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httpknjoon · 3 months

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surprise, surprise | jjk

plot | When you asked what your boyfriend wants for Valentine's, Jungkook challenged you to surprise him. But when you did, he wasn't the only one surprised.

words | 2.1k+

genres | fluff, secret relationship au, established relationship au, friends to lovers au

pairing | jungkook x reader

warnings | none

note | another part will follow :)) enjoy reading!

main masterlist | drabble series masterlist

It was a late afternoon, during a warm sunny day, you and your boyfriend finally went on with your picnic plans after weeks of talking about it. Under a lush shade tree, Jungkook laid out your classic red gingham picnic blanket. He also has pillows from his place, knowing that you would love to have one while chilling. On the flip side, you brought out the food from your basket which includes various colorful sliced fruits, sandwiches, chips, orange juice, and a bottle of chocolate syrup if ever your boyfriend wants to put it on his fruit.

It has been past an hour since you arrived at this spot in the park, half an hour away from the city you and Jungkook live in. So, with no worries about seeing your friends around, you two were free to basically do whatever you wanted on the grass. Jungkook brought his digital camera and you were already sure that half of the photos he took today are Bam’s. You were just giggling when you saw Jungkook trying to make your pet stand still with his green toy ball and sounds he learned from The Dogist, a dog photographer who posts every dog he meets online.

“One more, Bam. Stay…” he commanded as he closed his left eye to focus on his camera’s viewfinder.

Your pet, eager to have a treat and his toy, heeded. Followed by a shutter sound, you hear a satisfied chuckle from your boyfriend. He handed Bam a treat and then threw the ball for your pet to run after.

“How was it?” you asked, sipping on your glass of orange juice.

Jungkook turned around in your direction and instead of answering immediately, you found him staring at you. Used to him dazing out sometimes, you just smiled and took another gulp from your glass. Jungkook took this opportunity to point his camera lens to you. He moved around, finding the best angle where the light makes you glow from your greenery background. You were an angel before his sight. He clicks for your candid shot. When you hear the first shutter sound, you realize what he is doing.

“Wait! Take another one.”

This time, you smiled for the camera, making him smile behind the lens. After a couple more shots, he sat next to you to show you the results. By the small sound of awe you made, he knew you loved them.

“You’re such a great photographer, babe,” you told him.

“I just have a very beautiful muse,” he replied.

You looked up at him and he laughed when he saw your eyebrows scrunching together. Perhaps it was too corny and sweet. But your scrunched expression softened up before giving him a peck on his lips. He was about to lean in for more but you pulled away with a smile.

“You used to get girls with those lines?” you teased and laughed.

And before Jungkook can defend his game, Bam runs back with his toy in between his teeth. Half an hour passed, and the camera was now in your hands while Jungkook lay his head on your lap, scrolling through his phone. Bam is napping on the grass beside you two, tired from playing. The weather was not too hot since there was still wind blowing from time to time, perfect for a midday nap. With no more energy to take pictures, you settled his camera down. For the next few minutes, you spent the time running your fingers on Jungkook’s hair and appreciating the peace of the place. You can feel your heart feeling at ease.

“I can’t believe we’re already in the second month of this year,” your boyfriend suddenly spoke, eyes still glued on his phone.

“I know, babe. It seemed like yesterday when we celebrated New Year’s Eve at Dara’s and our anniversary,” you replied. “Then, we told Blaire about us.”

He put down his phone with that, looking at you, “We didn’t tell her, you did.”

You just rolled your eyes since you know you cannot really defend yourself. You were too drunk that night, Jungkook had to tell you what you shared with your friend the morning after. And after a whole-day conversation with Blaire, she agreed to not say anything about it and simply called you two “sneaky rats” in a teasing way.

“Anyway, Valentine’s Day is next week.” Jungkook brought up the topic, sitting up. “Do you want to do anything or go anywhere?”

“Well… we already did this picnic.” you clicked your tongue as your eyes traveled away, thinking.

And after a few seconds, an idea pops into your head. An activity you saw online that you found cute and perfect for you two. You beamed as you told him about it. Jungkook nodded as he listened intently, eyes traveling down his tattooed knuckles.

“I love that, we can do that! That’s wonderful, princess.” He smiled, eyes crinkling. “Do you already have any ideas about the design?”

You shook your head, “Oh, not yet.”

“Okay, okay.” he nods again,

You squeeze his hands, “How about you? What do you want to do?”

He looked up at the leaves on the tree as he sighed, “I don’t know… Really. That’s why I asked you. What you want is what really matters to me.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Really? Nothing?”

He nodded his head but not a second after, he spoke again, “Okay, I have an idea.”

“Okay, spill.”

“Surprise me,” he said like it was a challenge.

“Surprise you?” you repeated.

Looking back at your relationship, you were a little weak at doing surprises. You cannot really lie well and always see his reaction when you get him something meant for a surprise. But maybe you can try again.

“Okay, babe.”

“Isn’t this sad?” Wooshik sighed in between the film playing on the television. “It’s the day before Valentine’s. We are both single straight guys, watching Meryl Streep boss around people because we don’t have any plans tomorrow,” he added.

I do, Jungkook said in his head. Today is the thirteenth. It has been days since you two went on that picnic and he has been secretly waiting for your surprise. You didn’t want to give him a spoiler about it since you both know how bad you are at lying. So, you didn’t give him even a single clue.

And since it’s the day before that day, you and the girls in your friend group went out for your Galentine’s Day. You told him your activities for the day, which included going to a baking class and pampering yourselves in hair and nail salons. So, in return, he and Wooshik are pretty much shooed away when the latter begs to come with them.

“It’s for girls only! Go hang out together,” Jenny laughed.

So, they did. Initially, they planned on playing video games in Jungkook’s place. But after two hours of playing and having succeeding losses, they got exhausted and opted to watch a movie. The streaming service recommended a lot of chick-flicks so that’s what they settled for.

“This is fine. The girls are single too. A lot of people are spending tomorrow single.” he noted, focused on the film.

But Wooshik exclaimed, “But love is in the air! I don’t want to be lonely. Maybe we should pull up at a bar or something. Maybe we can have dates tomorrow.”

“I told you, I’m not into those things anymore.”

“Those things?! It’s called dating, JK. So you’re not into dating now?” Wooshik asked his tone in disbelief. Jungkook just laughed at his dramatic reaction. His friend continued, “What happened to my friend who used to introduce me to his new girlfriend every two weeks?”

Jungkook tossed him a pillow, smacking it right to his face, “Hey, people change!”

“You used to hold the record for most partners in a year in our friend group, JK.” Wooshik snickered.

“And now, I don’t. I’m happy where I am right now.”

“Blablabla. That’s something a person with a great high-paying job or a nice love life would say. And I don’t think your job pays you that high for you to say that.” Wooshik quipped while watching the movie again.

Jungkook laughs. He’s right. But Wooshik is not aware of how fun he is having with you. Your friend doesn’t know how much you made his life more than nice. You made his days a lot more warmer and brighter than it has ever been.

“And the girls are not really single. Jenny said she will be busy tomorrow–”

“She is. She works as a head chef in a restaurant. Tomorrow is like a festival in her workplace.” Jungkook cuts him off.

His friend snickered, “Okay, but she’s going on an occasional date with that same guy she met at a food convention. Blaire is having an on and off and on relationship with Grace. Dara is dating–”

“She is?” Jungkook asked.

Wooshik nods like it’s something he has known for a long time, “Yeah… and YN, I just know that one is seeing someone.”

Something in his stomach dropped when Jungkook heard that, “Yeah?”

“Remember when I stayed for like a week in her house when I had something renovated in my place? I swore I saw her sneaking out a guy one early morning.” his friend shared, clueless about the guy who was now sitting in front of him.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asked.

“Yeah, I just didn’t see him properly since the lights were off. But I heard YN talking to him.”

Yeah, it’s him.

Not wanting to talk about it anymore, Jungkook said, “You know what? Maybe we should go out.”

It’s like Wooshik’s ears perked up when heard that, “Where?”

“Just out. Maybe get something to eat or… I saw this new bowling alley opening up around the corner. We can walk there from here.”

Originally, Jungkook wanted to take you there first. But with his best friend being bored and talking about you and your relationship, he just thought of going to that place.

“Oh, okay. Maybe fate can find me a date there.”

Jungkook chuckled, getting up, “Okay, I’ll just take a quick shower. Then, we can go.”

Wooshik nodded and Jungkook walked away. Left alone in the living room, Wooshik reached for the almost-finished bowl of chips on the center table. He rarely watched chick flicks but he really liked this one. Maybe because of the lead actress. But nonetheless, he enjoys the story.

“I just don’t get why she has to leave her great job for Nate. I mean, he did not even support her when she was having growth in her work and she was in Paris!” Wooshik exclaimed as the screen showed Anne Hathaway walking away from her boss, portrayed by Meryl Streep.

The credits were rolling in when he heard the knock on the door. He was about to call his friend when he heard the distant trickling from his shower. Wooshik got up and opened the door, dusting off the cheese powder from the chips. A delivery guy stood in front of the door, holding a box of pretty flower arrangements.

“Delivery for Jeon Jungkook.” the guy said.

Confused, Wooshik had his mouth slightly open before answering, “Oh… uh, he’s in the shower. But I can receive this for him.”

“Okay. Please, sign here.”

The guy handed him a paper and Wooshik followed. After the flowers were handed to him, he said thank you and closed the door. His eyes scanned the whole arrangement filled with various flowers. A white folded card sat on top of it. As he carefully placed it down on the table, one question stayed in his head.

Who the hell would send flowers to his best friend?

So just like what any nosy, curious person would do, Wooshik flicked the card open.

Blooms for the best person I know.

I was with B in the flower shop and he helped me pick the flowers. I hope you’ll love them.

Know that this is the first of other surprises I’ve planned for tomorrow ;)

But firstly, let me ask you for the first time,

Babe, will you be my Valentine?

-Princess

Princess? Who the hell is Princess? Who is B? Is B a person? Did his friend have a baby and didn’t know it?

“Hey, let’s g– Oh, where did that come from?”

Jungkook came in, hair damp. His eyes land on the bouquet of flowers. Wooshik is frozen in place. His hand is still holding the card as he stares at him.

His eyes gradually squinted, “Who is Princess, and why is she sending you flowers?”

TAGLIST (closed)

@hobiuwusunshine @alinerl @bbangtanlove95 @daydreamiies @craftymoonchaos @awseokjin @yoonabeo @luvrsofbts @hisbutton-nose @bloopkook @chvngbiin @takochelle @wildarmy @cuddlysoftbear @luv-minhyun-world @shydestinyyouth @bbtsficrecs @fan-ati--c @rjsmochii @jkbabiey @hopeworldjimin @chieftoadturkeynickel @ppeachyttae @tannies-luv @loomipee @sanctify-mp3 @stuffy16 @laylasbunbunny @di0rgguk @tswisal1 @amara-mars @jksgirlhere @callmejimmeo @rapmonie2047 @petalsofink @daemontargaryenwhore @juju-227592

#bts fluff #bts series #bts drabble #bts scenarios #bts secret relationship au #bts established relationship au #bts friends to lovers #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook drabble #jungkook series #jungkook secret relationship au #jungkook established relationship #jungkook friends to lovers #our little private love affair

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11vr1 · 11 months

Text

Still Yours ⭒ Miles Morales

Part one: Been Away

Synopsis › You’re still his. You just need a little reminder.

Pairing › Earth-42! Miles Morales x Reader

Inspo › “Still Yours (feat. Big Sean)” - Bryson Tiller, Big Sean

Includes › ATSV SPOILERS, angst, fluff, swearing, Spanish, toxicity, going back to your ex, man has a staring problem, stalking, mentions of violence, manhandling i think?, kissing, terrible grammar, maybe some continuity errors (don’t think about it too hard)

P.S. › I had to write this part on my phone because my house has no wi-fi. Forgive me.

You were a vision as your head threw back in laughter at something your friend said. Absolute perfection in the way your uniform fits in all the right places and the gentle swoop of your edges framing your glowing skin in the harsh fluorescent lighting. It was aggravating. “When did she get that?” Miles’ rich eyes narrowed at you and your group of friends.

His best friend looked up from his phone in your direction. He didn’t need to ask who she was. “Get what?” he sighed, already sensing where this conversation was headed.

“Her lipgloss.” He tilted his head. “It’s Fenty.”

Ganke couldn’t remember when Miles became a makeup enthusiast, but he knew he was a Y/n expert. “And how do you know that?” he asked in disbelief. Their lunch periods had turned into a sort of Y/n watching session since your mysterious separation. He was over it and tired of watching his friend not-so-subtly stare at his not-ex-girlfriend. It was sad and getting a little creepy.

“It’s her favorite brand, but the shade’s darker. She’s never worn it before.” Miles’ food was left untouched, too preoccupied with the sight of you. You must’ve been doing this on purpose, he thought. Sitting directly in his eye line with your annoying ass group of friends. And Drew Harris, Brooklyn Vision’s resident dickhead jock, sat a little too close to you.

Ganke shrugged, turning back to his game. “I don’t know, man. It looks like the one she always wears.”

Miles tore his gaze away to face Ganke. His eyes hardened to an icy glare. “Why do you know what color she usually wears?”

“Chill, dude,” he rolled his eyes. “This break up is actually making you go insane.”

“We didn’t break up,” he snapped, but who was he fooling? Ganke was spot on. Miles was increasingly on edge, waiting. He’d texted and called multiple times since last weekend when finally spoke to you for the first time in weeks. But you didn’t respond or pick up. At this rate you were going to block him…again. Just when he thought everything was piecing itself back together, you slipped away out of his reach.

Ganke stood up with his trash. He had better things to do than watch his best friend run himself to the ground over a girl who obviously wanted nothing to do with him. “Broken up or taking a break, either way you’re miserable. You need to figure your shit out or move on before you burn a hole in the side of her head.”

Miles waved him off, not showing his words struck a chord. Moving on wasn’t an option. You were on his mind twenty four hours a day, seven days a week without fail. The thought of you waiting for him safe and sound kept him alive while he committed every crime in the book. Everything he did was for you, to keep you protected in this twisted city. Nothing was going to ruin his forever, not even you.

⋆

“Why not Drew?” Ellie suddenly asked while they walked the halls away from the cafeteria. You could tell she was enjoying having you back with their friends. “He’s all over you. You guys would be perfect,” she gushed, practically skipping across the tile.

You gave her a stern look, “Ellie.” You hated to burst her bubble, but she was too eager for you to be single. “I’m not interested in Drew Harris.”

“Okay, picky,” she hummed in thought for a moment. “Erik Falls? He’s on the basketball team and I heard he thinks you’re gorgeous,” she tried again. You stopped at Ellie’s locker. You weren’t going to ask where she heard such a rumor or why it seemed she had a mental list of the single male population.

You shook your head. A new relationship was the last thing on your mind. Miles was it for you, the one who made your heart sing, the man who made you believe you could be loved like in the stories. No one could compare, especially not a couple of immature jocks who would eventually become mere blimps in the timeline of your life. If only there wasn't a plot twist. “Despite what you think, I am more than happy being single. A new man is not on my list of priorities.”

“If you say so. You’ve just been so down since…” Ellie’s wide eyes briefly glanced over your shoulder. “I thought you and Miles weren’t together anymore?” her voice lowered to a sharp whisper.

Your response stalled, caught off guard by the question. Did Ellie know you and Miles had spoken? You didn’t want to imagine what kind of hell would be unleashed if she found out. “Of course not,” you forced a laugh. “Why?”

“Don’t look, but he’s at your locker!” she scowled, tossing her books back into her locker. “Don’t worry, girl. I got this.” Ellie pulled the earrings from her lobes along with her stack of bracelets, mumbling something about the “little creep.” She never hid her distaste for Miles, the two bumping heads more than once the duration of your relationship.

Against your better judgment, you looked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Miles Morales leaned against your locker like he owned it. With his shirt untucked and tie loosened, he never failed to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

You stopped her before she stalked off in a fury. “Hold on, let me talk to him. I’m sure it’s nothing.” You didn’t even sound convincing to yourself.

Ellie drummed her fingers, lips pursed as she looked between you and the boy over your shoulder, skepticism written all over her face. “Fine, go ahead, Y/n. But I swear if he tries anything, I’m coming for his ass,” she pointed, making sure to shoot him a steely glower.

“I’ll be alright,” you assured her, already walking away.

You finally approached Miles, rolling your eyes at the enigmatic smirk on his lips. “You ignoring me, ma?” He asked, his gaze never leaving your face as you fiddled with the combination on your locker. “I thought we was good.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you, Miles. I just…” you struggled to explain without sounding like you were in fact avoiding him. Did he really think cornering you in an alley would fix everything? “I still needed a bit of space.”

He was clearly unsatisfied, but held his tongue. Instead he nodded his head. “Let’s take a walk, princesa.”

“I can’t,” you stuttered out, unable to trust yourself around Miles. Ignoring his messages took everything in you, so used to spending hours of your day spamming him with the most trivial things when you weren’t together.

“Yes you can. You have a free period.” Of course he had your schedule memorized. Nothing could get past Miles. He entwined your fingers in his, enveloping you with the rough calluses of his palms and dragging you through the halls without care for the curious stares directed your way.

The usual commotion of the city hit your ears as Miles swung open the rooftop door. Fond memories of your favorite meet up spot came flooding back, the late nights Miles would help you study for a Spanish test or when he simply wanted to sit in silence and bask in your presence. You’d fallen in love here over and over again, the stars and city skyline your only witness.

Miles had yet to release you from his hold, savoring your touch after being starved for so long.

He wasn’t going to let you go, not when you were finally where you belonged. “We need to talk.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” No one wanted to hear those dreaded four words.

Your attempt at humor was not appreciated. His grip squeezed your hands in a gentle, but firm warning. “I’m done playin’ your little games, mami. This back and forth shit ain’t gon’ work. I need you to be straight with me.”

The impending weight of the conversation began to settle on your shoulders. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Miles. That I’m totally fine with you being the Prowler and everything can go back to normal?” You avoided his gaze, choosing the cerulean sky knowing his gaze could pull whatever he wanted from you if you dared to stare too long. “You lied to me for the better part of our relationship. Where you go, what you’re doing, who you are and if you’re okay, like really okay. I can’t trust you!”

Too much had been broken for you to go back. And you tried! Lord knows you fucking tried. You hid your tears when Miles missed a date, coming up with some lame excuse. Or the days he’d return and couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. Your mind turned to the worst. Doubt festered where trust should have been. But you held on just as fast as Miles held onto you now.

Now you know the reality and it scared you more than any possibility you came up with.

Miles listened to the cracks in your pretty voice, seeing the damage he caused. He never hated himself more. Ripping out throats and cracking skulls he could stand, but the sight of those crystal tears nearly broke him. “Mi corazón...” A large pad tenderly wiped a droplet from the smoothness of your cheeks. “Lo siento.”

“Say what you have to say, Morales. You can’t keep wasting my time.” You forced yourselves apart to furiously rid the traitorous tears. He didn’t deserve them.

“‘A waste of time?’” he repeated incredulously. Miles grabbed your left wrist, tugging down the sleeves of your navy blazer to reveal the golden bracelet you wore and its various charms. The cursive “M” dangled in your face, mocking you and your devotion to him. “Is that what this is?” He fished the delicate chain from beneath his own uniform where he wore your name closest to his heart. “Are you done with me? Was all this pointless to you, Y/n?” he nearly shouted, doing his best to keep what little composure he had left.

The answer had never been more simple. “No, of course not,” you said. “I don’t regret loving you. I just can’t keep loving half of you when you already have all of me.”

Shock filled the silence between you. “You love me?”

“Yes, dumbass!” You pushed against his chest. He didn’t budge, too stunned to breathe properly. “I know you won’t say it back but I don’t care. You should already know.”

Miles cradled your head and leaned down, your noses touching, sharing the same air. “Say it again,” he ghosted your lips.

Your knees weakened, his heat creating a haze of solely him in your mind. You studied the gentle contours of his face, the fullness of his lips, the healed scar on the edge of his right brow, someone only as close as you could see. An inch was all you needed to think, but you were snatched back. “Miles,” you gasped in surprise, steadying yourself in his arms. Through layers of fabric, you felt the rapid rhythm of Miles' heart and you were positive he could feel yours.

“Dilo de nuevo,” he commanded, pressing your body against his in a vice and yet you were still too far. “Por favor, para mi.”

“I love you,” you began, but Miles cut you off as he eradicated the damned space between you. Your mouth parted, the taste of spice and uniquely him familiar, like loving Miles was a reflex you’d always succumb to.

You relented to your need to breathe, still cradling Miles’ face in your hands. “Te amo también, mi corazón.” You never thought he would return the words and you’ve never been happier to be wrong. “Let me do it right this time. Be mine again. No more secrets, no more lies. Prometo.”

One chance was all Miles needed to gain access to your heart. You should have kept his number blocked, called the police like you threatened to do, but his determination was endless. He wanted you and here you were in his embrace saying, “I’ll always be yours, Miles.” You reached on your toes to steal another kiss, consuming as much of him as you desired. The pink of his tongue peeked out as he licked the sticky glitter from his lips. You moved to wipe the remaining gloss about to apologize before he took your mouth again, his teeth teasing the delicate skin.

“It is new.”

#iivri writes ˚·⊹ ⟢˖∿#Spotify #marvel #spider man: across the spider verse #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #prowler miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman fluff #spiderman #fanfic #angst #fluff

2K notes · View notes

spdrvyn · 11 months

Note

TSUNDERE MIGUEL O'HARA THAT IS DENYING HIS FEELINGS FOR READER WHILE HE ACTIVELY THINKS ABOUT THEM 24/7 AND KNOWS ALL THEIR CUTE LITTLE QUIRKS (READER CAN BE SPIDERMAN OR NORMAL PERSON YOUR CHOICE) PLEASE I NEED TRUNDERE MIGUEL SO MUCH IM DYING IM STARVING *sob sob cry sob*

love, your best friend Dre <3

i won't say i'm in love — MIGUEL O'HARA

(( uhhh .... i have no clue who this motherfucker is! jk lol hi tommy [ you slut ] here is your severely in denial miguel fic, spoiler free. ))

"Lyla, arrange this mess."

Miguel waved his hand at the AI, eyes focused on the glowing screen in front of him. He always had the habit of keeping a messy desktop, though it wasn't a big problem for him considering his trusty artificial intelligence assistant.

To which the trusty artificial intelligence would poke and tease Miguel in response. At times, he really wondered if Lyla was secretly being controlled by a human. A pesky, occasionally annoying, childish human that constantly pushed his buttons.

"What's the magic word, Miguel?"

He groaned bringing his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, massaging the stress lines that have formed from constantly being teased and played with.

"...Please."

Lyla lets out an electric hum, her avatar glitching into a thinking pose. She stares at Miguel with a confused look through her heart-shaped sunglasses. "Sorry. The signal in here is so bad. What was that?"

"I said, please, Lyla. Get to work."

"Oh, don't worry. I heard you the first time."

The man lets out a defeated sigh, he's given up on trying to defend himself against Lyla. Even when he's old and withered, this charade will continue like a never-ending circus show.

Multiple screens pop up in front of the AI, to which Miguel bashfully averts his gaze. He's normally organized enough, in the workplace but he's also very busy. Little things like putting files in the folders they belong simply evades his mind sometimes.

However, one file in particular stood out in front of him from the corner of his eye. It was a drive, among all the others that are colored in the regular shade of blue and labeled accordingly, this one was highlighted in pink with a little heart symbol at the end.

"Lyla, what's that?"

Her avatar glitches again into her in a sitting position, a little teacup in her hands as she takes a fake sip. "Hmm? I don't know, I don't see anything. Which one are you talking about?"

"Ay dios mío... The one in pink, Lyla. What is it?"

"Ohhh..." An obviously fake display of surprise makes itself present on Lyla's face, she opens the file. "This is a drive of all of the times you talked about that recruit. Lovingly, might I add."

Miguel's eyes darted around the screen, folding his arms over his chest. There were many, many videos of him. The scroll bar just kept going like there was no end.

Hesitantly, he pointed to one among the sea of videos and Lyla opened it. The playback goes as follows, the 'recording' is from her perspective, it seems.

Miguel is hunched over his desk, mumbling nonsense to himself until it becomes more coherent as Lyla approaches him.

"Whatcha' got there?"

The camera shifts and zooms over to Miguel's hand, to where he's holding a small tupperware. Filled to the brim with baked goodies, a small sticky note is pasted to the top of it however the writing is too tiny to make anything of it.

'They got me a gift.'

'That's the third one this week.'

His chest heaves as he lets out a deep sigh.

'...I know.'

A small moment of silence before Miguel continues speaking.

'Esto es tan tonto. I don't why they keep bringing me these... these things! I don't know why they keep smiling brighter than sun when they give them to me!'

Miguel frustratingly opens the tupperware, brings one of the pastries close to his mouth and takes a big bite. A small groan escapes his throat.

'I don't know what they're putting in these things to make them so delicious! Giving them to me, of all people. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So smart they are. Agile, strong, and capable and— and kind...'

Another bite.

'You know that you've gotten them gifts before, right?'

'But they all look idiotic next to this. Made with their precious time and care. Putting in the effort to make sure that they actually taste good and they do,'

Miguel closes the tupperware with a loud snap.

'¿A quién estoy engañando? They're amazing.'

"Miguel?"

That wasn't part of the recording. Miguel swipes at the screen and it fades out of existence, little pixels hovering in his sight before it completely disintegrates. Lyla disappears too as you swing onto the platform of his office.

He tenses up once he sees you, leaning a hand against his desk. God, he definitely did not want to look at you after what he just watched. He especially did not want to look at you because of the blush that stained his cheeks. Thankfully, mostly hidden by the darkness of his chambers.

Of course, you greeted him with the same warm smile.

"Haven't seen you all day today. Are you doing alright?"

"Fine. Doing fine. Just cleaning, why are you here?" Says Miguel, he despised how his heart pounded in his chest so loudly right now. Whenever he was around you.

Being so composed was what he was known for, what he was respected for. Yet, everytime you even look in the same direction as him, his exterior just melts.

"I just wanted to check in on you, was all. I noticed you haven't come out in a while, I brought you an empanada from the cafeteria just in case you were hungry."

You toss the small container to him and he catches it in one hand, he could hardly comprehend what was going on right now. Staring mindlessly at the box. "Thank you."

"Of course. Take care of yourself for me, I'll... head out now."

He watches over the edge as you fall off the platform, landing onto ledge that separates his desk from the rest of the room.

"Can you start ranting now? I want to get this drive up to 600 videos."

Miguel grumbles, opening the box and biting into the delectable snack before going back to organizing his desktop.

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #fluff #romance #lyla spiderverse #lyla atsv

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satoruin · 3 months

Text

➣ matchmaking or meddling?

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

word count: 1.6K

summary: you find out just how much your students have been meddling in your love life, though you can’t really be mad.

notes from lee: i’m afraid to make this look like an award acceptance speech so ill be brief. had to make a fic for the namesake of the blog and a very late hbd to boo (@2018-01-20). kinda wish i had more interactions with the kids, but i ended up w/ a lot of gojo pov also unedited

Looking back it should have been obvious what these kids of yours were up to. Yes, they were the reason you were in this god-forsaken closet with a blindfolded fool.

You’re only really aware of their meddling now as you hear their snickers from the hallway, so you can’t quite tell when their meddling started. But it makes sense that they were plotting something, but was it in collaboration with Satoru? Because it seemed like every mishap or coincidence between your two classes, Satoru took it in stride and turned it into his advantage. Just like he was taking advantage of the situation now…

Thinking back, your first clue should have been with the sticky notes. A note scrawled on a pink sticky note, in actually legible handwriting, addressed to you like a valentine. Reading, “from: Satoru ;D to: (y/n) <3; do you look this good every day or do i just not remove my blindfold enough????” It’s on top of a stack of papers handed over by the ever-stoic Fushiguro. Surely to get your guard down, and it did.

When you interrogate your fellow teacher about it later, he keeps his normal all-knowing grin plastered on his face. Now they, being the kids who orchestrated it, don’t need to do any work as every day after that there’s a new sticky note somewhere for you to see. They vary in color, most in some shade of pink, some with bad pick-up lines, others with a stick figure drawing, or the very rare ones hidden away with words that make you spit out your drink.

Or maybe another tip off should have been the ‘coincidental’ times you’d have the second years out on the training field and he just so happened to also plan a demonstration for the first years at the same time. But then again you don’t hear their snickering above your irritation at the white-haired man as he lets you jab a finger into his chest, with his annoying smirk.

But they notice you don’t care anymore that he peeks his head over your shoulder to look at your teaching outline just so he can do the ‘coincidental’ planning now.

And still the biggest hint that you fall for every time, is when they leave you at the cafe with just Satoru after begging for a weekend meetup. And again, when they ask to have team dinners, study sessions, or extra training, it's ridiculous. Your gullibility and trust in them is commendable, but it’s become laughable as you still trust in the kids to show up. And they do, just in disguise from across wherever you are as they watch Satoru come to your rescue every time.

Maybe the more ridiculous part is when the rare glimpse of their teacher’s eyes is pointed, peeking through their poorly crafted disguises, at them from across the room with a smirk.

He’s noticed for a while now that the kids are playing matchmaker, and their skills are much better than those his clan hires. And to be honest, he doesn’t mind, if anything he finds it cute that they think he needs the help. Though admittedly they do have some good ideas. Each one never fails to fluster you, in your own cute and angry way, as he takes over their schemes. His six-eyes catch the flurry of texts sent every time he does so, which he’s sure just encourages them further.

Satoru’s not quite sure when his feelings for you developed. He’s always found you attractive, especially when you were his cute kouhai (he still likes to call you that in order to annoy you until you begrudgingly call him senpai once again.). Everything he learns about you only adds to his initial interest. He’s a sucker for getting to know the little things, like your favorite dinner spot after a tough mission or what your ideal day off is. Once you accept his feelings he’ll put the knowledge you deem useless to good work.

But there’s a moment that sits so starkly in his memory as the first time he realized he was in love with you and not just intrigued or infatuated.

It was maybe around the time Tsumiki had gotten sick and though Megumi was self sufficient, Satoru didn’t feel that he should be alone. He knows he’s not the best at comfort, hell he could barely comfort himself, so he sends you.

And he’s not overly worried about you, you’re a teacher so he’s sure you’ll get through to the ever prickly Megumi just fine. Plus you’ve always been significantly better at handling emotional situations, he knows first hand. So when he comes to check on you after finishing his mission, he smiles at your success.

Megumi’s head rests on your lap, asleep, and you’re slumped over the armrest. There’s a twang of jealousy that pricks at his mind, wishing it was him in your lap instead, but all he can think about is having you greet him as he comes home and Megumi and Tsumiki sitting for dinner and that would be yours and his alone.

He’s never felt like someone that would settle down or want a family, especially given the circumstances of his status. But you, in this moment, make him want to move past the shrewdness of the higher ups and his clan, and just have you. He longs for something that is just his, not part of Jujutsu Society, the higher ups, or his clan, or even Satoru Gojo, he wants things just for Satoru, just for him.

You are that something, that someone, he wants, he’s convinced that he needs you like the air he breathes. The weird surge of emotions that have been kept bottled up since a dark day suddenly seems to make sense and it has a name, it’s love.

So when he’s reminiscing on his feelings, it really has been there all along, but it’s that very specific moment in which his love for you was defined.

And the apex of all his work in gently guiding you to realize your feelings, that he’s very sure are there, is in a closet of all places. His blue eyes glow dimly in the dark of the closet with the snickers of his students on the other side.

“Hey,” he breathes out, much less confident than he intended, but you make him nervous.

You meet his bright eyes briefly before looking away and returning the greeting, “Um, hi.”

His breath hitches and his mind blanks, every funny line or flirty remark he could make right now is gone. He can’t think about anything other than you, how cute your expression is, how good your hair looks even slightly messed up, but mainly your lips and how much he needs to kiss you before he leaves this cramped closet. “How are you?”

You blink at him incredulously, “We’re in a closet, Gojo. How do you think I am?”

He tosses his head back and groans as you use his last name, he thought he’d gotten you to call him Satoru like pretty much everyone did. “C’mon (Y/n), you know I hate when you call me that.” He whines and pouts, jutting his bottom lip out like a toddler.

He watches the guilt flash across your face briefly, surely it’s you remembering how he confided in you about hating the weight that came with his last name. “Sorry, I know. I know,” you pause and he senses your hesitancy and waits, “Satoru.”

He’s got a big shit-eating grin on his face that differs from his usual smirk as he rocks on his feet with his heart fluttering.

“You really like it that much when I call you ‘Satoru’?” You ask, eyeing up his body language with a skeptical look.

“Maybe.” He answers in a sing-song tone, he’s back to his usual self, “But you know what I’d like more?”

He leans in close and glances down at your lips. No matter how many times he does this, it always results in him pulling away with a teasing smile. So when he feels your hands wrap around the neck of his uniform and pull him closer, it’s certainly a surprise.

“You want a kiss?” You ask and he nods meekly, if possible, and you do, you kiss him. Satoru’s eyes flutter shut as his heart flutters in his stomach. His big hands reach up to cup your face and keep you glued to his lips. Gods, it’s everything he’s dreamed about and more.

When you part from him to catch your breath, he’s smiling. “I hope you know I want much more than a kiss.” He waits for you to breathe and to watch your reaction before smashing his lips onto yours again.

Satoru feels your arms wrapped around his neck and how your hands crawl through his undercut to tug at his hair. And he’s similar, the hands once holding your face have traced down your body to your hips so he can hold you close.

The knock on the door cuts your time short, your tongues and bodies having to part. Satoru watches as you smooth over your clothes and hair before he pulls up his blindfold. The door opens not a moment later to reveal the two classes waiting with bated breath to see something scandalous.

They are disappointed, fortunately for you and your image as a teacher. None of the students have the time to catch the heavy blush on his face as he slips away while you lecture them. But they do notice how flustered you are when you get a text from Satoru, “dinner 2nite?”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo #jjk #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #gojo x gender neutral reader #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru x y/n #! satoru gojo #[ lee's writing ]#[ + ] jjk

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azrielbrainrot · 4 months

Text

Fire on Fire

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Description: Being female in the Autumn Court was hard enough before you got engaged against your will. You try to avoid your fate at any cost.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3966

Notes: Writing Eris is hard, I hope this isn't too bad. Also meant for this to be so much shorter but oh well. Feedback is always appreciated! (unless you're mean about it)

Fire on Fire Masterlist

You watch elegant gowns in all shades of green and orange against tasteful brown and scarlet three piece suits flowing to the music. Your own floor length gown is a muted burnt orange that complimented your figure enough not to be considered provocative. The dress is undeniably beautiful but you would have liked it more had you been allowed to choose it for yourself, it was only upon arriving that you realized the color was meant to match your fiancé's. Orange and burgundy, symbolizing the fire in your hearts, burning for each other. Such a shame you didn't choose him either.

Lively music and laughter can be heard all around the extravagantly decorated ballroom. A proper celebration fit for… you can't even remember what the purpose of this ceremony was. Just another in a long list of mindless parties you aren't allowed to fully indulge in, celebrating people you don't like or traditions you'd rather never participate in.

In any other situation you might have loved to take in the beautiful decorations around the room and lose yourself in the music, dancing and laughing to your heart's desire. But, as you stare at the same intricately decorated chandelier, with magical flames swaying to the beat, you can't take your mind off the people around you.

Your engagement ring clinks against your wine glass slightly, both useless props. You were only allowed a couple modest sips of the wine before putting it aside, as no female should indulge in such a thing, let alone an unmarried one. And the ring seemed more like a mockery than anything else. It symbolized your purpose in this life, to be someone's trophy wife just as your parents had raised you. You think a noose around your neck would feel less haunting.

Thankfully, your parents had left you alone shortly after arriving, letting you sit by one of the tables while you watched the celebration from afar. They must have been content with your demure act, the promised beauty standing off by the side while the married and unclaimed fae reveled in the center of the room. You wonder if you approached the table filled with deliciously smelling goods your mother would winnow to you, lest you look fat in your already too tight corset. It's not even worth the effort for a simple bite of food, you'd rather starve until you're alone.

With a soft sigh you let your eyes wander away from the chandeliers, if you stare at them any longer you might blind yourself with the flames. Pretending no one else was here was an impossible feat anyway. As much as your room feels like a prison sometimes, you'd give anything to go back home right now.

Your eyes meet your future husband's and a chill immediately runs through your body. Eris looks as impeccable as ever in his intricately decorated suit, not a line or hair out of place just as it was expected of the Autumn Court Heir. There is no doubt that he is an exceptionally handsome male, you don't even want to imagine how many fae would kill to be in your place. It's just a shame that his personality is less than desirable, and so is his attitude towards you, and his manners when no one is looking, and that he was the final nail on the coffin that is your stupid fate.

You knew an arranged marriage would eventually become your reality ever since you were a child and your father had told you not to bother with romance, he'd pick someone suitable to marry you and all you had to do was be good to him. In his eyes love is not worth it. You wonder if he even believes it exists, he's certainly never felt it, not even for you, his own child. It makes you feel more at ease knowing no one has ever loved him either, as cruel as that might make you.

For a while you didn't pay your future too much mind, you'd have secret crushes, read romance books behind everyone's backs and even had fleeting affairs when you were a teenager, but it came to a point where you couldn't ignore your fate anymore. When you were freshly seventeen, your mother started intensifying her lessons on how to be a good wife and a good mother - this was the biggest irony since she had never been anything but cruel to you - and your time was consumed with preparations for a future you'd rather run from.

Shortly after, your father put you officially on the market for a husband that would compliment the family's powers, and the High Lord himself came forth, interested in having you marry his eldest son. You knew your family's power was coveted in the Autumn court, your fire was only second to the Vanserra line and the current Lady of Autumn, but this still came as a surprise for you and your family as the High Lord never appeared interested in you. There was no point deluding yourself anymore, your fate as a glorified brooding mare was staring you right in the face.

You had briefly thought of escaping, but the chances of succeeding were slim and you had nowhere to go. You knew the other courts didn't operate on such archaic rules, for the most part at least, but you were also aware that none would accept an autumn court noble female. Your High Lord had burned every bridge with the other courts a thousand times over. You didn't blame any of them for being wary of anything that crawled out of this sickening court.

Words cannot describe how much you hate Beron and everything he stands for which is a good thing because you'd be burned alive in public for speaking those words out loud. Still, you know your feelings of hatred could never hold a candle to Eris' distaste for his own father, and this is how your bargain came to be.

Upon hearing that your future husband would be the heir to the Autumn Court, you had only felt fear like never before. Eris had a reputation of cruelty that preceded him, he was a favorite for the throne among the despicable nobles of this court for a reason after all, but following your first meeting, you had seen a side of him that you'd bet not even a handful of people had glimpsed before and had ultimately came to an agreement that benefitted both of you: you'd push back the date for as long possible while playing the role your fathers expected of the both of you and, if you were lucky, you'd be able to avoid the marriage altogether when Beron wasn't High Lord anymore.

Eris wanted to dispose or Beron, burn down the ruins of this old-fashioned, cruel court and have Autumn be reborn from the ashes. You never intend to call him your husband, but you would gladly help him so you could, one day, come to call him your High Lord.

He observes you for a few heartbeats before downing the content of his glass and setting it aside. In the next moment he's walking straight to you, not ever letting his eyes stray or giving you a moment to breathe.

You can't help but think he looks every bit the High Lord in this moment, with his suffocating power untamed and wicked gaze trained on you. Eris walks to you in slow, intentional steps, like a predator would walk to his prey. His three piece suit was clinging to his frame perfectly, showing off his physique with every step. The pushed back hair only made the intensity in his eyes more noticeable and the strands he left out were framing his face perfectly. Eris looked extremely handsome from afar but he's suffocatingly entrancing when he stands in front of you.

You barely exchange pleasantries before he holds a hand out to you. You can feel everyone's eyes on the two of you, observing every interaction in hopes of finding any detail to gossip about. They all know your marriage is arranged but they're under the impression that, as a female, landing the most sought-after bachelor in the court was your endgame. And there are plenty of people who would go to extreme measures to ensure that they or their family member would be the one becoming the next Lady of Autumn. You're not sure if they'd spare you even if you told them you didn't want anything to do with the title.

“Time to put on a show, doll.” Trying not to let your face show the distaste of the petname he chose for you all those years ago, you take his hand and let him lead you to the middle of the dance floor.

The music changes right before you start, the band knows this is one of the highlights of the evening - the heir and his fiancé. People will be talking about this moment for the next weeks, it's not often you and Eris interact in public after all, just enough for him to show his claim on you as your father so eloquently put it.

Eris leads you through the dance effortlessly, your body following instinctively in turn. You've yet to see him be less than amazing at something. You wonder what kind of picture the two of you paint, moving together so gracefully to the music, orange against burgundy, fire on fire.

“How are you enjoying the evening?” You'd rather he was quiet and ignored you in these moments you have to show up together in public like so many husbands and fiancés do. Eris loves to fan the flames and it's just your luck that they're usually yours. He might not have as much as to lose if you snap and let your fire show, but Beron wouldn't let him go unpunished if his fiancé caused a scene.

“Lovely,” you make sure your gaze is both timid and kind, avoiding his gaze as if you were inferior to him. As he spins you around and brings you in closer, you add in a hushed tone, “Haven't been allowed to eat since this morning and my hair is pulled up so tightly I can barely think.”

“You females sure have it rough.” He means it as a sarcastic comment but you've known him long enough to identify the distaste behind his words. Eris doesn't have the liberty to speak his mind so he's learned to do it behind mockery and sarcasm over the centuries. He knows how rough you have it, unfortunately he's seen it first hand.

“Oh I'm sure you have it so much worse,” you say in a tone you hope matches his, “It's not like you don't spend your mornings walking your hounds around the forest and nights only the Mother knows where.”

You see something spark in his eyes, something akin to satisfaction, before he's tightening his grip on your waist and bringing you in closer. He looks around the room first, as if daring anyone to keep staring while he talks to his soon-to-be wife. Of course, no one does.

“Spying on me, little doll?” Your breath hitches and you know he hears it because you can feel his smirk grow. You'll blame the blush spreading through your flesh and chills moving through your body on your performance later, but in this moment you know they're very much real.

Eris has an effect on you. The male is undeniably attractive, you doubt you'd find any fae or human who wouldn't think so, and that wicked tongue of his only makes him more enticing. You like to blame your body's response to him on your lack of experience, but you're not sure it would be possible to not feel at least tempted to indulge in Eris even if you'd already made your way through the entire court.

“I wasn't trying to,” you swallow, fighting to keep your tone steady and not show any more reaction to his proximity. This much was true, you could barely sneak around to find time for yourself, let alone spend it looking for your fiancé. “Maybe you're just easy to find,” you tilt your head slightly, “This doesn't bode well with all your plans.” You swear you can feel a small chuckle coming from him but he's hiding it before you can be sure.

The song rises in tempo and Eris takes this opportunity to spin you around again, effectively putting some space between you. It's hard to keep a pleasant smile on your face while spewing venom filled words at your husband to be, but letting anyone overhear you or find any little crack in your performance would only bring trouble, and this is routine for you after all. You'd never admit it but with his hand in yours the stares are easier to digest, even if your arrangement was involuntary, at least you weren't alone for once in your life.

The song finally comes to an end. You rush to bow to him slightly so you can go back to an emptier corner of the ballroom and escape everyone's prying eyes, but Eris takes your hand before you can. He takes it up to his mouth, kissing it softly before whispering in your ear.

“Meet me at the cabin later.” It must be an important subject for Eris to even bring this up at a place like this. Though you're sure it had simply looked like he left you with some teasing parting words.

The rest of the ceremony is uneventful. You go back to the same place you had spent most of the night in and ignored the whispers around you. Aside from your mother coming by to ask you what Eris told you - to which you promptly lied and feigned bashfulness - you sat in the corner quietly wondering what your fiancé wants to talk to you about.

As soon as you walk into your room you let out a loud sigh. You wish you could just fall into your bed and not emerge until the sun is high in the sky tomorrow. Unfortunately, you still need to let the maids bathe you and get you ready for bed. Your mother insists on having them help you, especially on days like these, as if you could drown in the bath.

It takes what feels like hours to go through the whole routine, getting you out of the too small corseted dress was a feat in itself. If you had been alone you probably would have already burned it off your body in frustration, it's not like you'll be allowed to wear it again either way.

You lie down in bed as soon as the maids leave, keeping an ear out for everyone else in the house. Trying to leave before everyone was asleep was too risky. They had no reason to think you would leave in the middle of the night like this, but you couldn't help being a little paranoid. There's too much to lose.

When you think it's safe, you climb out of bed quietly. You look down at your nightgown and contemplate changing into something warmer. It barely reaches your knees so you'll definitely be cold, but you were already late and it would be easier to just get back into bed like this. You decide to put on some boots and throw a green hood over it.

Taking one more look around, you winnow to your meeting point. No one knows you have this ability, which is how you can sneak out as often as you do. You've kept this secret from everyone but Eris, though you didn't intentionally reveal it to him either.

He'd shown you this place when you first made your bargain years ago. You're not entirely sure what the cabin was used for before but it was probably only meant for storage. Eris must have found it deep into the forest and decided it was a good place to hide, you can only imagine the things he's gotten up to inside these walls.

As soon as you materialize into the cabin you see Eris standing by the fire. He's changed out of his suit but it doesn't look like he was getting ready for bed with the black ensemble he has on. Yours is probably not the only secret meeting he's having tonight.

“You're late.” Incredible how Eris always strives to be the nicest person in the room.

“I had to wait for everyone to think I was asleep so they didn't see me,” you start as you push the hood off your head, “Excuse me if I took a bit longer making sure no one followed me.”

“You're perfectly excused, doll.” The flames in the hearth climb higher, fueled by your anger that only escalates when you see the familiar smirk on his irritatingly beautiful face. “Oh my. How have you managed to hide your powers with such a fiery disposition?”

You ask yourself that same question often. Fortunately, he might be the only person who can make your temper boil so easily. You don't even want to think what would happen if your father found out how powerful you could be.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your composure, you take a deep breath and walk closer to the fire. The cloak is doing little to ward off the cold of the autumn forest, you hope he at least ends this conversation quickly.

“I was hoping you'd keep the dress on,” he takes on a seductive tone and looks down at your bare legs before locking eyes with you once more, “but this might be even better.” You will never understand why he insists on playing this game with you, you're more than aware that he has no such feelings for you. You also know you probably look ridiculous.

“Well I was hoping you'd get eaten by a wolf on the way here,” you give him a sweet smile, “but we don't always get what we want.”

The disinterested hum he sends your way in lieu of a response is somehow more infuriating than anything he might have come up with. The fact that Eris managed to live over 500 years with this personality might as well be one of the biggest mysteries in Prythian.

“What did you want to tell me anyway?” You just wanted to get this over with and go back to your warm bed so you can finally sleep the day off.

“Our marriage will take place within the year.” The world fell silent at his words. You always knew this day could come, that Eris could only delay it for so long, but hearing the words makes your heart sink.

“What?”

“Beron hasn't talked to me about it yet but he told my mother to start preparations for my wedding.” He runs a hand through his hair, you hadn't noticed how messy it already was. He's as worried about this as you are. “She warned me he'll probably announce it soon. I thought it would be tonight.”

You don't know how to process this. It may have been foolish but you had hoped this would never actually happen since Eris was on your side. You sit on the bench and Eris follows suit. Your masks drop in the small comfort of the secluded cabin, there's no use pretending now.

“What about your other plan?” This was your last chance: if Eris was High Lord he could simply call the engagement off and your father wouldn't be able to argue against it.

“I will need more time.” You close your eyes tightly, wishing you could just disappear. “I'm trying to move things along as fast as I can but I won't be able to finish all the preparations before the end of the year. There's too much at risk.”

“We will be married by then.” It's over.

“It can't be helped.” You'd give anything to see Autumn rid of Beron, if the price has to be your freedom so be it. Still, you can't help feeling defeated, it feels like you're mourning a life you never even had the chance of living.

You don't know if Eris had any hope of finding love like you did but, even if he didn't, you know he didn't want to be chained to someone he didn't choose either. He had witnessed how awful his parent's marriage had been just like you did yours so he must have at least hoped for a companion of his choice or to stay alone.

“I've thought of sending you away,” you look up at him, surprised at his words, “but my father would order me to find you, and I'd have to obey him. Failing Beron's orders brings too big of a punishment for me and my family.” His gaze moves from the fire in front of you to meet yours, “I would hate to ever hurt you, doll, so I need to keep you here.”

If there was one thing you could respect about Eris was his commitment to keeping his family safe. You're not actually sure if any of them are aware of the sacrifices he makes for them - from what you've heard the family dynamic is interesting at best - but it tugs at your heart strings. You used to pray for someone to care for you that much, to protect you like this.

You wonder how things ended up like this. Maybe thinking you could have avoided this future when it was written for you when you were born had been simply a foolish delusion. At least Eris was one of the best options, as much as you hate to admit it. You'd at least not have to worry about him being violent with you or treating you like you were less than an animal.

“Well,” you sit up straighter and stare right into the fire, feigning nonchalance even through your shaky voice and teary eyes, “I guess we'll have to get used to each other.” No use crying over spilt milk. It was better to accept this reality sooner than later. “Being Lady of Autumn might still bring me some perks in the end.”

You might have to give up on your chance at love and to build a life for yourself, but you can at least help Eris change this court for the better. When you turn your head and meet his amber eyes you find an intensity you weren't expecting, if you didn't know any better you'd think he was proud of you.

“Already thinking of ways to rule my court?” The smirk on his face wasn't quite as cutting as usual. “How ambitious of you, doll.”

“Our court,” you clarify, “What's yours is mine, husband.”

He studies your face for a few moments with a glint in his eyes, noticeable even through the reflection of the fire. You're not sure what he's searching for. Any signs you'd back down or try to run away despite his warnings? Whatever it was, it seems he reached a conclusion.

“We'll rid this court of Beron,” he extends his hand towards you, holding his palm up, “and give it a new worthy ruler.” Another bargain. He wants to add to your former agreement, that one would disappear the moment you got married anyway.

“We'll make this a better place to live, a court we can be proud of.” You have nothing else to lose. You take his hand and feel the magic instantly. You're now bound to Eris in an oath you intend to fulfill at the cost of your life. You'd make him High Lord or you'd die trying.

#eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris vanserra x you #eris fic #eris vanserra fic #eris vanserra #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #divider by saradika #fire on fire universe

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husbandohunter · 7 months

Text

Two Shades of the Same Color

Synopsis: Protecting the law and protecting his family. The line seperating them were like two shades of the same color. Wriothesley just didn't know it yet.

Genre: Wriothesley x Reader, gender neutral pronouns, Reader and Wriothesley have a daughter

(A/n): this is my offering to the gacha gods praying for an early Wrio to come home 😔===============================

The Duke of Meropide often finds himself conflicted in the different roles he has to play.

In the daytime he carried his duty as the Warden. Having served his sentence through the years he was in prison, Wriothesley was appointed to be a suitable candidate now managing Fontaine's most notorious Fortress, guarding wanted criminals, convicts, and what justice deems guilty. Both feared and respected by them, it was quite an intresting story how he got into this rank. But he also didn't dislike his occupation. Perhaps due to this self-proclaimed 'rough around the edge' personality, he believed the prison wasn't so far disconnected from his nature.

"Wolf-ears, wolf-ears, daddy has wolf ears!" A sweet voice sang before imitating a growl sound.

Aaand there were those who really disconnected him from his 'nature'. Wriothesley sighs as he rub his forehead, clutching a stack of unsigned papers while the girl pulled the little tuffs in his hair.

Your five year old daughter came home one day, announcing that the class had been given an assignment.

Two things arise in his head. First off, why are they already giving assignments to children? Shouldn't they be learning their alphabets and make crafts or something? Second, why does it have to involve taking your kid to work?!!

You failed to stifle a laughter at the sight, the poor man silently hoping that you would do something, "Come down little one. You wouldn't want to accidentally fall over now, would you?"

The girl shook her head, avoiding your attempt to hold her and squeezed her small legs around his shoulders, "Don't stop me! Mari wants to stay up here."

"But he's going to get tired if you keep shaking like that," you suggested, placing both hands on your hips.

Mari huffs, "That's up for daddy to decide. Right, daddy?"

You quirked an eyebrow and glanced at your husband who seemed to be under a lot of pressure. What can he do? When his daughter stares at him with her toothy grin and gleaming eyes that looks just like his own?

Helpless at her whims, he pleads silently, urging for your aid once again.

"Sorry honey," you shrugged and tilted to the side, "I tried."

"Oh really?," the man doubts, "Then why are you smiling like that?"

Wriothesley wasn't sure how he got into this mess in the beginning. Actually, wait. He did. He just...didn't want to admit it.

The initial answer to Mari's request was a no brainer. Allowing his little babydoll Marigold through the walls of Meropide was something he stricly forbade until she reached thirty years old. A reasonable negotiation, he thought. Not even the gossips plastered all over the Steambird newspaper would be discussed at the dinner table. The man vowed to keep his work life and family life seperate the day she was born.

"Why don't you go find them to help you with your homework?"

"I work at the Fortress too, silly."

Well-- maybe not you since the two of you met here, but that's different. Rules are laws and laws shouldn't be broken. There's a reason why order is meant to be taken seriously in Fontaine. And of course, in his house too.

Then you proceed to say-- it's because you keep spoiling her! Which he retorts, "I'm not spoiling her, I'm just making sure she has a fun childhood, that's all."

"Uh huh, you sure do a great job at it officer, maybe a little too well," you tease, wrapping your arms around your burly husband and nuzzled against his cheek.

Fits of giggles came from above, Mari starts rocking back and forth, "Now give him a biiiiig kiss!"

"Alright alright, that's enough you two," Wriothesley caught hold of his wiggling daughter and settled her down on the floor. Seriously, he could hardly focus. Wriothesley had planned to make his routine as boring as possible so she would leave and he could go about his day. It seems the man terribly underestimated the fact Mari had a penchant of finding entertainment. Should've been obvious that he would be the center of it.

"Can we go downstairs now? I want to see where the machines are working," Mari declares and throws her hands up in excitement.

Wriothesley clears his throat, "What did I say earlier about going downstairs?"

"It's not safe for ages under thirteen and only for members who are given permission because they're criminals," Mari sheepishly repeats.

"Aaaannd?"

"You're not allowed to abuse your authority or give me special treatment because the Warden must be fair and respect the rules from the Fortress of Marinetide, treating everyone equally."

"That's my girl," he nods with a grin. Though the pronounciation can use a little tweaking. Eh, he'll let it slide.

"Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit too much? The working grounds aren't that bad, even Sigewinne takes her strolls there during her breaktime," you chime in.

"Who's Sigewinne?"

The man expresses what seems like his version of a pout. Though you can never miss the small upturn slivering the corner of his mouth, "I'm starting to get the feeling that you enjoy seeing me like this."

"Nonsense," you lean on his shoulder, "I'm just admiring how much of a loving father my daughter has."

They're coaxing me into something, "No means no."

Wriothesley glances at Mari who had still been persisting him with pleads and questions. The reason why he wanted to keep his work life and family life sperate was because prison, in general, can shape a person entirely. Whether for good or worse depends on the individual, she was far too young to be exposed at the kind of stories and complex reasonings people would have. Wriothesley knew very well that nothing is black and white. Perhaps from growing up in this kind of world, he wanted to know, to see, to let an innocent child experience life far differently than he did. Because now, he had a choice.

"I already know what you're thinking, it's written all over your face," breaking him out of his thoughts, you gently spoke to his ear, "Not everyday our little Mari gets to spend time with her father like this. She was so happy when the teacher said it was going to be a 'take your kid to work day' assignment, you know?"

"I'd rather keep the details behind closed doors. There's not much that can be said outside the reputation everyone knows of," he reasons, "Besides, Sigewinne is the only exception because she's the head nurse. This little fellow here can hardly prounouce Meropide."

"Hey! That's not true. If I practice long and hard I can speak as perfectly as the papers on your desk!"

"Oh? You know what that's a great idea. How about we spend the day practicing your alphabets? We could also read the Boar Princess while we're at it," the Duke happily suggested.

"Wriothesley," you chide lightly, "As long as you're with her I'm sure there will be nothing to worry about," then you crouched down to Mari's height, "Right sweetie?"

"Yeah! Daddy is the strongest and smartest man in all of Fontaine!" She jumps up and down, "He can even lift me even when I'm wearing a backpack!"

Wriothesley eyes you both suspiciously, "I see how it is. Sounds like you two are teaming up."

"I like to call it a coincidential agreement," you tugged him at the arm and lead towards the stairwell, "Come on. Take the day off and let me handle the paperwork. Wouldn't want to keep the fun waiting, would you?"

Your husband folds his arms and scoffs, "A day off?"

"By the courtesy of Chief Justice Neuvillette himself," you responded.

Ah, they had it all planned out, "Astounding effort on your part, I suppose."

"Please, daddy? I swear I'll behave and not do anything to make you mad," Mari twiddles her thumbs, "Pleeease?"

Wriothesley closes his eyes, a habit he acquired during situations such as this. Well, looks like he was fighting a losing battle anyways. Maybe you were right. He was spoiling her.

"Fine. Only under one condition. You have to-"

"Call me 'Your Grace'!" She salutes immediately, " Oh, I mean...you, Your Grace."

Wriothesley glances at your way again and you merely returned a shrug. He smiles amusedly.

They really had it all planned out.

•••

When Wriothesley stepped out of his office, he was slowly starting to regret his decision.

Mari, being far too excited for her own good, already bounced a few metres ahead. He sometimes wondered where she gets her energy from. For newcomers, they easily wear out before they become used to things. Ah, that's right, I have to make sure she doesn't disturb the inmates. If this keeps going then who knows where she might end up. Archons forbid it'd be the Pankration Ring.

"Up you go," for now, Wriothesley scoops her into his hold, having the girl seated on one forearm and the other supporting her weight. Until she calms down, at least.

"Mari is reporting for duty," she salutes again.

Wriothesley lets out a chuckle, "Since when did I ever act like a Marechaussee Hunter? Wait, let me guess, you snuck to see Clorinde."

Guilty as charged. The little girl slaps a hand over her mouth, "Whoopsies."

"I'm joking. I actually didn't think you snuck out to see Clorinde," he smugly states, "Well well looks like my little culprit reveals herself."

She huffs, "Heyyy, that's cheating."

"Sorry babydoll, but I think I win this one," Wriothesley boops her nose in a playful manner and allowed Mari to stand on her own two feet, "So, are you ready for a tour around the Fortress of Meropide?"

"Where are we headed first, Your Grace?" She chirped, eyes blown wide like she was on a sugar rush from last time.

Wriothesley raised a scarred brow, "Oh you're letting me decide? In that case you'll just have to wait and see for yourself."

"Yay, I love surprises!"

Even better. This way, he can guarantee that she won't wander off to places she shouldn't be in, no one should be in.

Lunch hour was approaching and the inmates were already finishing up their shifts. He could feel the frequent looks being thrown from the cafeteria, already knowing it will be the hot topic for the next few days or weeks.

Right, then there's this part I have to deal with.

It didn't help that the man's presence alone had the same affect under normal circumstances. Seeing their Warden with a babbling little girl was rather jarring. Mari was...how should he put it, good at stealing the spotlight. So much she easily attracted all the attention from the locals. Wriothesley had never knew someone could be so pestering that it became endearing. Other than you of course. Heh, I guess that's one of many things they have in common.

He doesn't try to hide the smile softening at his features.

"C-Could that be His Grace and..."

Welp, looks like the hot topic is already cooking. Wriothesley pays no mind. There's nothing wrong with being open about his family in front of other people at least. Just because he had a reputation as the Warden to keep doesn't rob him the identity of being a father.

His mind suddenly drifts back to you. Is that why you were so insistent about this earlier?

"Daddy, everyone is looking at us funny."

The word 'daddy' does not escape those around him, percise as a radar and pointed sharply at his direction. Wriothesley expected as much. Actually, he was more surpised she even managed to remember the honorifics for this long, "Ah who cares. Let them do their thing. Anyways, didn't you say you wanted to see how the machines worked?"

A pause before she breaks out into a wide, beaming grin, "Yeah!"

"Then hold on tight," without a warning, Wriothesley lifts her until she was settled on his shoulders and ran as fast as he could, away from the crowd.

•••

"Was that...the Duke just now?"

A confused inmate, still processing at what he just saw, allowed the bitten meal in his hand fall to the plate.

"Who knew His Grace had a soft spot," Another one snickers.

Wolsey who had been tending to the dishes behind the counter exhales exasperatedly, "His Grace ought to be more careful with his actions around others next time."

•••

The shaft doors open to reveal the upper level of the production zone. Wriothesley exits first before gently taking the girl's hand as she shuffled down the two stairs. Thankfully the area had been emptied, except for a few supervisors, it was much more peaceful compared to the cafeteria.

"Wooooahh looks at all those meks!" She ogled. Meks was her way of saying gardemeks. Spending time with a five year old made him more keen to the language innuendos they create, "It's like one gigantic gear working together."

"Not just gears sweetheart, the people here are responsible for making sure ever part of the machine is functioning. Without them, there would be no clockworks you see in the surface," Wriothesley opens a palm while he explains, "I know most of your classmates only think of them as criminals, but criminals have been working for honest income."

"Does that mean the same criminals are now helping to make meks that catches more criminals and keep Fontaine safe?"

The man pauses, thinking for a moment, "You could say that."

"Hmmm," Mari looks down pensively, trying to put two and two together, "So if criminals are honest people, how did they end up in here?"

"Well uhhh... " Wriothesley breathes out quietly. It's complicated. Sometimes he doubts if the word criminal is even a proper label. Becoming a criminal isn't always by choice, some are just born into it, eventually going down a path because there was no where else to go. And the few who escape are the lucky ones, "Ah very tricky, sweetheart. Don't tell me you're here trying to get ideas."

The mischeivious expression he gave her made Mari gasp in disbelief, "I would never break the law daddy!"

"Are you sure?" He insists with jest.

"Yes, and I promised a hundred thousand times already," she emphasized.

Wriothesley pats her lightly on the head. Although his hands were calloused and scared, they carried the weight of a loving father, "Good. I know you'd do the right thing."

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar silouette dressed in pastel colors. Sigewinne had been speaking with Grainville at the Operation and Widget equipment. As you mentioned earlier, the head nurse pays frequent visits to check upon the health conditions of inmates. For the Duke, it was natural that he'd want to know if there was anything he should be concerned about. But now is not the time. He didn't want to drag his daughter when this was meant to be a fun activity of theirs.

"What's that over there?!" She scurries off without a warning, specifically at the direction he was glancing earlier.

Or we can just check it out anyways. Wriothesley thought to himself, using his hands to prop against his knee, standing upright so he could catch up with Mari.

The Melusine was the first to notice, "Your Grace? I'm seeing you everywhere these days. I hope you haven't been swarmed with too much to do."

It's true that Wriothesley had been more present in his timing. The Primordial Sea issue was something he wanted to be resolved as soon as possible, "I'm actually doing just fine, thank you Sigewinne."

"Y-Your Grace. I'm surprised to see you here. Are there any newcomers I must train?" Now it was Grainville's turn to intervene, "Oh, and who's this?"

"Sigewinne?? That's the nurse, daddy?" Mari exclaims, baffled as she compares her height with the other, "Why is she so small like me? Did she get hit by the short disease?"

Jeez. Children can really run around without a filter these days.

"She may be small but a lot more older than she looks," Wriothesley reasons, gentle and firm, "Aren't you forgetting something? In front of you, these people have greeted us the moment we came by. What's the right thing to do, Mari?"

It took some time for her to realize but she perks up as soon as she did. Flustered, the young lass dips herself into a low curtsy, head following suit that her hat fell to the floor, "Good afternoon. My name is Mari. I'm five years old. Nice to meet you all."

Wriothesley maintains a straight face and picks up her hat. On the inside, he could feel his heart squeezing. No matter how many tries you practiced with her, she still doesn't get it quite right. Totally his fault. He never scolds her for it.

"Hello Mari, my name's Sigewinne and I'm the head nurse," the melusine beams, "Though I'm a bit surprised, Your Grace. I thought [Name] said you didn't want to bring your daughter here."

Quick, he had to make an excuse before, "Ah, that's--"

"That's because daddy is awesome and he cares about us so much!"

Urk.

Sigewinne's countenance suggested she caught on that the Warden had a weak spot for his overly coddled daughter, "I see. You're fortunate to have such good parents, Mari. His Grace had put in great effort to ensure the safety and well-being of the Fortress. It's probably why everyone is quite satisfied with living here."

"I know," Mari nods with agreement, "Since daddy does the same thing at home."

Warmth spreads inside his chest and the glaciers of the man's gaze thaws enough for one to notice. Did she truly feel that way? Somehow, for a long time, he didn't think it was enough.

"It's true. His Grace doesn't ostracize anyone and gives them an equal chance of a better life," Grainville added.

Wriothesley crosses his arms and returns a quipped stare, "Indeed. Though I'm afraid flattery will get you as far as none. Best get to work."

Grainville salutes, "Yes, Your Grace!"

"Wait daddy, can I stay and watch?" Mari tugs the hem of his fur coat, "When I go to school tomorrow, I can tell all my friends all the cool things we did today."

He straightens his posture, "No."

"But daddyyyyyyy."

Here we go again. Except this time, the man will avoid all eye contact. Maybe he can try getting earplugs next time, which of course, must be slipped on discreetly so she wouldn't notice. If you were here, he'd be getting an earful of the same conversation he had in the office. Equipment processors can be dangerous to use if something suddenly screws loose. Who knows what might happen?

Though a father can only resist so much and he couldn't ignore her forever. Wriothesley relaxes his shoulders, the crease in his forehead fading, "Are you sure you can be careful?"

"Careful is my middlename!"

"Grainville," Wriothesley commands. Authority drips from his voice that the supervisor nearly flinched from his place, "Check if there's any malfunction in Operations and Widget equipment. I expect a thorough search once I get return from lunch."

Without a moment hesitation, Grainville executes his task as if his life depends on it.

"Daddy, can we go buy some food?" Mari looks up, "I want Fonta!"

"No junk food until you eat properly," though now she mentions it, he is craving a cup of tea by now.

Walking out of the shaft once more, Wriothesley takes another look at the environment surrounding the cafeteria, through a different lens than the last. He recalls his first day. Young, brash, and full of poor judgement. They were not the best memories, but they were certainly memories.

How things have changed. For the better, as it should. To Wriothesley, that was probably the most important aspect of all. He likes seeing signs of strength and hope, reassuring him that tomorrow will be a better day. Though he made peace with the present constantly filling him with doubt. Can the same progress be as steady as he wanted?

He thought about what you said. Then the words he heard from others. The Fortress of Meropide had improved to the point it could function autonomously. On top of that, he received high praise from both surface dwellers and those who lived in the underworld. What drives him to maintain this environment stems from his past. The good and the bad. The mistakes and lessons. The two shades of the same color blurred into one.

"Daddy, I just want to tell you, I had so much fun today. Thank you for bringing me here!"

And if those experiences of his could ensure that his daughter could live a safe and peaceful childhood, then that's everything he can ask for.

#genshin impact #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #genshin

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heartsforvin · 2 months

Note

Hi, could you please do an imagine where reader colors vinnie’s tattoos, please

COLOR IN THE LINES

this is ADORABLE thank you for the request !!

pairing; vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings; cussing, use of pet names (baby, princess, etc), otherwise just fluff

summary; you love to color in vinnie’s tattoos

one of your favorite things to do when you and vinnie have a day together is to lay in his bed, legs entangled with each other, while you lay on his chest and color in his tattoos.

you bought washable markers that won’t damage skin specifically for this. vinnie realized early on in your relationship that this was one of the many things that made you calmer.

walking into vinnie’s room, you greet him with a smile before quickly heading to his bathroom.

“hello to you too, princess.” vinnie says under his breath as he watches you sprint to his bathroom.

you walk out a few minutes later with a smile. vinnie watches as you walk around to the other side of his bed and pull open the nightstand drawer.

he smiles when he realizes what you’re grabbing. he quickly removes his sweatshirt so he’s only in sweatpants now.

you hop up on the bed and vinnie widens his legs for you to kneel in between him.

you start to shade in his most recent tattoo, it has healed so it was perfectly okay to color it in by now.

you hold onto his arm while you shade in the tattoo right below the one you just finished.

once done, you kiss his arm, making vinnie smile. “what’s that for?” he asks you.

you shrug with a tight lipped smile. “i love you, that’s what it was for.”

vinnie watches you in pure awe as you do the one thing you love most. he pushes some hair behind your ear and kisses your temple softly.

“have i ever told you that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world?” the compliment makes you stop abruptly.

he in fact has told you that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. he tells you everyday.

a slight blush creeps up on your cheeks, you’re grinning ear to ear at the boy in front of you. your boy.

“i had a really bad day, v,” you breathe out, almost wanting to cry at the thought. “that means a lot, no matter how much you tell me.”

vinnie takes the washable marker out of your hand and caps it before putting it on his bed. he takes your hands in his and looks at you.

“what happened?” he asked you with pure sincerity.

you sighed, hoping that no tears rush out of your eyes as you explain to vinnie about your day. he grabs you and places you in his lap, hugging you tightly as he leaves kisses all around your face.

“people at work, mainly customers. they’re all fuckin’ idiots.” you rant.

vinnie lets out a laugh, he grabs your arms and rubs his hands down them gently. “shh,” he tries to calm you.

grabbing the marker off vinnie’s bed, you pop the cap off and begin to color in vinnie’s ‘break my heart’ tattoo on his chest.

he knows this calms you most so he doesn’t ask why you ignored him. he moves his hands so they’re around your waist now, holding you gently.

“gotta get you a coloring book, sweet girl.” vinnie says softly as he watches you move down to the tattoos on his lower stomach.

you giggle as you shade in the tattoo on his right side. “i like using you as my personal coloring book, though.”

as much as you’d love a coloring book, you’ve been using vinnie’s ink as one for awhile now, and don’t think switching to paper would help calm you as much as this does.

vinnie doesn’t mind, though. as much as it hurts him to see you upset or stressed, he loves the way coloring in his tattoos helps you so much.

“i know you do baby, and i love it too. but i wouldn’t mind getting you your own book for it.” he tells you.

your eyes immediately shoot up to his, he watches your demeanor change and soon rubs your back and places a soft kiss to your cheek.

“i’m sorry, princess,” he apologizes once he realizes that’s not what you want at all. “didn’t mean to upset you.”

you smile slightly at your boyfriend before moving to his arm, shading in more ink on his skin.

you’re quiet for the rest of the time until you finally finish all the tattoos on the front side of his body.

capping the marker, you put it back in the box before putting the box back in the nightstand drawer.

“how’d i do?” you ask with a smile, standing next to vinnie with your hands on your hips.

he stands and pulls you to his bathroom so he can take a full look. once he sees your art, he smiles.

“you did amazing, sweetheart,” he kisses you. “my little artist.”

you smile and hug vinnie from the side, gripping his waist and soon turning so your body’s pressed against him. chest to chest, you smile at your boyfriend while he looks down at you.

“thank you for understanding and letting me do that.” you tell him, standing on your tip toes to kiss him.

vinnie wraps his arms around you tightly in a hug. “i’m here for you, my love,” he says. “always.”

you and vinnie stay like that for awhile before heading back into vinnie’s room for the night. vinnie picks up his hoodie but you quickly swatted his hand.

he chuckles as he faces towards you. “like me without a shirt that much, huh?” he teases.

you hit his chest and climb into his bed. “get over here dork,” you tell him. “yes i do, but i like looking at my coloring more. first time i actually colored in the lines.”

vinnie laughs as he gets in beside you. he lays down and scoots you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you as you snuggle into him.

the rest of the day you spend snuggled up to vinnie as the two of you watch movies.

you run your hand along vinnie’s chest and stomach, admiring your coloring work, being grateful you have the most understanding boyfriend.

hiii finally back to posting !!! i hope you all loved this as much as i loved writing it !! and i hope the anon who requested this did as well !!

like i said in my most recent post, work for me has been busy since i got back - and although i don’t post while im at work, i am still a bit active w my moots. i’m trying my best to stay active but my personal & physical wellbeing come first so if im inactive w uploads, just gimme time 🥹

I LOVE YOU ALL THOUGH !! thank you for all the continuation of the support / feedback on my posts <333

tags; @cosmicanakin , @lyndys , @slvthrs , @forevergirlposts , @bernelflo , @leqonsluv3r , @kriissy4gov , @lovingsturniolo , @louloulemons-blog , @hallecarey1 , @st4rswrld , @violet0182 , @visualbutterflysworld , @laylasbunbunny , @kayleiggh , @supabhad

#vhackerr #vincent hacker #vinniehacker #vvhacker #vinnie hacker smut #vinniehackerfanfic #vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie hacker headcanon #vinnie x y/n #vinnie x reader

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coeurify · 5 months

Text

TIS’ THE DAMN SEASON 1

ELLIE WILLIAMS

𖤐 . ─┈ the holidays linger like a bad perfume. you can run, but only so far. i escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave? ˚* .

pairing: modern!ellie williams x ex!reader. summary: three years after the worst high school graduation you could imagine, you come home for the holidays— and find you can’t run from the past forever. ( series summary!!! ) chapter warnings: the first half is a flashback to high school. underage drinking & smoking (18). slight mommy issues, slight angst. blink and you miss it talks of anxiety. reblogs, likes and conversations about this fic in my inbox are highly encouraged and LOVED!! (plz come talk to me) special thanks to @elliesbelle for proof reading and hyping me up when i was struggling LOL

Your graduation gown was bright red. Not the sort the class before you graduated in, one that danced the soft line between burgundy and crimson. That would have looked beautiful against your skin, complimented the dress you picked out on the very first day of senior year. Your best friend told you it was too early, that you might decide on a different dress later on, but you were quite stubborn. You held the dress on a velvet hanger in the very smallest corner of your wooden closet, olive green and untouched. Gazing at it became a ritual, a fixation that found you stood at your closet any bad day, staring until your eyelashes fluttered closed and you let a soft breath out. Just a while longer until you could wear it.

The graduation gown was bright red and hadn’t gone with the shade of your dress at all. The material scratched against your arms, and fit too snuggly against your shoulders. Each thread felt too small, too constricting as you pulled it over your body. The sewn-on emblem of your school irritated the space on your chest it stuck over, and all you wanted to do was take it off. To be free of it.

Still, you had pushed aside the open suitcase at the bottom of your closet with a lump in your throat and sought out the same olive-colored dress from the start of the year. You had to wear it. You left the suitcase outside of your closet as well.

Nestled on the quiet corner of Church Street, named so for the methodist that sat closely down the avenue, was your childhood home. Faded paint peels from its timeworn white picket fence, revealing spots you picked at as a child— crashed into with your bike when you were ten and split the repainted wood. The wood creaks on the porch outside, which your mother consistently complained about. One of the window panes on the second floor is weathered by the rain.

It’s your bedroom window, and sometimes when you’re bored you would push up the glass, and let in the Wyoming air, trying to make your bedroom feel less suffocatingly small. You would scratch your nail against the dead wood, watch pieces fall to the ground outside, over the small garden of seasonal flowers your parents always tried to tend to, and failed at each year. You do so that day, with your bright red sleeves pushed up as you let the June breeze into your yellow-painted room, picking— prodding at the pieces that hardly hold on before your mother called your name, “Joel and Ellie are here!” her voice carried up the carpeted stairs, echoing with a sense of impatience.

Those names had your ears perked up, hardly feeling the tightness on the shoulder stitches of your graduation gown anymore, and you hurried down the stairs, welcomed by the smell of ripe peaches and freshly cut grass. It’s likely the candles balanced on nearly every corner of the living room your feet carry you near, lit by your mother who leans over yet another she must have gotten from the home goods store three towns away.

A smile pulled at your lips for the first time that day as you took in the two at your door. Joel was wearing a suit— an actual suit, and he had shaved. When you ‘oooh’ and ‘ahhed’ at his get-up, he raised a hand, still tinged with a soft amount of dirt, likely from sneaking to his carpentry job that morning. Ms. Pam’s house, four streets over.

Then you saw her, through the sun-drenched light that came in with the open door. Ellie had a frown on her lips, maybe because her gown was also too small as she pulled it over her body. God, couldn’t that school get anything right?

For once her hair was out of its usual bun, pushed uncomfortably behind her ears. All you wanted to do was rush forward and kiss her rosy cheeks, poke at the freckles on her nose, prominent as ever under the Jackson sun. But you had a little too much shame lodged in your chest to do so.

Your parents had been accepting, as did Joel, when the two of you curled your hands into one another’s in November of your sophomore year, and announced that you and Ellie, your two doors down neighbor, were girlfriends. Accepting as they could have been, at least. It took your mother a while, she’d excused herself from the wooden kitchen table she sat at the day you told her— and took a few weeks before asking you where along the line your childhood friend became more. She asked how innocently kissing the knees Ellie scraped on her skateboard, and Ellie’s fingers scooping into the frosting of the cookies you were making for your eighth-grade bake sale had turned into... this. You just gave her more time to understand.

By Junior year prom, your mother was almost smiling as Ellie hugged you to her chest behind the small camera Joel held outside of their one story soft blue ranch-style home. She pressed a hand to your cheek as Ellie tugged your hand into Dina’s, your shared friend, car and told you to be safe. That was always her way of telling you to have fun.

So you shouldn’t feel ashamed to lean forward and kiss your girlfriend of over two years as you two got ready for graduation, but you still did— just not because of your company.

Ellie didn’t notice the slightly odd feeling radiating off your body as she had launched her converse covered feet over the small welcome mat near the door and into your arms as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Today’s the day!” She’d cried, fern eyes sparkling. You smiled and nodded, though when you parroted, “Today’s the day,” it didn’t mean the same.

﹒ ♡₊˚﹕﹒₊﹕﹒₊˚

Halfway through the graduation, your feet began to hurt. Not because you were standing too long. No, all 350 of your small-town senior class were given pull-out plastic chairs that sunk into the green grass of your football field, facing the rows of fading grey bleachers that families sat at, folding the pamphlets handed out to fan their sweating faces, a backdrop to the relentless drone of teachers delivering speeches under the sun.

Your feet hurt because your shoes were too small, the heel too tall. You had bought them when you were thirteen and visited New York City. The ankle strap was wearing thin, clamped around your flesh in a way that kept you rolling your ankle over and over. They were the nicest pair of shoes you had, and the only ones that didn’t make you cringe to look at. A shiny black color, with a gold gem on the strap. Surely you could have found any that looked the same at a department store near the Ski resorts at the edge of town, abandoned for the summer season. But then they wouldn’t be special, wouldn’t have been from the bright-lit city on the east coast.

They looked beautiful with your dress.

Ellie tipped her head down to rest on your shoulder, mumbling a soft, “This is soooo boring.”

Her red graduation cal tumbled off, landing on the green blades at your feet with a muted thump. Unaware of the tension, she nuzzled against you. Her cheek brushed softly, oblivious to the subtle stiffness that coursed through you, raising nervous goosebumps beneath the red fabric. You, however, couldn't escape the feeling, your heart gently aching at the touch. With a sigh, you surrendered, melting into her.

Jesse, stationed to Ellie's left, couldn't resist a snicker. His messy black hair peeked from under his cap as he playfully kicked Ellie’s fallen cap forward. Ellie leaned down to grasp before a nosy teacher scolded her for not paying attention. “Hey!” Ellie whisper shouted at her friend, before finally grabbing and fitting the red cap on her head again.

Ellie had decorated her’s with a beautiful hand drawing, black and brown inked sharpies on the red cloth, bleeding gently out on her lines of a moth and leaves, surrounding the blue inked symbol of a college forty minutes away.

You hadn’t decorated yours at all.

“It's almost over,” you console, fingers reaching out of the red fabric sleeve, sliding over the heated plastic of your chair to grasp at Ellie’s hand, squeezing it gently.

It’s almost over.

You smiled as best you could when your name was called, ignoring the tightness of your gown, or how the color of the dress contrasted the bright red. You ignored the pain in your toes as you kept your eyes straight on the podium where your Principal stood, grinning too brightly for someone who never once looked your way in the school— as he handed you your diploma. You put on your best smile as you posed for the hired photographer, but it never reached your eyes.

The smile that did reach your eyes was that of when your best friend walked across the stage. You whooped her name loudly and tried not to let your heel dig into the dirt as you clapped and jumped. “WOO CAT!”

The true smiles, the ones that found your eyes, came out as each of your friends crossed the stage. Your heart swelled to the brink as Dina and Jesse walked, followed by Ellie.

Your eyes fixated on her auburn hair swaying in the soft breeze, clapping so fervently that it stung, your grin stretching from ear to ear. The joy became tangible when Ellie received her diploma, a scratched scream leaving your lips.

Ellie graduated, your Ellie graduated.

Ellie who held your hand so tightly as everyone stood, who glanced at you with that cheeky smile when the microphone scratched during the countdown to throwing your caps.

Ellie who tugged you against her and smashed her lips into yours the moment she heard, “You are now graduates! flip your tassel!”

You do your best to focus on how perfect her smiling lips feel against yours instead of the impending doom filling your stomach.

Dina on your left tugged your cap off your head, throwing it in the air the same moment Jesse did so for Ellie.

You were sure your heart should have bursted through your ribs right then and there, your lips slotted against Ellie’s, giggling so hard against the kiss that you had to suck in a deep breath whenever she gave you a second— forgetting the awful feeling in your gut as Ellie brushed her nose against your own.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” her warm breath heated your cheeks, “We can do whatever we want now, we have all the time in the world.”

Your bursting heart had sunk as quickly as the graduation caps that fell on the ground around you.

﹒ ♡₊˚﹕﹒₊﹕﹒₊˚

Your parents never really let you go to parties in high school. In fact, they were rather strict, your phone on a table downstairs after 10 pm, doors locked when the sun came down. Rules about where you could go, and when you could go. The sort of rules that just made you sneakier. But graduation was different, no sneaking was required when your father shrugged at the explanation of the after party your class planned. A bonfire for students to throw all of their papers into, cheer, and celebrate around the burning memories of high school.

You left out the part about how it was being held by James Summers, whose parents never questioned why heaps of six packs and half drained liquor was being carted into their backyard.

“Go have fun,” your father sighed, lips around a mug, the smell of black coffee in your nostrils. You never understood why he drank it with dinner. “You're a graduate, celebrate. A lot going on tomorrow, anyway.”

His head nodded toward the sealed envelope on the table, a stamp with a zip code from California.

You swallowed and turned on your heel.

The air was thick when you stepped outside, the sun setting, grass slightly dewy with humidity. You hated how it smelt, how it felt against the tank top you changed into. You kicked rocks under the toe of your shoe, staring up at the hues in the sky, counting each new star that appeared in the darkening colors behind pursed lips until you heard the boom of music behind the metal doors of Jesse’s car.

He had the biggest car of the group, a black SUV from 2010, scratched up on the left side from when he bumped into a pole. You only ever used his car when everyone needed a ride, and seeing as how you had expected the party to go— you definitely should’ve only used one car, the driver agreeing to be the designated sober friend.

A faint whiff of weed lingered on her grey sweatshirt, likely courtesy of Cat, who sat beside her, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. She blinked lazily, black liner smudged down in the corner. “Ellie fought me for that damn seat,” she muttered as her head poked out, “So greedy with you.”

Dina poked her head back from the passenger seat, smoky eyeshadow caught in the yellow color of the overhead light. “If she’s choosing the shittiest seat, let her.”

“Buckle up and let's go!” Jesse declared, hitting the gas hard enough to elicit a yelp from you, your head thudding against the back seat as the door slammed shut.

“Shit Jesse, you’re such a dick,” you whined.

“A dick who’s gonna be sober at the biggest fuckin’ party ever so he can drive you all home.”

All of you groaned because he was right.

The windows were down the whole ride, the music too loud and pouring out into the open wind as they sang along. Your friend’s eyes were closed and heads tipped back, Cat leaned out the window and sang loudly to the 2000s pop song she demanded, Dina laughed loudly and leaned into the back to cheer her on, curly ponytail swishing as her brown eyes crinkled at the corners sweetly.

You just smiled gently, taking in the moment as much as you could. Ignoring how much you hated seeing the same road you did every day outside the window, how you could close your eyes and still list off every patch of land you zipped passed.

Instead, you try to take in what Dina’s laugh sounded like against your eardrums, how it sunk into your heart and squeezed it with a harsh grip. You took in how Cat’s short raven locks whipped against her forehead as she fell back into the car, lips parted and pearly white teeth sparkling.

You took in how Ellie’s eyes flicked around everyone, looking at ease as she slapped her hand against the back of Jesse’s seat to the beat of the song, a strand of reddish hair falling from its place in the hair tie she stole from you. You memorized what her throaty voice sounded like as she sang along in a tune that was not at all like her actual, beautiful, singing tone. One you only heard when the crickets sang outside, pressed against her windowsill as her fingers strummed over the old guitar from Joel’s study, deep into the night when you snuck over and asked for her to play a song. No, this was goofy and loud, a stupid loud bellow from her cracked lips, cut up by laughs and gasps after every few words. You made sure to commit to your Ellie-labeled folder of memories how she turned to you, nose crinkled as she urged you to sing along, shoulder bumping into yours.

You wanted to remember it all.

You knew this may be one of the last times you saw them all together, at least this happy— this excited for what came next.

“Guys,” you call suddenly, a rush of emotion forcing the word off your tongue and right to your feet as you realize what you’d done, three heads turning your way as Jesse lowers the radio.

Tell them. Tell them.

“I just, I really love you.”

What a pussy.

﹒ ♡₊˚﹕﹒₊﹕﹒₊˚

The setting for your final party was a tightly packed backyard with no fence near the woods. Clusters of seniors and underclassmen that snuck in filtered across the cobblestone near the glass door of the basement and all the way into the green leaved trees. Small fold-out tables held jungle juice, as bright red with cranberry juice as your gowns had been, and half empty and scattered beer cans. People whooped and hollered, they threw down graduate caps and little posters with your classes graduating year in the form of all different kinds of party favors.

In the middle of the backyard sat a large rock pit, filled with cut chunks of wood and smaller, sadder branches that drunk senior boys likely raced around the woods to find and throw into the fire. heaps of papers sat at the side, collections of every paper assignment from the groups of students.

Everyone at the party agreed to throw in and burn the papers at midnight, signifying the first day of summer and the end of your last day of high school.

By 11:30, all of your friends but you and Jesse were drunk. You were tipsy, enough to make your head light and your limbs heavy— tight heart a little less tethered in your chest as your back settled against a tree, curling your legs to your knees, tucking your chin on the soft skin there, eyes lidded as you watched your friends pass around a half gone blunt.

You should tell them.

“D’ya think we’ll like— be friends forever and stuff?” Dina questioned as her fingers brushed against yours, your pointer and thumb pressing gently against the blunt and bringing it to your lips, not answering.

“Don’t ask that type of shit,” Cat chastised, shaking her head. “So cheesy.”

“Of course we will,” Ellie muttered quickly, scooting closer to you on the rock you were seated on, taking the burning blunt after you.

You felt a little too sick for more than one hit, tilting your knees away from Ellie’s arms that sought affection.

Her eyes caught on you just for a brief moment, a soft look of barely there confusion before being interrupted by Jesse’s kick on her shin, “Blunt.”

You let yourself drown out the following conversation about the graduation, humming half interested or offering a small nod and chuckle of approval as your eyes focused on the cliques behind your friends' heads. Kids you’d grown up with your whole life, smiling widely and knocking into each other, chanting words you couldn’t decipher over the speaker that blasted as loud as it could across the lawn. You wondered if any of them had the same sense of dread you did. If the graduation felt more like a guilty secret than a moment of freedom for them too.

You should tell them.

Your thoughts snapped back to your friends when a voice filtered through the cloudy blockage. “Babe.”

“Hm?” your gaze fell back to the flushed face of your girlfriend, who held her hand out, now stood up. “I said they’re lighting the fire soon, doofus.” She frowned, confused by your sudden zone out.

“Oh shit,” you stood, fingers clasped around hers as she yanked you up.

You let go of her hand as soon as you stand, and ignore how your palm burns at the loss.

Ellie looks at you again, oh so observant Ellie, who reaches for your hand again, squeezing it so can’t push it away. You can’t bother to try anyway.

“You good?”

“Yea, jus’ smoked a bit much.” You nodded and smiled weakly, pointing your joined hands to where Jesse, Dina, and Cat stepped slowly in front of you. Ellie hurried both your feet over the grass to meet them as they shoved each other for the best look on the bonfire.

You and Ellie ended up behind the group a bit, as neither of you had brought your own papers to throw in the fire. Ellie said she hadn’t ever been good at collecting old assignments. You threw them out the moment your last class ended. You’d torn down every studying calendar, shoved every textbook and damn ruler into a trash bag and tossed it away. None was left by graduation.

You need to tell her.

James Summers perched on a stack of logs behind the bonfire, his throat cleared, bellowing as he shook around a small container of gasoline in hand, “We’re fucking free!”

The entire crowd erupted in cheers as Ellie's hand discreetly looped around your waist, offering a squeeze. She pressed a kiss to the side of your face, and you bit the inside of your cheek.

You were sick.

Everyone began throwing their papers into the pit, the gasoline scent filling the small and tightly packed area, mixing with the overwhelming stench of sweat and cheap alcohol. You could barely breathe it in anymore.

“Three!” James called.

“Ellie.” your voice cracked.

“Two!” The crowd yelled. Ellie looked over at you, noticing the discomfort etched across your face, and furrowed her brow.

“What’s wrong?”

“One!”

“I'm leaving. I’m leaving Jackson in three days.”

Ellie gleamed in a sudden surge of bright orange, heat tickling your face and screams ringing your ears. The fire had been lit, sparks of embers flying through the air as students swatted at them and laughed.

All you could see was Ellie. You watched slowly as her face dropped, as her sun kissed freckles flashed to a sudden pale. You watched as her hand dropped from around you, letting the sickeningly humid air hug your middle instead. Far less comforting than the itch of her bracelet against your skin.

All you can hear is the sharp gasp of air Ellie intakes, all you can hear is the choked question that dies on her lips. All you can hear is the crack of your ribs, maybe your heart, under your chest.

“What?”

﹒ ♡₊˚﹕﹒₊﹕﹒₊˚

“What?”

You blink blearily, rubbing your heavy eyes as you’re pulled into reality for a moment, staring at the tilted number of James Summer’s mailbox. The seven at the end barely holds on as it hangs loosely over the faded white paint. Your name follows the one word question, and then again. Shit, how long had you been unfocused? Your cold fingerprints dance over your fogged window absentmindedly.

“Mom,” your voice sounds whiny, like a tired child whose bones ached in the cold Wyoming winter. Being in this town sort of made you feel that way. “I said I’m about fifteen minutes out. My car made a weird noise on Maple Street, I took a break.”

Your father’s voice crashes through the grainy sounding speaker next, and you can almost imagine his face poked down to the place where your mother held the phone out. “Well did you check your gas?” You sigh. “Yes, dad.”

“And you’ve had the heat on? Know you probably haven't used it down in California much, but it’s important,” the slight edge to his voice has you twisting your hand down the window a bit harsher, “I’m not stupid, of course my heat is on. It gets cold there too, y’know,” Your eyes shoot to the dial, craning your neck with embarrassment, the heat was barely on. Thank god your parents didn’t like the concept of facetime.

“It was probably the fact that I dunno– I drove it fourteen hours?” you snap, any other building complaints dying in your throat as you instead focus your head out the window, a familiar flash of black hair nodding down the slick and cracked sidewalk to the left of you.

It was Jesse.

He looked the same, kept his hair the same overly complicated hairdo that you knew took him ages, even if he defended he woke up like that. He still had the same winter coat, though it landed awkwardly above his wrist as he whistled to his family dog, Lena. It almost shakes you, how stuck you feel in a moment of the past. You ignore your mother's calls of your name, chewing nervously on your lip. Hadn't he transferred to an out-of-state college two years ago? You saw so on one of your drunken social media stalkings. Maybe he was visiting for the Holidays? Maybe he was visiting Dina and Cat.. and–

“Turn your car on again!” your dad’s voice cut through your thoughts. You take one more look at Jesse, blinking like you were looking at some old photo or video from high school. He really did look the same. Only he was taller now, if that was even possible– less boyish in the charming smile he offered as Lena slid gently on a patch of ice. You slump down against your seat, shielding your face as your fingers turn the keychain filled car key still in the ignition. It rumbles to life softly, with a few spurts of an angry sounding engine before it settles into a normal low hum.

“It’s fine now.” You grumble, hearing your father’s tongue click. “Well hurry then, we have things to get ready for.” Your mother scolded as you shifted the old car into drive, refusing to look to your left as you started down the street, knuckles holding the wheel so tightly they hurt. “Bye.”

The click of your call ending allows you to take a long loud breath, sitting straighter in your seat as your eyes glance to the overstuffed duffle bag in your passenger seat. It’s with the heaviest clothes you could find in your mini closet back home– back in your home in San Francisco. It was a lot of sweaters and old tattered jeans you would have to layer to survive the cold without being ushered to wear your mother's awful coats or have an old scarf from middle school thrown around your neck to keep your cheeks warm. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

You hadn't had much time to pack properly, pull boxes down of clothes you only wore when it got really cold in your city during the winter. A split second decision after another fight over text messages with your mother sent you in a whirlwind of getting to Jackson as soon as possible.

You had narrowly avoided coming to your hometown for any holiday, let alone winter ones, ever since you left three summers ago. Both Christmases since then were spent in California, the promises of a beach holiday with warm sun pricking at your parents' skin and all the best events in Malibu lured them the first year, and car troubles you couldn’t afford to fix if you bought a plane ticket drove them to your home in San Fran the next.

It had not been enough this time. Your mother begged for months, going back and forth with you during every call, every picture she sent of a new poster lined on the local grocery store of Ski lodge events, light shows, any snowy magic that you could not find on the concrete streets of your home.

What finally broke you was your mother's rushed words last week, against a little screen you stared at in your dark living room as your roommate’s rushed words about work drowned out around you. ‘What are you avoiding?’ the text message read, ‘Do you hate where we raised you that much? Are you that embarrassed by where you're from?’ the next came. The words danced in your head, mingling with the soft music that played from the record player in your area.

You planned the trip the next day.

Maybe that made you weak. Maybe avoiding coming back to the small cold town this long made you weak. You weren’t sure anymore. Either way, you ended up here, after a very long drive with constant pauses and lots and lots of music to drown any thought that built inside your nerve wracked brain during the lovely endeavor of making it across the different states.

Taking your car in the first place was a decision no one you spoke to really understood. It would have been a short flight, easy to get through the airports, easy to be picked up by your parents or a cab. Maybe somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew why you had chosen this route. it prolonged the journey. It gave you more time to wallow in the kingdom of pity you had built yourself in these past years since you’d left. It provided the perfect out, need be. Your tire popped on the interstate. Your engine started sounding weird 10 hours in— something like that. Something to cower away as you had done three summers ago.

Surprisingly, you made it past the large sign that wrote Jackson’s town name in big green letters without making an excuse with your old car.

You could just coop up in your parent's house anyway, avoid prying eyes or curious old friends you may run into at the local market or the bar you used to always wish you could creep into. You could just…hide away, right?

By the time your mind cycles through every thought that sits in the divets of your creased brow, you realize you have arrived at your parent's driveway. It must have been muscle memory to get you to this point, and your tight grip loosens as you come to a soft stop behind the other car in your— your parents driveway. You settle back into the cushion of your seat as you peer outside the windshield, sighing gently.

Nothing has changed, of course. The grass was yellowed now, as it did every winter when bogged down by the constant frost and flurries. You were pretty sure it hadn’t snowed here yet, but the vegetation sure looked just as dead anyway. The large tree that edged the property, longest branches brushing against one of the side windows— one you used to squeal at in the dark as a child, make your father show you to was not a monster, scratched against the house still.

Your mother got the front porch fixed though, it was all she could talk about last spring. Without the burden, even if she wouldn’t call it that, of raising a child or putting them through college, she had the money to fix the creaky wood. It was replaced now by pretty and perfect panes that showed no signs of the little feet dragged over it for eighteen years. No one would know how many times you fell forward on the second step and scraped your knees or busted a lip. No one could tell the stains of ice cream you and.. you and friends had dropped on the light wood every summer. It had all been erased with the renovation, and you shouldn't feel so odd about it, but you do.

Your eyes are blurring from how long you are staring, unmoving as your skin runs as cold as the air outside, rushing through the memories. But the swing of the front door has your attention, your mother waltzing out quickly, her head twisting around as she searches for you. Your fingers twist your ignition off, hand reaching to your passenger for the purple duffle bag.

Your name is called shrilly from behind the fogged glass, and your eyes fall closed for a moment, begging the sky above for the patience you need as you step into the Jackson air. “Hi Mom,” you greet, one arm reaching over your head to stretch with a large yawn as your mother rushes over, fists clenching and then unclenching as if she was in thought.

She wouldn’t hug you. She never did. But when she blinks at you and says, “You should change out of those clothes, take a shower,” you know she’s doing the closest thing she can to an actual sign of comfort.

You nod, not willing to start an argument in the first few minutes of your trip. Your eyes fall to your sweater and soft pants. “Yea— yea.”

Your mother gives a tight lipped smile, nodding her head toward the door like you needed any assistance on how to reach the entrance, scurrying in front of you.

You follow silently, catching glances at your neighbor's houses. You almost pause, almost tilt your chin back and try to find the powder blue house you couldn’t get out of your mind, but you fight against the impulse, following your speeding mother to the door as she ushers you into the warmth of the entryway.

“Where’s dad?” you ask, freezing hands tingled as you step into the dense house, enveloped in the heat with a sigh. Now it smelt like cinnamon and cedar, the candles of the season for your mother. Your hands rubbed over your sweater, trying to rid the awful feeling of such a quick temperature change.

“Kitchen,” your mother hummed, tugging the duffle bag from your arms, frowning as she moved to the zipper to inspect what was inside. Nosy as ever. “You’re fine with staying in your old room?”

“Yea?”

“Just never know with you,” she sighed, clambering up the stairs before you could question what she meant. Your feet turn to the hallway, trailing your hand over the soft white wall, counting each picture that lines the wall. Only one included you and your parents, the biggest frame in the hallway.

You remember the day it was taken. Your freshman winter break, a knitted hat pressed over your head, face scrunched in a laugh as your father slapped his hand on your back, hot chocolate running down your fingers and into the white sweater you wore. Your mother looked horrified, a half smile on her face as she leaned over your father. It was one of the only moments you remember fondly all together. A moment you truly felt that warm feeling people described about family. Your fingers had been burning with the spilled drink, and your father couldn’t stop laughing at the sight, even as your mother scolded the both of you.

Maybe you remember it so fondly because of who took it. Joel had, and you can almost bear the chuckle of his now, beating against your ears as you meet the tile of your kitchen.

Your father is hovering over a kitchen counter, frowning and squinting at one of the cookbooks that’s almost as old as you. “Hi,” you interrupt his focus.

His head turns, and crow's feet crowd the space at the corner of his eyes as he smiles. “Hi kid,” his fingers release the cookbook, meeting your steps into the kitchen, which they must have just changed the lightbulb in— because the soft yellow was much too bright now— and wraps you into a hug.

“You made it in one piece! I'm surprised!” he teases, and you nod as you wiggle free from his embrace, stepping back. “sure did,” you throw a thumbs up, “why are you looking at that?” You nod to the book.

Your dad’s eyes flit away from yours, and you swear there’s a sense of nervousness as he shrugs. “Looking for something to make with the soup. Think I’m just gonna grab crackers and cheese though.”

“Soup?” you groan.

“Uh uh, no whining,” he shook his head. “only make food the people who live here like.”

You throw a hand over your chest and hiss, “Ouch?”

You smile when he rolls his eyes. “Your mom has people coming over,” he refuses to meet your eyes again. “She wanted soup.”

“What?” you pause, “someone’s coming over?”

Before your dad can answer, your mom is in the room again, sniffling. “The window up there is still letting in cold air,” she speaks to your dad, ignoring your frown. “They’re going to be here any minute.”

“Who?” you ask again, this time a little louder. You don’t like the feeling in your stomach, the rock that feels lodged there, pulling down your posture, making your hands shaky.

Your mother doesn’t answer you, instead pursing her lips. “fix your sweater. or take a shower like I asked.”

Your hands reach to do so without a second thought, and you find yourself cursing your instincts to listen. Maybe she would have answered you if you refused.

A ring at the doorbell has all three of your heads turning. Your father turns away when you try and meet your gaze, going back to the stove to stir the soup.

You follow on your mother’s heels as she goes down the hallway. “Why didn’t you tell me someone was coming over? I just got here! what if I wanted to sleep?”

“You can go up to your room if you want. I planned this before you decided to finally come home for once.”

Ouch.

“What do you mean you planned it?”

Your mother looked your way for a second, her chin over her shoulder as she frowned at all of your questions. “They're alone all of the time,” she called your name like a scold, “we let them spend holidays with us. that includes the preparations.”

You want to rip your hair out as you groan, more high pitched as she reaches the door, “who?”

The doorknob turns with your mother’s hand, and the air is knocked from your chest as she grins at the open door.

“Joel! Ellie!” she greets.

You truly think your knees are going to give in at that very moment, the rush of frozen air against your cheeks the only presence keeping your body held up as you stumble away from your mother.

You look at Joel first, you see his greying hair, you see the beard he was now sporting, gruff as his lips quirk up, wrinkles more pronounced against his cheeks and forehead as it dips down to greet your mother respectfully, the person behind him eyes stay glued to the floor. “Evenin’ ”

You don’t want to look at her. You don’t want to let your chest exhale any air as her chin tilts up, and her eyes find the space behind your mother’s head. Find you.

She looks at you, and you feel every single stepping stone you had made these past years, every damn lock you’d formed over your chest, every stone you had leveled to your ankles to keep your head out of the clouds, your feet on the ground— all collapse. They crumble right at your toes, and your chest heaves with the very first flash of that fern green.

If you were a stronger person you would have turned your cheek, maybe even turned right around and back to the kitchen, the safe haven of your father’s quiet stirring. But you weren’t. You were weak, and that weakness manifested in the eyes you couldn’t pull away from Ellie.

Was she breathing? You couldn't see her chest moving. Were you breathing?

“Ellie,” Joel called, snapping the staring contest to a sudden stop. Your name follows, “Hey, ‘s nice seeing you.”

You try to smile, try to be polite like your mother taught you. It comes off a little shaky when you say, “Nice to see you too sir.”

“Naw it hasn’t been that long has it? You can still call me Joel.”

“Right,” you giggle, hoping no one notices how forced it sounds. “Nice to see you, Joel.”

Ellie’s eyes move back to you, looking nearly shocked by your voice. It reminds you how long it has been. How the last time she had heard you speak it was your raw throat in the corner of that graduation party, cheeks wet with tears. Was that all she could remember you by? You shake off the thought, not willing to dip into the memory of what happened after you told Ellie you were leaving that night.

“Why don’t you two catch up while Joel helps me and Dad with dinner?” your mother suggests.

God no. Please no, no, no.

“Uh—” she turned to look at Joel. Did she cut her hair? When did she cut her hair? It was shaggy against her cheek, jaggedly cut and settling longer in the back. “Oh uh— yeah. yea.” she nods.

When her lips part, you have to force yourself to swallow, have to will yourself to focus on the words she’s actually saying. On how her tone is shaky and nervous, on how it’s just a twinge deeper. Maybe that was just you making things up. Maybe it was just the cold.

Your mother nods at you, a cold hand on your arm as she passes, giving it a quick and tight squeeze. It wasn’t a comfort, more a warning as she flashed her eyes at you.

A swallow forced its way down your throat as you planted your feet into the ground, unwilling to move as you watched your mother escape down the hallway with Joel. Did they know what happened? Was she warning you to be nice?

Surely they didn’t know. You hadn’t told your parents what your break up was like. What that night was like. Your move was a death wish on the relationship anyway, so when you told your parents it was a mutual split… neither of them questioned it. They weren’t as privy to that hollow look in your eyes the following days, or how you holed yourself up in a sweatshirt that wasn’t yours. It was easy to lie to them.

But Ellie.. had Ellie lied? Would you blame her if she hadn’t? If you were the villain in the story she told, would you even really have any right to fight that? You’d tasted the poison on your tongue the last time you saw her, and felt it spill into the summer air with every word. You felt the sting of salt twinged angry tears on your cheeks, the heat of your touch on a bewildered Ellie. You press nails into your palms before the memory plays.

Maybe you *had* been the villain.

“Hey.”

You find your attention following the low word, finding the pair of lips they fell from. Ellie’s cheeks were red, and you began to count the freckles on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes almost met yours though, so you turned to watch how she stuffed her hands quickly in the loose dark jeans she wore, rocking back on the feet, the white shoelace stuck under the tip of the shoe.

“You still don’t tie the knots tight enough?” was all you could say. Not hi, not the most basic respect of eye contact. Just.. that.

“What?” Ellie asked, a noise that almost sounded like a chuckle coming next.

“Your shoe, it’s untied.” You offer, straightening your trembling hand to point down to where she stepped on the lace. She used to always tie her laces too loose.

“Oh,” Ellie’s head dips down, and you focus on the new haircut again. She had to have done it herself, the ends that fall just below the middle of her neck are slightly uneven and jostled, slightly grown out from what you suspect was the original cut.

“Yea.”

You didn’t know what to say other than that, and the silence hung heavy in the air as you both opened your mouths, only to simultaneously close them again.

“Girls,” the sweet, saving voice of your father flew down the tension thick hallway. “Soup’s ready.”

“Cool— or uh— yea. Coming,” you stutter, not bothering to catch Ellie’s gaze, avoiding the nausea it would bring.

“Just a second,” Ellie says after, pausing before she adds, “jus’ have to tie my shoe.”

Your eyes flick closed for a second, an odd mixture of that nausea and something a bit more delicate in your stomach, one that almost makes you want to pull the frown from your lips to instead quirk up.

You pad down to the kitchen, the soft muttering of your mother and Joel at the small wooden table, your mother’s favorite patterned ceramic bowls on top of soft flower table mats pushed in front of them. They have a Christmas magazine in front of them, and Joel is rubbing his fingers over his chin as your mother prattles on.

“You think you could make that?”

“Oh, I mean— that’s an awful lot just to have done in two weeks, but I could try..”

“Stop hounding the man,” your dad warns playfully, setting down two more bowls at the table, two chairs pulled out next to each other.

There was no way you would survive this dinner.

Ellie’s footsteps find the tile of the kitchen soon thereafter, and you avoid taking a seat, eyes stuck on the suddenly very interesting change of kitchen window curtains. “I have to um— use the bathroom,” the other girl said, jutting a thumb toward the hallway again.

Joel huffs quietly, giving a look to Ellie that you can’t quite discern through the quick glances you offer that way every few seconds. “Soup’s gonna get cold.”

“Really have to piss dude.”

“Ellie!” Joel scolds, eyes wide as he looks between the girl in the doorway and your mother at the table.

“I know- I know, sorry, I’ll be quick,” Ellie stumbles over her words, something she always did in conversations she didn’t know how to handle, shoes squeaking against the floor as she finds the bathroom door again.

“I think—” you clear your throat, looking toward your mom. “I’m gonna take you up on the offer of shower and sleeping.”

As always, you’re choosing the easy way out, avoiding the situation as a whole. “I’m sorry, sir—uh— Joel.”

Your head dips respectfully, a sign of apology for escaping out of the dinner, but Joel and your father are both shaking their heads. “Did one hell of a drive, go sleep,” Joel waves you off.

“Goodnight,” your father adds, one of his soft smiles aimed at you, speaking for both himself and your mother who remains silent and staring at you.

“Night,” you whisper, turning out of the kitchen and to your right, but instead of heading to the stairs, you press your back to the wall, squeezing your eyes closed as you try to find a most average breathing pattern.

1…2…3…4, fuck.. what were you supposed to count? 5 things you can see.. 4 you can touch.. 3 you can...

“Well that was… awkward.. a bit of a mess,” your mother’s voice flows through the white wall, and your cheek turns, as if pressing your ear to the paint would actually make the echoed voices clearer.

“Of course it is, it’s been three years, it'll take time, that’s all.” your father muttered, and you can imagine perfectly how his eyebrows furrowed at your mom’s comment.

“Dunno,” Joel, ever the gossip, sighed. “I don’t think those two ended off well.”

You hear your name in the mix as your father continues, “She said she left on good terms.”

“Maybe. But, shit, I’d never seen Ellie like that, how she was that summer.”

Your head fell back on the wall, a bottom lip sucked between your teeth as you breathe through your nose. You shouldn’t listen to this.

“That girl.. she doesn’t like to talk,” Joel muttered, pausing— maybe to take a sip of soup.

“Her either,” your dad offers on your behalf.

“But,” Joel added, “tchh, she was a wreck. Yellin’ at me more and ignoring Jesse at the door. Had to force her to go shower, like a little kid— drag her out her room to eat,” Joel added.

Your fingers pressed into the bottom of your sweater, and you try to rid your eyes of the pictures it painted of a messy Ellie, of swollen eyes and glossy green irises. You tried not to imagine Ellie with red cheeks and tangled hair, ignoring Joel’s pleas to leave her dark bedroom. You’d loved that bedroom, but the thought of her pressed under the grey comforter, blank expression as she ignored your— her friends, well it ruins that nostalgic illusion.

“Wouldn’t tell me why, but.. when I found out your girl had left.. ahh, well I knew. We never talked about it, but it was a rough few weeks.”

The bathroom door clicks open, and Ellie’s eyes look a little red as she moves past you in the hallway.

“They were teenagers then,” your mother concluded quietly. “I’m sure they’re over it.”

Sometime during your eavesdropping, your hand found the space over your chest on your sweater instead of the bottom, fingertips pressing over your ribs as if the pressure pain could remove the ache that settled much lower from the words.

Ellie’s flushed face met your gaze for a moment, and yes— her eyes definitely were a bit red. She didn’t smile at you, but she didn’t scowl either. You would have rathered that, than the unreadable eyes she gives you, a soft pause as her eyelashes flutter, probably confused why you were pressed against the wall.

You scurry past her, shoulders knocking as you do. A quick shock spreads down your shoulder and arm, fist clenching and then loosening. Ellie disappeared into the kitchen as you found the stairs.

This was going to be a very, very long holiday season.

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