see you’re still here,” Apollo commented, taking a few tentative steps closer. “Don’t you have somewhere...better to be?”

“Not really, nein.” Klavier let out a short, forced laugh. “I have paperwork to do, I’m sure. But it can wait.”

“...right.” Apollo cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thanks, by the way.”

Klavier blinked. “Entschuldigung? What for?”

“For agreeing to summon your brother, and...y’know, everything after that.” Apollo found himself oddly fascinated with a few stray pebbles on the ground, nudging them around with the toes of his loafers so he wouldn’t have to look at Klavier’s face. “Look, I-I’m not gonna pretend like I know what you, or Trucy, or Mr. Wright are going through. I’m mostly on the outside looking in, so. All I really know, if I know anything at all, is that, uh...we did the right thing. Yeah?”

“Ja.” When Apollo looked up, Klavier was also deliberately looking elsewhere, staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. He’d displayed a whirlwind of emotions back in the courtroom, but none of them were quite the same as the bitter expression he was wearing right now. “...Apollo?”

Now it was Apollo’s turn to do double-take. “Huh? Wh-what is it?”

“Danke schön. For...everything. I honestly don’t think I could’ve done...any of that on my own,” Klavier confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “And I think I...I think I’m going to take a little time away from the prosecutor’s office. Not for long, mind you. Just...I need some time off. A week, maybe two. Some distance, some perspective...it would make a world of difference, achtung.” He then turned to face Apollo directly for the first time since they started talking. He looked tired, defeated, even. His posture, his expression - Apollo felt as if he was seeing an entirely different person standing before him.

Without thinking, Apollo took the last few steps forward and closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around Klavier and pulling him close. Klavier let out a startled noise; then, he hugged Apollo back, sinking his weight against Apollo’s, his forehead dropping to Apollo’s shoulder. His exhale was long, unsteady. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Apollo said, fingers digging into Klavier’s back, his face buried against Klavier’s bicep. “And if you ever wanna talk about it...I-I mean, I’m sure I’m not your first choice, but still. I’m, uh, I’m around.”

“Danke,” Klavier murmured, barely above a whisper. They stayed like that for a moment, maybe a moment too long, just holding each other in the middle of the courthouse parking lot for anyone and everyone to see. Klavier’s breath trembled against Apollo’s ear; Apollo half-expected his knees to give out from underneath him. Then, he slowly detached himself from Apollo’s grasp, carefully schooling his expression into something more Klavier-like, something brighter and blander, his teeth blindingly white in the mid-afternoon sun. “Anyway, I should really get going. That paperwork isn’t going to take care of itself, ja?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, don’t I know it,” Apollo said, letting out another strained chuckle.

“Until next time, then,” Klavier said smoothly, winking. “Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Forehead.” He didn’t wait for Apollo’s send-off, instead turning and heading over to his motorcycle, humming and twirling his keychain expertly between his practiced fingers. Apollo watched him peel out of the parking lot, silently wondering if he’d said all he wanted - no, needed - to say.

_____

“Of course I remember.” Apollo held Klavier just a little bit tighter. “But, y’know, again - not our best moment. Not by a long shot.”

Klavier lifted his head from Apollo’s shoulder so he could kiss him briefly, gently. Apollo smiled against Klavier’s lips, cupping his jaw so he could bring him closer. “But I’d still say our first kiss is more of a memory worth reminiscing over. Wouldn’t you agree, liebe?”

“It was a little dramatic for my taste,” Apollo teased, pulling back so he could affectionately nudge his nose against Klavier’s cheek, his fingers lightly pressed into Klavier’s sides. “But you’re into that sort of thing, so I’ll give it a pass. Still, let’s just agree not to cry all over each other ever again, okay? It was honestly kinda gross. And wet. And not in a fun way.”

“You’re saying you won’t cry when I propose?” Klavier asked, pouting exaggeratedly. “Because ach, I know I will.”

“Who says you’re proposing?” Apollo retorted, grinning as he prodded Klavier in the chest. “What if I get there first? What if, while you’re getting down on one knee, I just whip a ring box out of my pocket - ”

“Then I really will lose my scheisse,” Klavier murmured, his lips ghosting across Apollo’s skin. “I’m going to hold you to it, baby.”

“Can’t guarantee it’ll happen, but I’m definitely gonna try,” Apollo said, turning his head to capture Klavier’s lips once more. The two of them exchanged slow, lazy kisses for a few minutes, fingers loosely tangled in each other’s hair. In the background, the movie continued on, long forgotten; not that it mattered, seeing as they’d watched it together many times before.

Eventually, Klavier carefully detangled himself from Apollo. He passed him his wine glass, still half-full, then reached for his own and lifted it above his head. “To making new memories, ja?”

“Are we really cheers-ing ourselves? That’s pretty self-serving, literally,” Apollo said dubiously, though he still raised his glass all the same, amused by Klavier’s dramatics. “But hell, why not? To new memories that don’t involve us crying, sneezing, yelling - ”

“You make us sound like absolute disasters, achtung,” Klavier protested, chuckling. “We’re not that bad, are we?”

Apollo took a sip of his drink, then leaned in close, so close that his nose brushed against Klavier’s, his wine-stained, kiss-bitten lips stretched into a fond grin. “Nah. I think we’re doing just fine.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my first entry for Klapollo Week 2021! I've never participated in any fandom challenges/events before, so I'm super excited to see how this goes. My plan is a little overambitious, with all seven fics set in the same continuity, but in a different order. For example, this fic is actually the last, chronologically speaking, while day seven's fic is set in the middle. If you're wondering why they were crying during their first kiss, you'll have to wait until then 😉

Don't worry about any of that, though, you don't need to read the others to follow along! Day seven is technically a sequel to day five, but it can be read as a stand-alone, though I think it packs more punch if you read it after day five. They're also the longest; every other fic averages out to about four to five thousand words, whereas five and seven are over ten thousand words each. Brevity is the soul of wit? Not in my Google Docs, I am wordy as hell.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

#KlapolloWeek2021 #klapollo #kyodoroki #klapollo fic #ace attorney #ace attorney fic #myfic #long post #i've made that dumb goodreads joke before lmao #anyway happy klapollo week y'all!!

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citricacidprince · 3 years

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I don't usually do game recs but since this game has made me cry more than any other game ever I'm just gonna go ahead and do it

Like yeah I cry a lot, especially watching movies/reading books/playing games, but this game.... Holy shit I've cried about 10 separate times it ain't even funny anymore

Spiritfarer is an amazing game and for the love of all that is holy PLEASE play it

I got it cause I saw a trailer for the game and the 2D animation really stole my heart, it just looks so pretty!!!! Then I found out the game was about you helping ghosts pass on into the afterlife and then I REALLY wanted the game.

I am kinda, sensitive, about death in particular, mostly cause the concept of death terrifies me and I'm afraid I'm going to die one day without making a memberable mark on the world so you can say this game hit a really emotional mark in me. Everytime I had to say goodbye to a character, even if they weren't my favorite, it just hurt because each goodbye meant something entirely different to me.

One character, the entire time he says goodbye, just tells the PC how much he loves them, how they should never forget it, and they will always be by their side. This man wasn't even that good of a person, but despite all that I could just tell that every word he said he meant it. And it just made me cry really hard. One character says how the fear death, another says how tired they are, one doesn't even really realize what's happening, and one tells how he couldn't live without someone he lost.

Every single one of these made me cry, or at least tear up, and I just love it. Sure my face hurts and I'm constantly snotty, but it's worth it for such a gorgeous game with breathtaking writing

Sorry if that was a bit incomprehensible, I just cried real hard before writing this and just had to tell the world about how good this game is

Just,,, y'all play Spiritfarer it's really really good-

Update: while this was queued I finished the game and what the actual fuck, I think I'm just too stupidly emotional cause I didn't see that ending coming and the ending credits song made my already soft crying turn into full on bawling

It is 4/nearly 5 AM for me and this game has me cry harder and more often than any other game in my whole life

My face is red and hurts from me rubbing it, my eyes hurt, I have a headache from tears and I wanna nap

Please play Spiritfarer it's really good

#you probably wont cry and thats fine #im just a bit of a weapy b i t c h #i cry over fictional things so easily #literally a character kept telling me how much he loved me and how bright i was and that hes sorry he wont be around longer and just-#aaaaaaa that hurt a LOT #spiritfarer

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mollydollyjournals · 3 years

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I wrote an intro in October 2020 when I made this page but I'm gonna try to write a more concise one. The old one is here and is specifically about my ED history. But other than that, this is my vent blog, and:

I guess you can call me Molly or Dolly or something like that. I guess pronouns are she/they but you can use whatever pronouns you see me as, it's cool

I'm 30 years old. I'm not very good at it. I'm kinda childlike and basically get babysat when I hang out with people my own age or even younger, but I also learned to build a computer in 1996 and witnessed the golden age of emo (but I was goth/grunge at the time and I hated emo. Sorry MCR)

Unfortunately I'm English

Im biracial/mixed race, 2nd gen immigrant. In the US you'd call me light skin black. You might see me refer to myself as black or mixed race depending on context

I'm autistic and have ADHD. One of those "mild autism" cases which really just means you wont think I'm autistic but you will think I'm weird, meanwhile I'm getting major stress symptoms from trying to function in a way that's not necessarily natural to me. Like living in a country where I understand the language conversationally but I'm not a fluent native. I also forget everything. It's really a talent

I have BPD and extremely bad depression. I've been on Prozac a long time. I struggle with anxiety a lot. I'm very awkward and shy, even among awkward and shy people. If you message me and I dont message back, I probably felt like I'd be bothering you. Even if you think it's obvious it's okay or I'm normal or whatever. I'm very insecure and I try to avoid putting that on people by essentially backing off entirely. That's what this blog is about.

I run on Mars time. I have like a 25hr body clock or something so I will just be awake later and later until I'm nocturnal and then later again until I'm back on daytime. I'm in GMT but at some point in a 4-6wk period I'll match with everyone

Former gifted kid. Got a lot of trauma related to school and formal education. Y'all know what's up

I have an alcohol problem. I always have one vice or another. Going cold turkey never works for me with anything (I also used to SH daily and smoke and I quit both of those so I am familiar with how my mind works to some extent) so I often give myself goals for staying sober a set amount of time so I'm at least not going back to drinking every day. I've been seriously ill due to drinking at least twice

I have other physical health issues like hypothyroidism that put me in that spiral of 'need to do many things to deal with this' but also 'can't even do as much as most people'

Bisexual but inexperienced, gender is what, idk I forgot what else to say

I hate conservatives. Fuck the Tories. Black lives matter. Trans rights are human rights. Sex work is work. Homeless people are people. Gender roles are bullshit. We all grew up with certain ideas but we can all try to learn and do better and these people just aren't trying. So punch a nazi.

Im not monogamous. Hb = (mostly estranged) husband, bf = (sparsely interacted with) boyfriend. They know about each other and all is consensual. Im a shit liar anyway I could never two time. It was all good once, and then the pandemic and other stresses happened.

I'm pretty sure there is approximately one person who fits the above criteria so if you know me irl then...you probably dont wanna be here since this is where I vent about the stuff everyone ignores on my regular social media.

And gdi if it ain't the most ADHD thing ever to say I'm gonna write a shorter intro and then it ends up still being a rambly piece of shit

(Also my posts are usually queued)

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rafecameron · 3 years

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dancing on my own

request: Angst with no happy ending? How abt *insert actor/character* getting married and their ex (the reader) kinda 'forcing herself' to go to the wedding bc she really wants to see their mutual friends again but like doesn't wanna see the wedding. And reader just watching the love of their live get married and be happy with someone else and their heart silently being ripped apart? Too cruel?

pairing: ex!luke patterson x reader

word count: 2.1K

warnings: heartbreak, no happy ending

a/n: here you go cruel anon. turns out im not that great at heartbreak but hopefully this makes your heart crack a little bit. (also idk if people read authors notes but my requests are currently closed!)

Y/N thought back on all the times she could have turned around. When she was getting into her car. When she reached the airport. When she queued to board the plane. When she checked into her hotel. When she began to get ready. Now she was facing the very last time she could turn around. Stood outside the venue, all dressed up with no one to walk her inside. But just like the times before, she didn’t turn around, she pushed on. Her heart breaking a little more with each step, she knew that surely by the end of the night there would be nothing left but crumbs. She had promised herself two things before this trip. Number one; she would not speak to him. Number two; she would not cry. She wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to keep either of the promises to herself, but repeating them in her head made her feel that little bit calmer.

She situated herself beside a table lined with drinks, helping herself to a flute of champagne. She was anxious for the doors to be opened so she could find a seat, somewhere in a corner at the back would suit her just fine. Out of sight of anyone who would surely recognise her, she had no intentions of engaging in conversation until the reception. But seeing as what was happening today she should have known it would be her unlucky day.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a voice speaks beside her and she turns, landing eyes on someone she had not seen for far too long. His suit was tailored perfectly to his body, his long hair tied in a bun at the back of his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” He pulls her into a hug.

“I wasn’t sure I would either,” she admits as she pulls away, “I wasn’t going to, but I wanted to see everyone...most people.”

Willie laughs softly, “I’m glad you’re here, sit beside me?” He asks, motioning with his head towards the doors that were being pulled open.

“Oh, I was just gonna sit in the back,” she stumbles over her words as Willie takes ahold of her hand, “Aren’t you going to sit with Alex?”

“He’s preoccupied.” Willie states simply, ignoring her protests as he pulls her towards the front of the room to take a seat in the front row.

She sighs as she sits down beside him. The sick feeling in her stomach growing as the room slowly became more and more full, people lining up on the benches and getting ready to watch the ceremony.

Willie reaches down and takes ahold of her hand again, giving it a light squeeze and offering a comforting smile, “You don’t have to stay.” He whispers.

“I do.” She nods, “I want to see everyone, I won’t stay all day but I need to at least say hello now I’m here.”

Willie nods his head, squeezing her hand one last time and patting her knees before turning back to face forward, the ceremony would be starting any minute and she found that her eyes were glued to the pattern on the floor.

For the entirety of the ceremony she didn’t look up. She didn’t want to risk meeting his eyes, didn’t want to see her friends sympathetic looks and definitely didn’t want to see the bride looking beautiful in her white dress. She tried her best not to listen, she couldn’t stomach hearing the vows and knew if she heard the words I do in his voice she’d cry. So she thought about anything else but what was happening in front of her.

She finally looked up when the couple was safely past her line of sight, eyes instantly meeting that of an old blonde friend. He gave her a wave, she was sure the smile was supposed to make her feel better but she just felt more pathetic. Why was she even here? She’s sure the invite was out of politeness and not an actual invitation to come. And if her friends were going to be tiptoeing around her and treating her like a porcelain doll she wasn’t sure she could cope. The nicer people were to her about this the more likely it was she would break down.

She didn’t want to think about it, about him, sure she was at his wedding but that didn’t mean this day had to be about him. She wanted to have a catch up with her friends, avoid her ex the whole night and then go back home, cry with a bottle of wine and forget this whole thing ever happened.

“I’m glad you came.” Alex says as he reaches her, pulling her into a hug, “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, it’s good to see you too.” She responds truthfully, “Can we go to the reception? I think I need a drink already.”

Alex laughs, taking Willies hand in his own and leading the way towards the after party. The amount of people that were there she was sure she would be able to avoid the groom for the night. She found herself situated on a table with her friends, helping herself to a glass of wine and making sure the bottle was kept close to her.

No matter how excited she was to see her friends she found that now she was here she was finding it hard to hold a conversation. The group around her were still familiar with each other, still seeing each other and having things to talk about, she felt a little like a spare part. But still she smiled along and listened to their conversation. Something about a recent party they had attended where Reggie had drank a little too much, she laughed along with them unsure of what else to do. The more they spoke and tried to involve her in the conversation the more she realised she didn’t really know the people around her anymore. Sure she had good memories with them and she would always consider them her friends, but she didn’t really know them.

The best thing about weddings it that you can be invisible if you wanted to be. The bride and groom were always busy, everyone wanting to talk to them and congratulate them, and the drunker the guests got the easier it was to slip away from conversations and merely watch the scenes unfold. Which is exactly what she did. She watched her friends get drunk and progressively louder, not noticing anymore if she wasn’t joining in their conversation. If the night continued this way she was certain she would make it out in one piece.

She thought she was doing a pretty good job of avoiding the one person she feared seeing the most. But halfway through the night a hand landed on her shoulder and a familiar scent filled her nose. She felt her skin ignite where his fingers touched and she begged the butterflies in her stomach to go away, to fly away and disappear forever.

Turning in her seat she finally meets his eyes for the first time that night, forcing a smile onto her face as she stands up and allows him to pull her into a hug. Her heart hammers in her chest and she uses every ounce of will power within her to not shed any tears, she felt the epitome of pathetic. Wanting to cry at a wedding like she was in a bad romcom movie. Only if this were a movie she’d get the guy, or a second guy would come sweep her off her feet and make her forget the first one was ever there. She didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

“Thanks for coming.” Luke smiles, “You look great, that colour really suits you.”

She returns his smile with a tight lipped one of her own, “Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself.” She attempts a light hearted laugh.

She looked away, she couldn’t stand looking into his eyes any longer, his gaze intense and stirring way too many different emotions inside of her. She wanted him to be horrible to her, to tell her to leave and never come back, not to tell her she looks great. How was she ever supposed to get over him when he was nothing but nice to her all the time. She wished he had done something at the end to allow her to hate him. Cheat on her maybe, or tell her he never loved her, then maybe she’d stand a tiny chance of getting over him and moving on with her life. Instead he was selfish and kept her at arms length because he knew he always could and that should have been enough for her to stay away, but she just couldn’t.

“Congratulations,” she looks back at him, eyes settling just above his to avoid his gaze, “You seem really happy, I wish you all the best.”

“Thanks,” he smiles and it’s genuine, something which breaks her heart a little more.

Of course she wants him to be happy, but a bigger part of her wants him to be happy with her and not anyone else. She knows that’s selfish, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to wish it into existence no matter how futile she knows it is.

“Have you met Jess?” He asks, placing a hand on her shoulder as though about to lead her somewhere.

“Oh, no I haven’t but she looks busy,” she quickly shrugs his hand off, the bride she could see from the corner of her eye, laughing at something another guest had said, “I’ll introduce myself later.” She lies.

The only thing she could think that would be worse than this wedding was having to actually meet the bride. To meet her replacement, the better version. The one who had stolen his heart and been worth enough to keep it forever. She forces a smile and excuses herself to the bathroom.

As she reaches the bathroom she can feel her eyes stinging, shutting herself in a cubicle she fans her face, determined not to let a single tear fall. She had made a promise to herself and the least she could do was keep it. She leant her head back against the door, letting out a shaky breath to compose herself.

Once she was sure she wouldn’t cry she exited the bathroom again, thankful to see that he was no longer at the table she had just ran from. She took her seat and no one asked where she had been or if she was okay, she was glad for that at least.

As the night wore on she thought she was doing okay, one little hiccup but no tears since, she’d even found herself genuinely laughing at a couple points. He’d spoken to her and she hadn’t thrown up on his shoes, he had no reason to try and speak to her again.

But then it was time for the first dance and she felt her chest tightening. Her calm composure being over taken by a sinking feeling of dread. She watched for a minute, watched him hold her close and smile. Watched him lean in to kiss her gently before spinning her under his arm and pulling her back in. She wished more than anything that it was her in his arms, her who he still looked at like the world shone behind her eyes. But it would never be her again, and his bride she was sure was far more beautiful than she could ever hope to be.

She watched as more dancers joined the floor, her friends among them. She tried to smile, but the sight was too much for her. Her friends laughing and dancing with their loved ones while she sat on the side lines and watched feeling like a stranger. The slow music a melancholy soundtrack to her emotions, reminding her of something she could never have.

She stands from the table, dragging her eyes over each person she knew, lingering on Luke for a moment longer before she turned and walked out of the room. She knew that this would be the last time she ever saw him, because she knew seeing him happy with someone else would be a slow form of torture. So she walked away, from him, from her friends forever, leaving whatever little pieces were left of her heart behind. By the time she exited the building she felt nothing more than a hollow shell and she finally let the tears fall.

tags: @lovesanimals @makebank @chrlsgillespie @crybabyddl @marinettepotterandplagg @caitsymichelle13 @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @alexpjoyner @meangirlsx

#luke patterson x reader #luke patterson fic #luke patterson imagine #jatp fic #my writing

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parkersharthook · 3 years

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Love For All

Peter Stark-Rogers & Stark-Rogers!reader (twins)

warnings: mentions of drinking/being drunk, pretty fluffy

1.8k+ words

series masterlist

a/n: happy pride month (lol I queued this in february just so I didn’t forget to post it) anyways im bi and pls know my page is a safe space for everyone 💗💜💙

Fluffy piece where Tony and Steve are chosen as the grand marshalls for the pride parade and it becomes a family affair.

“this just in, you all officially have the coolest dads in history!” Tony bellowed as he dramatically entered the common space, Steve right behind him with a plethora of eye rolls.

Right as you were about to protest, Bucky chimed in, “neither of you are my father.”

“with the way I’ve saved your sorry ass? Might as well be.”

“saved my sorry ass? Oh Stevie, have you forgotten who pulled your ass out of every back alley fight you got into? Or have the years 1932 to 1941.”

“I did not start a fight in 1932!” Steve argued back, hands placed firmly on his hips.

“bullshit! 5 years old, playground 2 blocks over, Arthur Williams.”

Steve frowned slightly, “damn I forgot about that.”

Beside you Peter snorted, “you got into a fight when you were 5?”

“Wow darling, you came out of the womb with righteous indignation didn’t you?” Tony added with a small smirk as he moved to rest against the back of the couch.

Steve threw his hands up in defeat, “oh haha laugh it up. Yes I’m old, yes I’m stubborn. Can we please just go back to how we’re cool?”

“Wait before that, back to the ‘not my fathers thing’ does this mean you see yourselves as the team fathers? Because if you’re adopting more people, I want in!” Clint said cheerfully.

“Sorry we capped out at four.”

You stuck your tongue out at Clint with a little ‘ha ha’ because you were mature like that. “anyways… why do you think you are the coolest dads? I wanna get my rebuttal in soon.”

Tony bopped the back of your head playfully as he dropped a very rainbow piece of paper into your lap. Peter instantly leaned into your space to read it. You pushed him back with a shove to the forehead. “relax nerd I’m gonna read it out loud.”

“hurry up I’m getting antsy.” You threw an unimpressed look at Clint who had practically crawled into Bucky’s lap to get closer, not that Bucky minded.

“Chill.” You smoothed out the paper and held it up, “All hail the next Grand Marshals of NYC Pride, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. We are happy to formally announce the two superheroes and super husbands as our fearless leaders of the float parade this year.”

“That’s the public announcement they put out, turn it over to read the letter they sent us.”

“Dear Mr. Anthony and Steven Stark-Rogers, we are so excited to welcome you into our NYC Pride Parade family. As this year’s appointed Grand Marshals it is both our duty and pleasure to pass the Pride Baton over to you. Included in this letter you will find the rules and expectations of our Grand Marshals, as well as what is permitted for first floats. We would love if you extended this invitation to your entire circle of family and friends to join you in the parade and on your float.”

You put the paper down and tilted your head back to stare at your dad, “you? Grand Marshal? Really?”

“What’s so shocking about that?”

“umm…. You’re old and not cool.”

Bucky sputtered a laugh beside you as Tony bopped you on the head again.

“Was this your way of telling us to come to pride with you?” Peter asked.

Steve shook his head as he flopped into a nearby loveseat, “actually this was our way of telling you that we need your help coming up with ideas for the float and how to decorate it. But of course we want you to join us on the float, we’ll be inviting the rest of the team as well.”

“I’ll help decorate but Bi-derman is making another appearance this year.”

Tony slapped his forehead, “can you take your old suit at least? The paint was a bitch to get off last time.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “the old suit chafes.”

You grimaced, “I hate this conversation.”

“I think you should do a dog themed float, Lucky can be our mascot.”

Bucky sighed, “of course that’s your suggestion.”

“what about the history of pride? Recognizing the Stonewall Riots and the two black transgender females that started it all. Plus then we can also advocate for Black Lives Matter. Make it clear that to support one, you have to support the other. Educate and entertain.”

Tony smiled, “that’s not a bad idea y/n.”

Steve looked at you with hopeful eyes, “are you willing to help organize and coordinate?”

“can I invite friends to help?”

“yes.”

You smiled, “then yes.”

------

“when I said organize and coordinate, I didn’t mean take over the conference room we use regularly for avengers meetings.” Steve said with a deep sigh

“it’s the only one with a vending machine.” MJ helpfully pointed out, taking another large bite of her pizza slice.

“yeah it was the only way to get Clint to sit through meetings without leaving to get food.” Steve explained as he stepped into the room and took in the large array of papers everywhere. The four teenage girls that occupied the room were all busy with one thing or another, looking intense and determined.

MJ snorted, “figures.” Her hand ghosted over the page again, dragging the pencil with it and creating another addition to her sketch.

Steve’s brow furrowed for a moment and he took a step closer to get a better look, “is that me?”

MJ nodded coolly but offered no other explanation. Betty huffed a laugh, “we’re trying to design both you and Mr. Stark crown-like head pieces.”

“crowns?”

You rolled your eyes, “Pops, you really do only hear what you wanna hear. Crown-like head pieces. I know dad would go for a full ass crown but I knew you wouldn’t and we want you two to match.”

Steve studied the photos of celebrities that were projected on the wall. “and that?”

“The 2018 Met Gala. Theme: heavenly bodies. There were a bunch of great head pieces that night, we’re using it for inspiration.” Gwen supplied, “let us know if there’s any you like.”

“I wanna go in a Cardi B direction.” You stated without taking your eyes off your computer screen, you’ve obviously already committed every possible headpiece to memory.

“don’t taint his selection with bias!” Betty cried

MJ waved her off easily, “there’s no way he knows who Cardi B is.”

“thanks for the confidence MJ.” She just smiled cheekily at him.

“I think he should choose something like what Frances McDormand was wearing.” Gwen stated with a small smile

MJ laughed, “as much as I think that would look amazing, there’s no way he’s picking that.”

“who’s this?”

You barely had to glance at the photo to recognize the red and gold dress and of course the iconic headpiece, “Black Lively.”

“Okay well I like that, it’s simple.”

“what about…” Gwen drawled as she typed something and new photo, a larger one, took over the whole wall, “Something like SZA’s?”

Steve took a step back and grimaced slightly, “it’s kinda… big.”

“But if it were smaller?” Gwen pressed politely

“I suppose.” Steve glanced around at the four girls. “You guys have a lot of stuff planned.”

“Oh yeah.” You looked up with a big grin, meeting your dad’s eye. “It’s gonna be great.”

“You’re not designing us costumes too are you?”

“Well Tony specifically said not too and that he already had something planned.” MJ said before eyeing Steve up and down with the critical eye of an artist, “But we could design something if you wanted us too.”

“No, I kinda of already have a plan too.”

You rose a questioning brow, “oh yeah? Please tell me you’re not going to be wearing something boring.”

Steve rolled his eyes at you and obnoxiously bumped his hip into your side as he walked out, “I’m not clueless on how to dress for Pride. Plus, I like dressing up for it, it’s fun. And it’s not something we got to do back then. I’m planning on taking full advantage.” And with that he walked out dramatically and closed the door.

Betty laughed slightly, “ten bucks that he paints the shield.”

Gwen shook his head, “No way. I think he’s gonna wear one of the flags as a cape.”

MJ clicked her tongue, “I know for a fact he’ll be wearing his ‘trans rights are human rights’ shirt.” Pause. “and probably his rainbow pants.”

You looked at MJ with a perplexed expression, “why do you know about my dad’s rainbow pants?”

MJ smirked slightly, “he wore them to pride a few years ago. Plus, me and peter talk about things. You’re not the only Stark-Rogers twin I hang out with.”

Gwen obnoxiously nudged Betty with her elbow and a large wink, “Oh yeah… she talks to Peter.” MJ scowled at the two as you snickered behind your hand.

MJ grumbled slightly, “let’s just get back to work.” It was silent in the room until the three other girls heard MJ mumble, “I never have to deal with this at college.”

You burst into a fit of laughter.

------

Pride was without a doubt a 100% success.

The float looked great. The area had already been swept for trouble. One Grand Marshal was moderately drunk. And Everyone was dancing and partying. Perfect.

Even the float attendees looked great. Clint was the brightest of the all. With no shirt on, glitter all over his chest, a rainbow tutu around his hips, tight purple booty shorts underneath, knee high socks with the pan pride flag on them, plus his signature purple converse… he looked good.

You’ve been snickering every time you catch Bucky not so subtlety looking Clint up and down. But that being said, Clint was doing the same to Bucky because he had someone managed to get the stoic and whiney super soldier into a rainbow button down. Nothing else, as that wasn’t Bucky’s jam. He paired the shirt with simple jeans but you were sure that he would be covered with glitter later.

Peter had been swinging around the parade, his first Stark suit now painted a vibrant pink, purple, and blue. Plus there was a large, messily painted on heart over where the spider sat in the middle of his chest.

You and all your friends had taken up the dance floor on the float, and if you said so yourself, you all were killing the dance moves.

Tony was more than tipsy because Bruce was on babysitting duty tonight for Morgan, so he let himself go and lean heavily against his husband, who just grinned at him all lovingly.

In the end, it was a good day. You threw beads and candy to the crowd, joining them at times for drinks and dance parties. You laughed endlessly with your friends and your family. And yeah… it was a good day.

Plus, all your friends had been correct.

Steve wore his trans shirt in solidarity with the ongoing movements and the float.

He wore his rainbow pants because they were “super fashionable y/n” and to support everyone.

He painted his shield purple, blue, and pink to show off his own sexuality and support Peter.

And he had a pansexual flag tied around his neck to match with Tony’s pink, yellow, and blue shirt.

He looked great.

#marvel #spiderman #reader #peter stark rogers #peter parker #superfamily #reader insert #peter parker & reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #superfamily fanfiction #superfamily imagine #reader fanfiction #reader imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #stark!reader #stark-rogers!reader #emma writes

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thetomorrowshow · 3 years

Text

i will make the sky collapse ch. 3

First - Previous - Read on AO3!

Ok this post is queued bc y’all will not believe how busy I am, so it’ll be on ao3 a little late

CW: referenced violence, food, brief allusion to suicide, spiraling thoughts (from mr. jack kelly himself)

Jack had been here all day. When he ran from the rooftop after the disastrous strike, he’d snuck in through the backdoor of the theater and curled up in a corner, shaking and gasping and barely holding back tears. He’d been so close to just throwing himself off the rooftop, close enough that he knew he couldn’t stay there.

Now he hid behind the various set pieces, trying to not disturb anyone who still might be working around here this late. Not that there should be anyone, now. He’d even completely avoided Miss Medda. The woman liked to believe that she knew everything that went on around the theater, and Jack was content enough to let her. He couldn’t be found right now, though. Not when his nose burned and eyes smarted and knees wouldn’t stop shaking.

He would talk to Medda in the morning. It was late now, and all the lights were out, so it wasn’t like he had much of an option otherwise. Talk to her, maybe paint a background or two . . . maybe she would pay him like she offered . . . then he would be out of here, as soon as he could get Crutchie.

Crutchie. His heart practically split in half, and a tear finally slipped down his nose. They got Crutchie. They took him to the one place Jack had tried to save him from his entire life.

He had plans to head there near dawn tomorrow--after he’d spent another day planning things out. It shouldn’t be too hard to get him--or it wouldn’t, had it been anyone other than Crutchie. Any other boy would figure out how to climb down the wall, but it would be impossible without all working limbs. Crutchie’s bad leg wouldn’t be able to support him at all, especially not after the beating he’d taken in the Square (and definitely not after whatever Snyder and his goons had done so far during his stay, but Jack didn’t like to think about that). Jack could go in the front, the only door . . . but there was no way someone wouldn’t see him. There was always a guard or three hanging around, if not the Spider himself. And how would he get Crutchie down the stairs all by his lonesome?

A tiny voice spoke up in the back of his head, one that he’d been pushing down all evening. You coulds just go, it said. Forget about him, forget about all of them. Just go.

I can’t do that, Jack wanted to cry. He’s my brother, I can’ts just abandon him to Snyder!

People don’t stay in our lives forever, Jack, it reminded him. He’d never make it to Santa Fe, anyhow.

Jack couldn’t deny that. Maybe on a better day, in a better month. Maybe when Crutchie was grown, and his leg had calmed down a bit. Not now though, certainly not tomorrow. If Jack was going to leave soon, he was going to do it on his own. He didn’t want none of the others to come with him, anyhow. Only Crutchie.

Jack drew a hand across his tear-stained face, wincing as he brushed one of his bruises. Maybe in the morning he’d have a clearer head, a better understanding of what on earth he was meant to do. It wasn’t like the strike could continue, after all. They’d all end up in the Refuge for sure, or even worse. He’d seen Romeo get socked by that cop, had no idea how he was doing. If they kept on striking, more police would come, better armed and with no qualms about a bunch of stupid street rats.

None of them, save maybe Les, had escaped with zero injuries. Everyone was bleeding and bruised and crying and Crutchie was in the Refuge, and it was all Jack’s fault for getting the riled up about this in the first place. They were just kids! None of them knew what a union was supposed to be, even if Davey knew a bit about them! They were just children playacting at being adults, thinking that the trolley workers were probably having a good old time with no work while they got arrangements for better conditions, not even caring that there were full grown men dying in that strike. People died in strikes, and Jack couldn’t let it happen to any one of his boys, not before they properly got to be a person yet.

So he would leave--no, sleep on it, but he was fairly certain of his choice. Leaving, having to trust that the others would quit the strike and just deal with the raise in prices. That Crutchie would be out in a few months and be good enough to get right back to business, and maybe smiling that face-splitting smile of his eventually. Jack had to believe that he’d--that they’d all--be okay.

He couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in his stomach as he balled his shirt up into a pillow, nor could he stop a few more tears from wetting his cheeks. This was going to be by far the hardest and worst thing he’d ever done. He just had to hold on to Santa Fe. Everything was going to be fine when he got there.

Medda had given him one of those disapproving looks of hers, which Jack tried to ignore as his face burned. It had turned to blatant concern when he didn’t refuse her offer of payment. She had let it go, thankfully, and now he was waiting for the base white layer of paint to dry so he could start with the reds and oranges of a sunset. He’d already been waiting for what felt like way too long, so he stuck his thumb to the corner of it. It left a print and came back white, so Jack sighed and wiped it on his shirt--his undershirt, he’d taken his blue button-up off as soon as he’d gotten the paint out.

He couldn’t just not do anything--he could feel his feet itching to go, his head clamoring for his conscious attention. He absently flapped a brush back and forth against his palm, wondering if he could start on another while he waited, get the base coat of that one done and drying while he started on the actual painting of the first one. First he ought to sign this one, though, before he forgot.

Jack always signed his work, usually just on the back of the piece. A quickly scrawled ‘Jack K--’ in black paint, something to set it aside from all the other set pieces. He also knew that the boards would get reused countless times, painted over and cut up and redesigned. It was nice to know that under all that change, his name was there.

He spun it around and cracked open the can of black paint, dipping his brush in lightly and placing it on the blank back of the slab of wood. He could do his name big, more noticeable but with a better chance of getting scraped off. Or tiny, in the corner, somewhere it’d probably stay forever. Then he realized that while he’d been considering, he’d begun painting.

A boy, small, but very clearly a newsie, by his bag. An anguished face. A crutch.

Jack nearly dropped the brush. Was his guilt getting that bad, that he was painting Crutchie out of nowhere? Well, he couldn’t leave him there all alone on the canvas, with such a terrible look on his face. So Jack dipped his brush back in the paint and began another boy, not himself--not now that he was leaving--but Davey, as he liked to think that as Crutchie and Davey would become good friends in time. But Davey needed Les, and Les needed other boys, but of course they couldn’t be painted into this. They were too busy being suffocated by Pulitzer--and with that thought, Jack knew what he was painting.

The landscape had started out as any random place, just like all of them did. Mountains, a valley maybe, warm colors and some purple thrown in to capture the magic of a stained-glass sunset, and suddenly it was Santa Fe, exactly as Jack pictured it in his head. This happened with every single backdrop, from meadows to beaches to forests. All of them were Santa Fe, even if they weren’t.

“You ever gonna paint somewhere else, Jack?” a voice asked behind him, as he surveyed his work so far. He chuckled, not turning around, holding his thumb out in front of him the way he’d seen real painters do. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he thought it looked professional-like.

“How could you tell, Miss Medda?”

“Boy, I can tell everything.”

Jack dropped his arm and set his brush down on the floor, wiping his hands on his shirt as he turned around. Medda frowned.

“You are wearing an apron, use it!”

Oh yeah, he was. He moved his hands to it belatedly, smiling a little when Medda laughed at him. She was dressed to leave, not in a costume like Jack had assumed she would be. Were the shows over already?

“I’m heading out for a quick supper,” Medda said, and Jack nodded. One of the shows was over then, the other would be starting soon. He hadn’t lost track of as much time as he thought. “Do you want me to get you somethin’?”

“Aw, don’t worry ya’self over me,” Jack waved off. Sure, he hadn’t had anything to eat all day, but he could grab himself something later. By the look on Medda’s face, she was going to worry herself over him.

“I’ll bring you a sandwich, free of charge,” she said, reaching forward to pat his shoulder. He winced; he hadn’t realized he had a bruise there. Medda gave him another look, then turned to leave. Over her shoulder, she called, “By the way, Jack, there’s someone here to see you. I told him to wait in box five.”

Jack froze. They’d found him. It had to be Davey, didn’t it? The other boys knew that he stopped by the theater every so often, but didn’t know about his paintings. They just thought he knew one of the actors, or was getting food from the back or something. Only Davey and Les knew he worked here on occasion.

Jack put off visiting the box until after Miss Medda returned and told him to get up there before she sent the kid off herself. It was time to confess, he supposed. Let them know he wanted the strike to stop, and was leaving anyhow. At least someone would be able to tell Crutchie where he’d gone. And Katherine, if she cared.

This time he remembered to wipe his hands on his apron, then bundled it up and threw it into a corner. The painting wasn’t done, but he wanted to let it all dry before adding his finishing details. Every time he’d painted before, he hadn’t waited at all and it always came out looking more smudged than he wanted, so he’d decided to experiment a bit. Maybe it would look okay.

He couldn’t put it off any longer, it was time to face the music--or, Davey, rather. Jack knew his way around the theater, so it wasn’t hard to avoid the milling patrons in the lobby completely and skip straight up to box five, ready to talk to--

Specs?

“Specs?”

Specs.

“Specs.”

Specs leaped up from where he’d been perching on the edge of one of the fancy theater chairs, looking guilty as anything. When he saw Jack, though, his face brightened. “You’re all right!”

“Yeah, better than ever,” Jack griped, his eyes caught on the nasty hand-shaped bruise wrapped around Specs’s forearm. “Whaddya need?”

“We’s thought you mighta gotten grabbed by Snyder,” Specs said, looking him up and down, no doubt taking in his relatively few injuries. “The Delanceys been sayin’ you ran. I think some o’ the fellas mighta believed it, but Race thought ya’d be here so I cames by as soon as I could!”

Jack hadn’t counted on telling anyone other than Davey where he was going, but maybe this was for the best. Davey was so new to this, there was no way he could be in charge. Race was the first to come to mind for his replacement, but Race was so stupidly impulsive that Jack wasn’t sure he would be able to keep the boys in line. Specs would do well, though, at least until a better choice came forward. Used to the life, but always a little separate from the others, focusing more on the job than the social aspect. Still, he could have fun, and he was quietly loyal. Yeah, Specs would make a pretty good replacement. Jack opened his mouth to say something along those lines when a dirty scrap of paper was shoved in his face.

“What’s this?” he said instead.

Specs looked nervous and abashed at the same time. “Letter from Crutchie,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I went ta visit last night and he askeds me to give it to ya.”

Jack stared at the paper, taking in none of its details, then shifted his gaze to Specs. His eyes looked honest, if a bit anxious, mouth curved hopefully at the corner. The scrape on his cheek was ugly, but didn’t look infected. Davey must’ve made them all clean up with soap. That was another thing he’d have to tell Specs to remember. If he was going to be in charge, he had to know that Elmer hated the texture of the soap so bad he wouldn’t use it and had to be threatened, that Race sometimes liked to impulsively smear dirt on his wounds to try and get sympathy when it got infected.

Crutchie had written to him.

Jack grabbed the letter so quickly it almost tore, sending Specs stumbling back. Now that he was focused on it, that was definitely Crutchie’s handwriting, starting out relatively neat and just devolving into larger loops and tinier scribbles as it carried on. The paper was dirty, the pencil smudged here and there, and a rusty stain in the middle of the paper that made Jack’s stomach turn as he imagined how it had gotten there.

“I’ll just be headin’ back,” he heard Specs say distantly, but Jack couldn’t look away from the letter. Crutchie had held this, just last night, and he had been alive. Well enough to write a whole letter. Well enough to still have his sense of humor (Jack snorted at his joke about the food, then remembered the sentence preceding it and immediately sobered). Maybe even well enough to escape?

His letter read that he was already coming up with escape plans of his own, which was a good sign for his morale. It also said, though, that he was exhausted and his leg was doing bad.

Well, there was no way Jack couldn’t visit him now. Early in the morning was best--probably when the moon was about halfway done setting--and from there he would see whether or not Crutchie would be coming with him. Then back to the theater to lay low for a bit and finish the backdrop (there was no way Jack would be able to even think about finishing it tonight), then catch a train to Santa Fe and be out of here forever. If Crutchie did come, though, he’d have to do at least two more sets, get enough money for the both of them to make the trip. And of course, he still had to speak to Specs about taking over. Davey would come for him eventually, so he had to come up with something to placate him.

Why did nobody tell him that running away would take so much effort and planning?

The show was starting soon, and that sandwich was still waiting for him in the back room, so Jack ducked out of the box, tucking the letter into his pocket. He had to get ready for a break-in tonight, there was no time to waste.

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

anyone can cook

rafe cameron x reader

words: 3729

warnings: usual cursing, mentions of drugs

synopsis: college au, four times you cook for rafe and one time he cooks for you

Growing up, your mom taught you the importance of food. For most of your childhood, you loved cooking with her. Learning family recipes, and spending time in the kitchen with her instead of doing homework was thrilling to you. As you aged, you started to resent it, feeling like your mother was perpetuating the harmful stereotype that women are meant to be in the kitchen.

And then you left school early and came home to see the shit your dad was putting your mom through and was forced to immediately take that hard pill to swallow. Perspective was a bitch. Your mom didn’t cook to please your dad, she cooked to keep him happy enough for you to be fooled. It was heartbreaking.

You decided then that you’d not take any time cooking with your mom for granted. She loved you and she wanted you to be happier than her. For her, you could certainly fucking try. It was all going great until the storm that knocked out power, rendered the kitchen useless, and drove your dad’s patience level to its breaking point.

He’d never been that angry before, at least not in front of you. You weren’t sure what to do as he lashed out at your mom and then you, without warning and in the end, without apology. Normally if you were upset, your mom would make cookies with you, letting you use cookie cutters and dirty unnecessary dishes. That time though, you had to figure it out alone.

When you got to college, your parents helped pay rent for your first apartment. It had a good kitchen with lots of room, and your mom bought you a ton of kitchen tools, pots and pans, and other cooking necessities as a graduation gift. Her and your dad helped you move in, and that night, with shaky hands, she held your face in her hands. Tears in her eyes she whispered, “Promise me you won’t stop cooking.”

You couldn’t stop your own tears as you gulped and nodded a little frantically, “Of course not, Mama.”

Rafe lived a very different life. His real mother wasn’t in the picture and his step mother didn’t really want kids, so his experience with cooking was very limited compared to yours. Coincidentally that’s how the two of you met, outside your apartment building at 11:48 p.m. while the fire department sorted out the disaster that was his dinner attempt.

You knew it was his fault because he was very carefully trying to make himself look small. The only reason you knew what had gone wrong was you overheard the fireman talking to the landlord saying it was just a small kitchen fire in 227 and wouldn’t be too much to fix.

It was really out of character, but you walked over to where he was sitting on the curb and sat down next to him, “227?”

His head turned toward you sharply, “Figured me out, huh?”

“You were trying a little too hard to look inconspicuous.”

He shrugged, “Didn’t want a bunch of angry neighbors.”

Which you understood, so you nudged his shoulder with yours, “Well, I’m not angry and I know, but I’m not so sure I’d risk it with her,” you pointed at a lady who seemed to be ranting into the phone.

The boy followed your point and winced, “Yeah maybe not. Cooking clearly isn’t for me.”

“What were you making?”

“Kraft mac and cheese.”

You let out a loud laugh, assuming it was a joke. But then he didn’t meet your eyes or laugh along and you quickly stopped laughing, “Wait actually?”

With a shrug, he answered, “No one really taught me how to cook.”

And here you had a choice. Years and years of stored up cooking knowledge, endless recipes memorized, and a fantastic kitchen begging to be used by more than one person made the choice obvious.

“Well then take this as my standing dinner invitation whenever you want. I’ll give you my number and you can let me know when you’re hungry.”

“So, you’re gonna what, teach me how to cook.”

“Well, we can start small. I’ll cook for you first.”

One:

The first time Rafe texted you was on a night you actually had a fridge full of leftovers, but the boy who lived alone with sad eyes deserved better than leftovers. Rafe knocked on the door a few minutes later and he was dressed similarly to the first time you’d seen him, in sweats and a hoodie, and his hands were folded nervously in front of him.

You let him in, and he followed you to the kitchen, “So what’s on the menu for tonight?” he asked.

“Chicken pot pie,” you told him over your shoulder. You’d turned the oven on to preheat and had the potatoes and carrots chopped already. He stood behind you, peering over your shoulder.

Before you could continue, he cut in, “Is there something I can do?”

You thought for a minute, “You can control the music. My phone is synced up to the bluetooth speaker and I have Spotify pulled up, so have at it.”

Rafe nodded and sat down as you put the veggies into a pot and added water to start boiling them. You quickly went into your cooking zone as Rafe sat quietly queuing up songs. They were from your chill playlist and you appreciated that he was sticking to your playlists, humming along every so often.

By the time you pulled the chicken and veggie mixture from the heat, Rafe was leaning forward in his seat, and he looked excited to see what you’d do next. Reaching down, you pulled out a glass pie tin and looked over at him, “After I press the crust down, will you help me pour the mixture in?”

Rafe nodded eagerly and you made quick work of the pie crust, motioning him to come around the counter. He looked hesitant for the first time since you’d started cooking, and you tried to smile reassuringly. Returning the smile, he moved closer, “What do you want me to do.”

You held out the potholders, “If you pour, I’ll scoop.”

He picked the pot up and slowly poured the mixture into the tin and you quickly scooped the stuff that didn’t pour. Rafe set the pot down and you held the second crust out to him to press on top. He mimicked your actions from earlier carefully, and you couldn’t help but smile. You showed him how to press the edges down with a fork and he did so, slowly. Covering the edges, you let Rafe put it in the oven and then led him to the living room to start a movie while the two of you waited for it to finish.

The pot pie was a family recipe, and when Rafe tried it, the look on his face made it worth him seeing the secret ingredients your mom added to jazz it up. It felt good seeing someone enjoying your cooking again.

Two:

You weren’t entirely sure the relationship Rafe had with his family, but on fried catfish night, Rafe showed up at your doorstep unexpectedly. Fortunately, you had a few extra, so you invited him in for dinner. It wasn’t exactly what he was gunning for when he showed up, but he’d never say no to your cooking.

While you battered and seasoned the fish, he vented about his dad.

“I just don’t understand how a 4.0 isn’t fucking good enough. He’ll never give me any credit as long as Sarah does well in school and plays volleyball, I just want to be good enough.”

His words pulled at your heartstrings, and you found yourself tearing up on his behalf. You paused the music that had been softly playing in the background, “Fuck your dad, you deserve better.”

Rafe laughed drily, “I’ve done some dumb shit, this is my karma. I just don’t like it.”

“I fail to see any mistakes bad enough to warrant a parent totally disregarding their child like that. Did you kill someone or something?”

He shook his head, chuckling, “No, I didn’t kill anyone. But I had a drug problem in high school. I’m clean now, but it was me attempting to get my dad’s attention and it all spiraled out of control. Clearly it didn’t work out the way I wanted it to because my dad just kicked me out.”

You were horrified, “He kicked you out?!”

“Yeah, I went from couch to couch for a while until checking myself into rehab so I could get clean. I was tired of being dependent on something and really I wanted to prove my dad wrong.”

“God, Rafe, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged and you started heating the oil up to start frying. There was an extended pause before he softly continued, “He didn’t let me move back in, even when I showed up clean. News of everything had gotten around town and he didn’t want me to further disgrace the family name.”

Brushing a tear off your cheek, you caught his eye, “Karma will come for your dad someday. You deserve only good things, Rafe.”

With a faint smile, he tapped his fingers on the cabinet, almost nervously, “Maybe one day I’ll be able to see it that way, but for now, I just don’t.”

“I’ll keep telling you until you believe it,” you promised fiercely. And you really meant it.

You finished frying the fish, silence between the two of you. It was no longer heavy and it wasn’t as awkward as the first time, you were proud of the progress. Rafe grabbed plates from the cabinet and at your instruction, the coleslaw you had already made and stored in the fridge.

Courtesy kicked in, and you let Rafe make his plate first. You figured he deserved to feel first choice for once. He almost looked like he wanted to argue, but you weren’t about to back down, so he filled his plate and sat back at the bar, patiently waiting for you to sit down before eating.

You fixed your plate and sat down next to him before squeezing his shoulder, “Thanks for keeping me company tonight.”

Rafe laughed, “Thanks for letting me rant.”

“Anytime.”

Three:

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath and your laptop confirmed what you feared, your last bio exam had gone very poorly. It was just one test, but you weren’t used to seeing such a low grade, and you had to try really hard not to cry. Everything in you wanted to go lay down for days and forget about the rest of your classes, but the logical part of your brain texted Rafe to invite him for dinner.

He showed up not even five minutes later, and you decided breakfast sounded like the most comforting thing. You didn’t want to come across as too needy, so you didn’t mention the bad grade and tried to cover how you were actually feeling.

Unfortunately, the music you had playing gave it away. Rafe took one look at your face and the slight slump in your shoulders, and immediately wrapped you into a hug. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears, and he held you tighter.

“What happened, bud?”

“It’s nothing,” you tried to deflect, “fucked up on a bio test. We still have a few more, but it’s not a great start.”

“Which bio?”

“Molecular.”

Rafe thought for a few seconds, “I know a guy who has taken that, want me to see if I can get his notes?”

“That would be great actually.”

He smiled, “Good, now why don’t we get some happier music and get to cooking.”

And you could do that. Rafe changed to a playlist he’d made and sent to you a few weeks ago called Good Vibes for Cooking Nights and you couldn’t argue, they were good songs. A Wallows song started playing and you fell into a rhythm of pouring batter and flipping pancakes, feeling immensely better than when Rafe had first showed up.

You were thankful for him, this boy who had totally changed your life in the four months he’d known you. Four months of baring your hearts to each other in your own little ways. Rafe showing up to your apartment looking casual, not at all how he looked normally during the day. You letting him control the music and watch you cook, something so personal and special to you. It was new for the both of you.

Rafe heated up syrup while you quickly buttered the pancakes and washed some fruit for toppings. For the first time, you made your plate and sat down first. Rafe sat down next to you a few minutes later, plate heaped high with pancakes and raspberries.

After a few minutes of eating, the music being the only noise in the kitchen, Rafe turned to you, “You’re so intelligent and I don’t want you to let this one test discourage you. I know you’ll bounce back.”

“I studied so hard,” you told him, almost whispering, “I knew this was going to be hard, but I have no prior experience to fall back on, and it’s killing me.”

“But you’ll learn. Now you know how exams are structured, and you can adjust your studying habits. Next test will go great, I promise.”

You couldn’t stop it, it had been building between the two of you for months, and in your extra emotional state, you acted more rashly than normal. Setting your fork down, you turned to him and grabbed the front of his shirt. Rafe was startled, but turned to face you, not prepared for you to kiss him.

He froze and you almost regretted it, loosening your grip on his shirt, about to pull away embarrassed when he started kissing you back. Rafe tasted like syrup and raspberries, an addicting combination. Unfortunately, you eventually had to pull away to breathe, and Rafe pressed a soft kiss to your forehead while you caught your breath.

He picked his fork back up and smiled widely at you, “So that was nice.”

You blushed, “Yeah, um, sorry.”

“I’m not,” he stole a strawberry off your plate, “I didn’t want to make a move and make you uncomfortable if I was reading this whole thing wrong.”

“You, um, you weren’t reading it wrong.”

“I see that.”

Your blush deepened as he smiled wider at you. You shrugged, “So, what now?”

“Well, hopefully, now you’ll let me take you out and see where we go from there.”

“I’d like that.”

Four:

You weren’t sure if it was an out of sight, out of mind situation, but your parents planned a couple’s trip for Christmas, and you weren’t invited. Which would make this the first time in your entire life you wouldn’t spend Christmas with your family. You had mixed feelings. On one hand, you were hurt at the blatant disregard of you and your feelings, but on the other hand it gave you the chance to spend your first holiday alone with Rafe.

The two of you were eating hummus and doing homework when you decided to bring it up. He was on the floor, and you were on the couch, so you nudged his shoulder with your foot to get his attention, “How do you feel about spending Christmas together?”

He looked back at you with a wide smile, “I feel like it would be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

You grabbed a blank sheet of paper and handed it down to him, “Write down specific foods you want.”

“What do you normally eat on Christmas?” he asked, not taking the paper.

With a shrug, you pulled the paper back, “I don’t know, we normally do gumbo and cornbread and German chocolate cake.”

Rafe grabbed your ankle, shaking your leg a few times, “Let’s do that.”

“You don’t want to add anything?” you asked, hesitant.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly thinking, “Maybe we could do a baked mac and cheese. We had those a lot growing up before Mom left.”

“Find me the recipe and I’ll make it for you, bub.”

With a wide smile, Rafe grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, “You’re the best.”

When Christmas finally rolled around, you woke up early to start cooking. Your mom suggested a Dutch oven, something you didn’t already own, and to buy file powder instead of trying the cornstarch method. She also told you to make the cake a day earlier so you wouldn’t have to worry about it with the rest of the food.

You worked with Christmas music playing softly in the background, focusing on making sure the flour and oil combination didn’t burn before adding the veggies. The recipe wasn’t hard, but it did require a lot of stirring and paying attention and exact timing.

By the time it was ready to start simmering for about 30 minutes, you had started boiling the pasta for the mac and cheese. That recipe was simple, and you’d been playing with the cheese topping in your own time to make the flavor blend better with the gumbo, and you were pretty sure you’d figured it out.

With practiced ease, you finished it and poured it over the pasta before setting it to bake. By then, it was time to finish the gumbo, make the cornbread, and get dressed.

Rafe showed up just as you finished getting dressed and the cornbread timer was going off. He had a key and let himself in, and you knew he could handle taking the cornbread out.

“Babe, I’m here,” he called out as he shut the timer off.

“Coming,” you yelled back, smoothing your sweater down.

By the time you finally made it to the kitchen Rafe had set all of the food on the counter and he was leaned next to it in his own sweater and jeans. He held his arms out for a hug, and you walked into them happily.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You hummed and reached up to kiss him.

“Merry Christmas,” you told him, pulling away.

“Food looks good,” he complimented, reaching for the bowls and plates he’d gotten out.

You looked over the spread and smiled proudly, “It does, doesn’t it?”

“You want to eat on the couch and watch the Jim Carrey Grinch?”

Nodding enthusiastically, you grabbed a plate, “Fuck yes.”

The two of you settled on the couch, a gingerbread scented candle burning in the background. Rafe started the movie and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, plate in his lap. You leaned into him and let out a long breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding in. This Christmas, while out of the ordinary, was your favorite one yet.

+ One:

You got home after work, exhausted. Your apartment was dark and cold and it made you want to curl up into a ball and cry. Work had been so time consuming over the past month you’d barely seen Rafe and you missed him. But if you got the promotion your boss had been hinting at, you’d get more manageable hours and higher pay, so you were grinding it out until then.

Dropping your bag by the door, you kicked off your shoes before slowly walking to the couch. Before you could sit down, there was a knock at the door. You considered ignoring it, but it persisted, so you walked slowly back to answer.

Rafe was standing there, giant grin on his face, with a steaming pot of something which explained why he didn’t use his key. It was very surreal and you blinked a few times in confusion before letting him in. He walked past you to the kitchen and set the dish down before digging through your drawer for the matches to light your favorite candle on the counter.

“Go get changed,” he urged, “I’ll get plates set up.”

Your phone rang as you were changing into shorts and you grabbed it out of the discarded pants pocket. When you saw your boss’s name, your heart rate doubled and you answered shakily. The phone call was brief, and the gist was that you’d gotten the promotion and the next day off.

Energy immediately filled your body and you ran to the kitchen where Rafe was scooping out what looked like mac and cheese onto plates.

“Rafe!”

He looked up, startled, “What’s up?”

“I got it!”

“The promotion?” he asked, eagerly.

You nodded, beaming, and jumped into his arms when he opened them. Rafe spun you around a few times and kissed you hard. Slowly setting you back down to your feet, he deepened the kiss, your hands winding into his hair.

Rafe pulled away first, pressing soft kisses to both of your cheeks and your forehead before standing up fully. You let go of his hair and took the hand he offered to you. Leading you to the couch, he sat down and motioned for you to do the same.

“Is this mac and cheese?” you asked, poking at the food with the fork he’d brought you.

“It is. I went on snapchat earlier and realized that it’s an anniversary of sorts. I wanted to make you dinner for once since I know you’ve had a long week.”

“Anniversary?”

A faint blush rose on his cheeks and he cleared his throat, “Um, yeah, a year since we met.”

You laughed loudly, “When you set your fucking kitchen on fire making mac and cheese?”

“A year ago, today. And with your cooking help, I can now make mac and cheese without setting the kitchen on fire.”

Poking at it again, you looked up at him, almost fearing the answer, “This isn’t Kraft right?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, “I called your mom to get her recipe.”

Biting your lip to hold back the onslaught of emotions, you took in a shaky breath, “Right. Okay. Um, I love you, Bub. And this is genuinely the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Rafe kissed your temple before lifting your chin to make you look him in the eye, “I love you too, and as crazy as it sounds, I’m glad I set my kitchen on fire.”

#rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks fic #obx #outer banks #college rafe

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phantompearlsalt · 3 years

Text

Sour Cherry, Chapter 8

Here it is folks!! That sweet domestic bliss so many of y’all craved 💜 It was very interesting writing this but I still had a blast — it’s quite different from chapter 7 so brace yourselves. I will also note this one is distinct in that it’s more of a modern!AU setting so no bending or LoK elements at all, really. It was fun doing something so different! Lastly, make sure you have these songs queued up in case you want to play them as you reach those parts of the chapter 😉 And lastly, quick content warning for folks reading on here: there’s mention of cooking, food, but not eating! Feel free to check this out on AO3 too okay this is long: ENJOY!!

There was a time in your life when you believed you would never have this: the comforting rustle of warm bed sheets against your toes, the muffled song of birds just outside your window, and the solid presence of Kuvira’s slumbering body beside your own.

As you gradually blink into consciousness, you come to the pleasant realization that it’s Saturday. For the first time in weeks, you have nowhere to be and neither does Kuvira so you allow yourself to savor the rare and welcome contentment of a lazy morning in bed.

You feel a faint tickle graze the nape of your neck and you realize that Kuvira is fast asleep, her arm strung loosely across your waist. Shifting carefully so as not to wake her, you move until your back is against the mattress and you can tilt your face to the side. Kuvira’s fingers twitch for a moment but she remains unperturbed by the slight motion, her jaw still slack.

Given the bustling nature of her schedule, and her own no-nonsense disposition, there is always an element of tension present in Kuvira’s features. She’s still too young to have any significant wrinkles but during the day you never fail to notice the thin grooves around her mouth and along her forehead. Even when she’s not totally ensnared in the commotion of her job, she is rarely one to exude a sense of calm around others. It isn’t quite stress either but it’s certainly imposing.

When Kuvira sleeps, she is in her most vulnerable state. Every ounce of strain she carries in her body vanishes entirely, replaced with the weight of loosened limbs and heavy eyelids. Her brow relaxes completely, sometimes her mouth parts open and air will whistle through, her hair falls over her face in a curtain of vibrant black, and her shoulders sink freely into the downy comfort of your mattress.

Sometime in the distant past, you had believed a moment like this to be too out of reach. Too idealistic or picturesque. But as you gaze upon the beauty of this simple sight, understanding the depth of Kuvira’s trust that has allowed you to witness this side of her, you are overtaken by just how much your life has changed since you met Kuvira and how intensely you have grown to love her.

The sun has fully emerged outside and the rays start filtering through your gossamer curtains, casting a lovely golden glow across Kuvira’s face. You know she’ll start to stir within moments as the light starts to fall across her eyes so you treasure each remaining moment you have left like this. Gently, you lift your arm from beneath the bedsheets and let your hand cover hers.

It doesn’t take long for her to awaken after that — a handful of minutes pass before she makes a soft sound and her eyelids start to flicker open. Her gaze roams across the adjacent wall, slightly disoriented, before finally turning to focus on you. She blinks once and a muted smile tugs at the edges of her mouth.

“Good morning,” she murmurs. This time, you twist around so you’re on your side and you can twine your legs with hers. “Good morning to you,” you respond with a grin, cupping her cheek with your palm. “Looks like someone slept well.” Kuvira hums contentedly, stretching her arms high above her head.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been able to,” she says. “Yeah well, ridiculous work hours will really do that to a woman,” you tease. She gives you a withering glance which makes you burst into giggles, pulling her face towards yours so you can press a kiss against her forehead. “I’m not actually gonna kiss you until I can brush my teeth,” you inform her when you notice the expectant look on her face. “Then I suggest we do so immediately,” she replies promptly.

However, she proceeds to wrap an arm over your shoulder and tuck you against her chest, sinking her fingers into your hair as you brush your lips over her throat. For a moment you are tempted to point out the contradiction but you are far too delighted to actually do it. Though you cherish every morning you have with Kuvira, ones like these feel particularly special because of their rarity. Between her professional engagements and your own commitments, your mornings together are often hurried and fleeting.

So right now, with Kuvira’s arms encircling your body and your senses saturated by her scent and warmth, you want to hold onto this for as long as you can.

But of course, her arm starts falling asleep and your face gets too hot so you reluctantly pull away and fall into your habitual morning activities. You take a moment to stretch and crack away the stiffness of your joints while Kuvira messily clips her hair behind her neck before entering the bathroom where you’ll eventually join her.

The next few minutes pass in a rush of running water, toothpaste, and soap bubbles. You head back into the room to make your bed while Kuvira slides the glass pane open and a gust of brisk wind rushes through. As you slide into one of Kuvira’s old sweaters, you join her by the window. “I’ll go get our tea started, okay?” you say, touching your hand to her shoulder.

She nods once before responding, “Before you go.” Kuvira slips her fingers between yours before gently tugging you forward and bringing your lips together in a sleepy kiss. You let your arms wrap around her shoulders and you smile against the touch, feeling the tips of your ears grow red and your belly tingle with excitement. When you break apart, Kuvira watches you silently with a tender expression that heightens the emotion already rushing through your veins.

The longer you stay by her side, the more you find yourself feeling less inclined to leave so you quickly peck her on the mouth before scuttling out while she chuckles behind you.

Once you’re in the kitchen you quickly get to work on brewing your tea, relishing the sensation of sunlight falling across your back. As the water begins to boil on the stove, you push the window open and sigh at the burst of crisp air that follows. You detect the unmistakable scent of morning dew and realize it drizzled overnight. Getting on your tiptoes, you notice the plants outside are glossed over with a fine layer of moisture. It’s nearly a scene directly out of a film.

Finally your water is ready and you begin steeping Kuvira’s favorite oolong leaves, flicking on the radio and humming along to the entrancing melodies of the jazz station you have both grown so fond of. You’re pouring into your respective cups when a familiar set of arms curl around you from behind. Grinning, you place the pot down and lean back into Kuvira’s embrace. “I’ve missed this,” you sigh, suddenly forgetting about the steaming beverages as you feel a tickle swell inside your chest and your ribs.

“I have too,” she responds quietly, tightening her hold infinitesimally as she leans down to brush her lips against your cheekbone. “I know it’s been some time since we’ve been able to do this and...it’s nice. I didn’t realize how much I missed it myself.” You succumb to the enticement of that magical silence you only experience with Kuvira, allowing your body to press deeper against her chest until you can feel the heavy thrum of her heart.

Eventually, you have to step away when your stomach growls and you offer her the piping cup of tea. “Drink some of this and please be careful this time. Last time you burned your tongue you whined about it for a week.” Kuvira glares at you, unimpressed, which naturally makes you laugh. “Once you’re through with that, you can get started on chopping these up.” You push the bag of potatoes on the counter towards her and she inspects it apprehensively.

“Are you sure you trust me with that?” Kuvira asks over the rim of her teacup. “You know for someone who manages to scare almost everyone at her job, you’d think you could handle cutting some potatoes…” you sigh, earning a delightfully petty snort from Kuvira. You grin while smoothing her hair down against her head and press a chaste kiss to her nose. “You just have to get them into little cubes. Leave the actual cooking to me,” you chuckle. Kuvira still doesn’t look entirely convinced but she eventually picks up a knife from a drawer and carefully begins slicing the vegetables.

After sipping through about half your tea and admiring the stern look of concentration on Kuvira’s face, you join her and the music emanating from your small radio is soon accompanied by the clicking of knives and robust scent of onion, peppers, and garlic. There is a pleasant, unspoken dynamic between you and Kuvira that you’ve come to cherish, where you can merely exist together without the expectation of filling the space with frivolous conversation. If anything, you actually talk quite a bit on most days as a way to decompress from the exigencies of your respective work lives.

When you finally have the time to luxuriate in the freedom of an empty schedule, you allow yourselves to fully bask in that simple yet compelling joy of being in the other person’s presence.

Once your ingredients are properly diced and washed, you begin assembling everything which really just entails Kuvira tossing the cubes into the skillet while you sprinkle a variety of spices for good measure. Your fingers occasionally brush together as you lean over the stove and each time you see the apples of Kuvira’s face lift from the corner of your eye.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” she notes. You snort and lovingly squeeze her hand before you start mixing everything together. “C’mon Kuvira, it’s been what? Over a year? I feel like I make this every other week so I wouldn’t get too confident about that. Give it a few more months and you’ll probably be gagging at the sight of sautéed vegetables.”

She moves towards your back and slides her hand down your arm until it rests over yours, temporarily pausing the stirring motion. “While I’m certainly not complaining about your exceptional breakfast-making skills, that’s not quite what I’m referring to. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.” The words sweep along your ear and you feel a wave of goosebumps appear all across your flesh.

“Just being here, with you. I will never, ever tire of this,” she whispers against your neck. The words evoke a low hum in your ears as your blood rushes harder until the ringing feels like it’s sinking into your bones. You feel as though you have lost all coordination of your limbs, instead feeling them thrum with the wondrous glow of infatuation and only tethered down by the reassuring weight of Kuvira’s touch.

It still surprises you how these seemingly innocuous statements can unleash such an intense surge of emotion. Perhaps it’s because Kuvira isn’t the most eloquent when it comes to voicing her affections so when she does it’s particularly moving. Or perhaps it’s the shock of knowing another human being can love you as deeply as Kuvira does when you once found it impossible to conceive of such an idea.

Perhaps it’s a combination of the two and a million other things but you don’t dwell on that too long. At this moment in time, it doesn’t matter. Instead, you ground yourself in the steady and soothing warmth of Kuvira’s body and wiggle around until you can face her.

Kuvira lifts her hands to nestle your face between them, as if you might shatter into pieces with just the slightest movement, and presses her lips reverently against your forehead. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but our breakfast is about one minute away from burning to a crisp,” she states.

Your attention returns to the skillet in a flurry of flailing arms and nonsensical shouting while Kuvira merely observes in silent amusement. Luckily, you manage to save your meal and remove it from the heat at just the right moment. A hearty aroma of crisp potatoes and caramelized onions wafts through the air and you feel your stomach rumble again.

Just as you are sliding the food onto your platters, an all-too familiar melody chimes from the radio that brings your movements to a sudden halt. Faraway memories hit you all at once and very quickly. You only see glimpses of the images as they flash through your mind in bursts of vivid colors and fuzzy sounds.

Old timey photographs framed against paisley walls. Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Wes Montgomery.

Hazy shadows twirling beneath dim golden lights. The carefree ripple of a skirt lifting in the air and jewelry glistening against a perspiring body.

The shuffle and snap of shoes sliding against a red-tiled floor. The clink of a heel tapping to the beat of a muted drum.

Kuvira’s hand resting confidently on your lower back, patiently guiding you through the movements, while another presses against your palm.

A distinctive voice croons, “The very thought of you/ And I forget to do/ Those little ordinary things/ That everyone ought to do…”

You are dragged out of your trance by the same touch you felt all those months ago. Kuvira pulls you away from the counter, the plates of steaming food now completely forgotten, and her eyes glitter with quiet mirth.

“Do you remember this song?” she asks quietly while she brings you close against her. Your muscles freeze and you chuckle nervously. “I do but, uh, you and I both know I’m not the ex-professional dancer here,” you remind her.

Kuvira merely shrugs, leaning down to press her forehead against yours. “Just follow my lead,” she murmurs. She moves her hands from your waist to gently take your wrists and wrap your fingers around the back of her neck. She snakes her palms along your arms and down your sides until they return to their original position, resting against the small patch at the base of your spine.

The ensuing steps are so simple it barely constitutes a dance at all but you still can’t hinder the raging blush that seems to radiate across every inch of your skin. Kuvira is rarely one to initiate exchanges of this nature so when she does your body reacts accordingly.

It’s not so much a dance as it is simply swaying back and forth, occasionally stepping backwards but never once splitting away from Kuvira. Your eyes flutter closed again and you burrow your face in the crook of her neck.

“I see your face in every flower Your eyes in stars above It's just the thought of you The very thought of you, my love”

You feel as though you have fallen into a field of flowers yourself. This moment...it’s the exhilarating rush of being pulled to the ground and the blissful recognition of falling into a perfumed refuge of velvety petals. As you rest your head against Kuvira, you inhale her fresh, earthy scent that is so reminiscent of the misty air outside. In your mind, the kitchen disappears entirely and your home dissipates into a rosy mist.

Instead, you find yourself in your own dimension where everything is concentrated in this very moment. Gravity is the touch of Kuvira’s hands against your hips and air is her breath mingling with yours. In this juncture of time and space, you are the only two beings in the universe. In this little cluster of minutes far away from the rest of the world, your only thoughts are on the simple movements of your feet, the graceful way Kuvira floats you across the ground, and the overpowering truth of how profoundly you love her.

The song eventually fades away into another tune, slowly bringing you back to the present moment. Kuvira’s hands haven’t left your body and you don’t make any move to break the embrace. Breakfast lays utterly forgotten and you imagine it’s gone cold. But it doesn’t matter. Not right now.

Within moments you find yourselves calmly rocking along to the soothing vocals and eventually a drizzle starts up outside. You pay no mind and smile when Kuvira brings her mouth to yours — that simple brush of lips seems to capture every ounce of emotion brimming in your body.

She whispers something that’s drowned out by the music but somehow, somewhere in the deepest crevices of your heart, the words still make sense.

---

“This is my first affair, please be kind Handle my heart with care, please be kind This is all so grand, my dreams are on parade If you'll just understand, they'll never, never fade”

#kuvira #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira headcanons #kuvira legend of korra #avatar lok #x reader #modern au #fluff #sour cherry #dang I really thought the engagement chapter was fluffy this is something else ENTIRELY thank u for the request anon!!!

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cowboyshit · 4 years

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twenty questions

tagged by: @dustofinsanity (thank you so much my dear!!!!!!)

what do you prefer to be called name-wise? honestly I’ll probably answer to most things as long as they aren’t mean. but ash, ashley, doe, those seem to be the solid three I’m known by around here when is your birthday? november 30th! where do you live? in a tiny, backwoods cow-town smack dab in the middle of california three things you are doing right now? filling this questionnaire out, eating dinner I just finished cooking, and petting sadie with my foot since she’s curled up at my feet after she finished her dinner four fandoms that have peaked your interest. I guess I can go with four I’ve been heavily involved with, even though there’s plenty more than that since I’m a little fangirl at heart, but wrestling (obviously), black sails, the night shift, and pirates of the caribbean how has the pandemic been treating you? uh, I mean, it hasn’t been great and I’ve had to deal with some pretty bad shit as all of us have, and probably some of my worst mental health battles I’ve had to face in about a year or so, but honestly? I just kind of count my blessings these days. lucky to still be employed, even if my pay got a little cut it was nothing that keeps me from paying my bills. all I had to do was take away a few luxury things to make ends meet, and that’s a lot, LOT less than other people have had to do. so yeah, it’s been pretty shitty, this year has been bad news after bad news both personally and globally, but whatever. it could be worse. a song you can’t stop listening to right now? it is no-joke like a four-way tie. a bunch of good songs were in my discover weekly and I’ve been playing four of them on non-stop repeat one after the other. oh! and one my best friend showed to me. this baby don’t cry by k. flay, rock bottom by grandson, ok ok by hoko, and insurgents by the poolside by denny recommend a movie. i’ve jumped into holiday mood early af because tbh I need the holiday cheer, so keeping in that theme, I suggest the holiday with jude law because DUH how old are you? thirty! school, university, occupation, other? had some college, been working in my current career for the past ten years. hoping to pursue a promotion finally since my supervisors have been telling me for the past eight years that I need to promote do you prefer heat or cold? cold pleeeaaaase! I’m a radiator and put off heat like nobody’s business. I’m always warm. name one fact others may not know about you. this is hard because I just constantly blab everything about me, and I have two people who literally know EVERYTHING about me lmfao uhhh I guess... something people may not know... uhhh... on my dad’s side of the family one half was ashkenazi jewish who had to flee germany to avoid the holocaust, where they went to live in italy, while the other half were nazi’s committing some pretty bad stuff that my family won’t talk about, even to this day. funny how two descendants eventually met in america and fell in love, huh? and when they DID fall in love one of them was half italian and in the mafia! so I always joke that my bubbly cheerful self is a descendent of some pretty evil shit, and it feels like a nice little stab at those shitty ancestors of mine. are you shy? uhhh yeah and no??? like. I think I’m shy, since all interaction terrifies me and exhausts me, but everyone tells me I’m a social butterfly? and I’ve noticed in places I’m comfortable and confident, I do tend to be less shy and more involved and interactive? but I think I can be shy. a lot of waiting for other people to initiate because I’m too afraid to, struggling to talk or carry a conversation at times... I don’t know I think I’m overcomplicating this answer LOL preferred pronouns? she/her! biggest pet peeves? gatekeeping, to be perfectly honest. I stopped following wrestling back in 2014 because when I first tried to get into the fandom, someone was trying to gatekeep a wrestler I also liked and had started making content for and they made me feel like shit for liking them, and I absolutely hated it. that’s why it took me an entire two years of quietly lurking in the wrestling fandom before I finally got brave enough to come out of the woodwork, and I’m grateful I’ve been so well received this time around. but now I’m hyper-sensitive to gatekeeping and I fucking hate it. no joke. and since it’s a pet peeve and I’m irked just remembering all that bs I went through, ima say I’m only a part of fandom to share my love of whatever that thing is with other people who love it too. I can’t stand anyone who thinks they have some sort of “claim” over a celebrity or a show or anything. get a different identity that isn’t wrapped up in that thing and stop seeing it as a threat when other people like it. be happy someone else is as passionate about that thing as you are and make a friend. damn. what is your favorite “dere” type? I’m pretty sure this is something with anime or that originated from anime, right? unfortunately I don’t know what they are so I can’t say LOL I don’t even know if I’m right about it coming from anime tbh rate your life from 1-10, 1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be. 4, 5, but I’m putting in the foundation now and working to make it a 6, 7, or possibly 8 by a year or two from now. what’s your main blog? funnily enough? this one. my OTHER blog that was my main blog since I joined tumblr in 2009 got shoved to the side for this one last year LOL I assumed I’d log onto this blog once in awhile, but now it took over my whole damn life so here I am I guess list your side blogs and what they’re used for. I’m going to be fair and ONLY list my active ones because I have a few side blogs from when I role-played on tumblr that I haven’t touched in over a year. @doedreamss is my non-wrestling blog that WAS my main blog before this one, @cowboysht is my archive where I am ONLY putting my original gifsets/analysis/fanfiction so that one day I can offer people a blog of just my original work and no other posts (the queue is very slowly catching up I think I’ve queued posts up until june this year), @illfatedandstarcrossed is just a non-frequently used outlet for me to mope and dump emotions when I get sad about my relationship things (like a diary! but... public? and not my original thoughts? LOL), and then I have one more blog but it’s locked and private and it’s LITERALLY my diary where I can just vent when I got shit I wanna get off my chest but don’t necessarily want people to see it. Is there something people need to know about you before becoming friends? I probably won’t talk to you daily, tbh. I may not even talk to you weekly. socializing takes a lot out of me, on top of an already energy draining day-to-day in my personal life. I have a handful of people I connect with who I talk with frequently, but unfortunately as much as I’d love for it to be endless, I have to keep that list short for my own sanity. my infrequent conversations mean absolutely nothing about my lack of interest in you or how much I care about you. my granny once said I would be the perfect friend for someone you only want to talk to twice a month and she thought she was insulting me, but deadass I just said “YEAH! EXACTLY!!”

tagging: I really like this one so I WANT to tag people, but I feel braindead and also just want to post it cause I feel like I am definitely gonna forget to tag someone tbh aaaaahh okay okay I’m just gonna throw some names out there but please don’t feel pressured to do this (it is TWENTY questions) @kennyhoemega, @champbucks, @superkickparty, @adampage, @hintsofsunshine, @audreyhrnes, @sheslikealostflower, @lancearchers, @champnick, @janelanutella, @edgecution, @superrezzy00, @wardl0w, @writinglionqueen, @orangechuckiet, @hungmanhorsecarriage, @icouldbesus, @thatnerdwriter, @rampagewriting, @snarkandsarcasmftw, @tetsuyainthesky AND I DUNNO JUST ANYONE WHO WANTS TO OK I LOVE YOU ALL BYE

#ashleys playin #not wrestling related #long post for ts #long post

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