Hello! I wanted to request some angst/ hurt no comfort 5 + 1 prompts about a parent and a child. I know you got some 5 + 1 prompts but I was hoping if I could have something more sad. Thank you!
Hi :)
Writing sad things makes me sad... but here are some prompts I could think off for parents and children.
Parent/Child Angst: 5 + 1 Prompts
5 times they tried to give their parent another chance and one time they knew they had to let it go.
5 times they made difficult choices to save their child's ass and one time they realized their child has to experience consequences on their own.
5 times they tried to act like a normal family and one time they stopped trying.
These are so sad, but I hope they are what you were looking for! :)
Piercings. 5+1 ficlet, but with piercings. I have a problem.
1.
Ian thought he knew pretty much everything about his husband. He knew him, inside and fucking out.
How could he not? Ian's pretty much been with him for a better part of his life, and they've had enough late-night talks to share all their demons with each other, however hard it may have been. They knew each other.
There was no doubt about it.
But, well. Ian should have known Mickey kept secrets.
He also should've known that one of those secrets was bound to put him in the grave one day with the inscription on his tombstone saying that he died from horniness.
Because one of these days, he would. There was no doubt about it.
It wasn't the most conventional way to go, but Ian didn't mind it.
Because, holy fuck, Mickey just admitted he used to have his ears pierced.
"Sorry," Ian balked at his husband who was standing in the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror, a pair of black studs in his right hand. "Did you just say you had your ears pierced?"
"I probably still do." Mickey grabs an earring and places it against the healed-up hole that is so faint, Ian needed to come impossibly closer to see it. Mickey had pointed it out to him after he initially said he was getting his ears pierced again. Right after Ian was left with his mouth wide open, staring widely at him, not trusting he heard him right. "And if not, I'm just gonna reopen them."
How did Ian never notice it? How did he never see Mickey, the love of his life, with earrings in his ears? With little patched-up spots of skin that were so plainly visible to the eye, now that he really looked at it.
Mickey grimaced as he pressed the needle against the hole, pushing and prodding against the uncooperative entrance. He eyed Ian in the mirror, eyes narrowing. "What are you staring at?"
Ian was stunned speechless. Of course he was. Of fucking course Mickey was about to bust out some crazy thing two years into their marriage that would make Ian finally break. Like having his ears pierced, making every single yet-undiscovered fantasy come to life.
He couldn't help but imagine Mickey with a nose ring, now. Tongue piercing. Eyebrow piercing.
Nipples.
Holy fuck.
Blood was rushing straight to his dick, and goddamn it, this was it. Ian was about to die.
Because holy fuck, the earring went through.
So did the other one.
And now, Ian was staring at Mickey, who was sporting black studs in his ears. Two dark diamonds that were obviously fake but could've not been, because this wasn't Mickey anymore. This wasn't the Mickey who rolled his eyes at anything gay—except getting pounded, obviously.
No—this was Mickey with earrings.
Ian's mouth was dry. It was dry as Mickey turned away from the mirror to face him. He stood in front of him, a determined look on his face as if waiting for Ian to call him out. Him, in all his fucking glory.
"Did you, uh," Ian finally stammered out. "sterilize the needles? I don't want you to get an infection."
"That really all you gotta say?"
Ian swallowed. "How come I never saw you with," He pointed at Mickey's ears, unable to even say the word. "those?"
"I was really young. I got 'em pierced when Mandy did. Took them out fairly soon, 'cus, you know." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.
Ian knew.
He gripped Mickey by the shoulders pulling him closer. His eyes were on Ian's, but Ian's were on the earrings, and Ian never really knew he had a kink for jewelry.
Well, there was the wedding ring, but fuck, this had nothing to do with their relationship, and yet Ian was still sporting a raging hard-on Mickey had yet to notice.
"I love them." He said truthfully, mentally noting to get Mickey real studs once he got the chance. Not the cheap grocery-store ones, but actual diamonds that he wouldn't mind spending money on. Not when they would look so good on his husband.
Mickey blushed, pushing Ian away immediately, not getting away far, arms practically out so Ian could pull him back in. And he did, squeezing him tightly against his chest, careful not to place too much pressure on the newly-reopened piercings.
Mickey mumbled something against Ian's shirt, incoherent.
"What? I didn't hear you"
"I love you."
Ian smiled. Pulled Mickey away so he could stare into his eyes.
"You know you gotta let me fuck you with those on. Pretty sure it will be the best orgasm of my life."
Mickey only smirked, eyes lighting up immediately at the suggestion. He looks fucking amazing, Ian thought.
"Lead the way, hotshot."
Ian was right. With the earrings and the smugness—
It took him less than a minute.
2.
When Ian saw the photo, he was pretty sure he was going to die.
No, not pretty sure. One-hundred percent sure. Death was awaiting him now, ready to pull him in. He was already feeling faint, ready to just slip away into unconsciousness. He was going to die, for sure.
Or maybe it was just the loss of all the blood that was heading way down south that was making him feel this way, because holy shit.
Holy shit.
When Mickey took the earrings out after a few days of usage, claiming how they sucked, Ian thought that was it. Mickey was never going to do anything that reminded him of being gay ever again. He had probably been embarrassed and wanted to take them out, and Ian was feeling at such loss when he saw his ears vacant that he was ready to throw hands.
But, oh God.
Ian was now staring at a picture of Mickey—a picture he posted on goddamn Instagram for everybody to see—and it was him.
Him with a fucking nose piercing.
Ian checked the comments first. It would've probably been saner to call his husband and ask if he actually got a nose piercing and if he was ready to be a widow because Ian won't be lasting much longer, but there were a bunch of comments on the photo, and fuck if Ian wasn't going to leaf through them all. This could be a joke for all he knew.
Some sick joke to get Ian's hopes up, just to get them crushed down until he never had any hopes in life ever again.
Mickey with a nose piercing. Mickey with a nose piercing.
Carl said it looked 'fuckin' sick'. Lip was putting 😲 emojis all throughout the chat, sometimes even adding the 😏 one, probably a reference to Ian (at least Ian hoped it was). The other comments were just about how good Mickey look, which was really no surprise, but holy shit, did that mean this was real?
Mickey was out running some errand. Said he had some shit he needed to. That sneaky bastard. Ian didn't care if he was in the middle of the goddamn line at the Costco aisle or in the middle of a drug run.
He facetimed him.
When Mickey's face came into view, the nose ring present and very much real, Ian was lost for words. Mickey was biting his lip to keep from smiling and once he noticed Ian was just going to continue and stare, he scoffed.
"Man, it's just a piercing."
"No," Ian said. "This is much more than 'just a piercing'."
Mickey chuckled. "Well, I figured since I didn't really like the earrings, I could do this. It felt right."
This was the Mickey Ian knew and loved. The Mickey who wanted to try new things, get to know his own style. Mickey, who was finally confident enough in himself, and hopefully comfortable in their marriage, that he didn't even consider this a big deal. Ian was filled to the brim with emotions, and he was ready to explode.
"You need to come home now."
They met each other's eyes through the screen, blue glimmering in mischief. Mickey smiled. "Why?"
"Because."
"This piercing shit really gets you going, huh, Gallagher?"
It did.
It really did.
"If you're not home in ten minutes, I'll get the whip. So better be fucking home." With that he hung up, getting up to ready the supplies.
Mickey was home in eleven.
Ian knew it was fucking intentional.
3.
Ian might've been getting used to the fucking hotness that Mickey Milkovich with a nostril piercing was, but that didn't mean others were.
In the end, it probably didn't even matter that Ian was one million percent down for any types of piercings Mickey wants to get—he might have even been pushing him for a nipple piercing, but the why of it was for another time—what would eventually decide whether or not the earring stayed in was the reactions of somebody other than Ian.
It was unfair, really, that others would be able to affect Mickey's decision to finally do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, despite his ever-growing confidence. Still, Ian had a way of making sure that nobody made him feel shitty for doing something he wanted to do. Something for himself, without fearing the judgment of others like he had his entire life.
He was an arsonist, for fuck's sake. Let them try and eye his husband the wrong way.
Ian perhaps expected it from old, batty women at the grocery store who didn't have a clue what century they were in or Karens who were homophobic pieces of shit—but he never would be guessed it would be his own family poking fun at something that probably took guts to do. Because it took guts to actually get something like a nose piercing if you were a Milkovich with a past of growing up in a homophobic household.
"So, uh, you gone full gay now, Mickey?"
"Watch out, Ian, I think he might out-twink you."
"You look like Sandy now. Don't be surprised if I jump you."
"I think you look cool, Mickey."
"Uncle Mickey, what's that in your nose? Can I have one?"
Mickey didn't seem to really care about the Gallaghers' opinions. It was mostly just him flipping Lip off at the twink comment and winking at Franny for that last one. Ian, on the other hand.
Ian was the one who was getting fucking offended.
What if Mickey decided that all the teasing and sideways glances aren't worth it and he takes the nose ring out? What if Ian's deprived of sexy, liberated Mickey because of assholes like his own siblings?
It didn't matter how selfish it sounded. There was no way in hell Mickey was ever going to feel conflicted over something he didn't need to feel conflicted about.
So, the second Mickey was out of the room, and the Gallaghers were still unrelenting at the teasing, Ian knew what he had to do.
"Okay, that's enough," He said simply after the eight-hundredth joke about how the ring looked like a booger in his nose—what the actual fuck, Lip?—his voice stern.
"Come on," Lip said, despite the others clearly relenting, palms going up with sheepish expressions on their faces. "We're just joking."
"Well, enough jokes. You could be more like Liam. Tell him he looks good."
Lip snorted. "And why would I do that?"
"Because I asked you to?"
"He knows it's all jokes. He doesn't even care."
"I do." Ian narrowed his eyes. "I care whether or not he feels like he's done the wrong thing because you won't shut the fuck up after the joke's not even funny anymore."
That was what made the smile on Lip's face thin. He lowered his head sightly, as of bowing it down in shame. Ian knew he had finally caught on. Finally understood that, sometimes, even jokes could hurt people's fucking feelings.
Maybe Mickey wasn't at all touched by this. Maybe he really didn't give a shit about what Lip or some old-ass grandma at the store thought. Maybe it was only Ian who gave a shit.
But fuck it, he could give enough shit for the both of them.
If it meant Mickey would always feel comfortable in his own skin, then fuck yes he could.
"Okay," Lip said simply, and Ian smiled at him, thankful.
And when Mickey reappeared with a slight frown on his face and a, "what, no more jokes?" followed by a wide smile, Ian knew he had done the right thing.
Because Mickey looked good.
And the ring stayed on.
4.
"What is it with you and the goddamn nipple rings?"
Ian bit at his lip. Okay, he may have gone a little overboard. With all the research and the reference photos and all the places you could get one... But fuck, he had a fantasy, and he needed to see it come true.
Mickey with nipple rings.
Mickey with nipple rings.
Come the fuck on.
"Babe, listen," Ian started, moving so he was positioned against the headboard of their bed. It was almost midnight—what better time to lay it down on Mickey that he would look really fucking good with piercings in his nipples and that it would be Ian's dream come true. "They'd look so good."
"Then why don't you get them?"
Ian made an incredulous face. "Because they wouldn't look good on me. They would look good on you."
Mickey swiped at his nose, diverting Ian's attention once more to the perfection that was his black nose ring. How could Ian not see all the possibilities with multiple piercings when Mickey looked like that with just one?
"Come on," He said again, the image in his head even more vivid than before. "I googled it. It doesn't even hurt that much."
"I have a feeling like that is a very obvious lie."
Ian rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe it was.
He pushed himself back down onto the comforter, shifting so he could have access to Mickey's chest. He trailed a finger from his neck, then slowly down so it rest in between his nipples, laying out his palm so it could feel the beating of Mickey's heart.
"Imagine the sex," He whispered, trying out a new technique. Seduction. It had to work.
"Probably not until it's healed up and stops hurting," Mickey scoffed. "Also, I really don't think I'd like it. I'd look like a bull."
"You'd look like a very sexy bull. Oh, by the way, septum piercing." Ian wiggled his eyebrows. "Don't you see it? Don't you think it'd look awesome?"
Mickey looked like he was on the verge of either laughing or punching Ian straight in the dick. "I think," He began. "that I've created a monster."
"A monster who is extremely horny for your ass."
"Why do you have to have a kink for this? Ian, out of all the things. Just look up porn with a bunch of jewelry on the guys if you need to get off."
Ian frowned at the imagery. "It's not the jewelry, Mick. I've had hookups who wore a shit-ton of jewelry and it never made me all hot and bothered."
Mickey smiled at the hot and bothered part. "Dork. Then what is it?"
"Well, fucking obviously it's you."
Mickey's face lit up. "It's me?"
"Ugh, Mickey, we've been together for a while. Don't make me feel shy over this."
The exasperation made Ian's cheeks pink. Suddenly, Mickey was leaning in and pressing his lips to the heat, smiling all the way through it.
When he pulled away, there was a wide grin stretched across his face. Ian was a sucker for that grin. That grin was everything he needed in life. Nothing more.
"I won't get a nipple piercing."
Sadness. All Ian felt was sadness.
"But maybe we can check out other options." It was Mickey's turn to wiggle his eyebrows. "Tongue piercing float your boat too?"
Happiness. All Ian felt was happiness.
5.
Eyebrow piercing. It ended up being an eyebrow piercing.
And God. Ian was done. He was completely done with everything. This was it. This was all he ever needed to see in life. Now, he could die peacefully.
He was married to the hottest man alive. Ian could pride himself in that fact. Mickey truly was the hottest person Ian had ever laid eyes on.
Especially now that he had a nose and eyebrow piercing at the same fucking time.
Ian knew there would never be another man to get his attention again. Never anybody else to make Ian feel like he need to avert his gaze. Not when all eyes went to the Mickey with the hot body, amazing ass, great face, and perfect piercings.
"Maybe you should get some piercings, too," Mickey said as they sat together at the table, munching on cereal. "I mean, if you act this way over my shit, who knows how I'll act over yours."
Ian smiled. "I can't pull anything off like you can."
"Bullshit. You're hot as fuck."
Ian's cheeks pinked. "Shut up."
"No seriously," Mickey said as he got up to get more coffee. "Hottest guy I know."
Ian licked his lips, slowly running his eyes down his husband's body. "Well then, guess we both got lucky."
Mickey smiled and the piercings come into view again.
Ian really was a complete goner.
+ 1
"No," Mickey said once he saw Ian come into view. "No. No. No."
Ian grinned widely, tilting his chin slightly so he could showcase the tiny diamond—actual diamond—studs in his ears. "You like it?"
Mickey knew then that this was what heaven felt like.
He barely stopped himself from tackling Ian onto the floor.
Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier
Warning(s): a little bit of horniness in no.5
Rating: mature
Summary: Five times there is a very good reason for Jaskier and Geralt to kiss, and one time there is no reason at all.
on ao3
one.
A first kiss is supposed to be something special and Jaskier has had so many of them over the years. But usually, they're with different people. He's not used to having more than one first kiss with the same person and certainly wasn't expecting that person to be Geralt.
The first time, they've been away from town a long time and Jaskier is... wanting. He knows this contract is worth a lot and Geralt has been so focused on tracking that he probably hasn't realized how long it's been since they've been to town. But Jaskier has and he's getting antsy.
"Geralt do you think-" he tugs his boot out of a patch of brambles and sighs, "that we could head back soon? Sleep at an inn tonight?" he doesn't get a response, so he just sighs and plops down right where he is. Up ahead, Geralt shouts back without even pausing,
"Are you just gonna sit there or are you coming with me?"
Jaskier sighs. Geralt's right though, he can't just sit here all night. So he reluctantly gets up and goes after him, muttering under his breath. They continue in this way for the next three hours.
"It's just that... I haven't even kissed someone in weeks. Weeks, Geralt. Do you know what that's like? It's torture, utter-" he walks directly into Geralt's back with a thud and takes a step back as Geralt turns to face him.
"Jaskier," he says abruptly, but not overly angry. Jaskier's eyes flick up to his and he pauses. "If I kiss you, will you shut up and let me get on with it?"
"Uh, y-yes?"
Immediately, Geralt's palm is on his cheek and Jaskier is breathless. He leans in without hesitation and Jaskier is absolutely not prepared for Geralt's mouth on his own. He kisses him gently, leaning in and it's slow and deep and Jaskier isn't sure he's going to survive. Geralt takes a step forward and Jaskier presses into him, letting out a soft moan as Geralt's lips part against his own.
And he drowns in it. Pulled under by the current, he lets himself sink. His whole body burns with it and he can't breathe, but if he pulls back Geralt might stop and he doesn't think he could bear that. And all the while Geralt's hand remains on his face, anchoring him.
And he just... doesn't stop. Geralt's other hand comes to rest on his hip and it goes on for so long that Jaskier is expecting it to lead to something more.
When Geralt does pull away, it's abrupt and Jaskier is left reeling. He's breathless and more than a little turned on and who even knew Witchers were so skilled at kissing in the first place? Where the fuck did that even come from?
"That was..." he starts and when he looks up, Geralt is already a dozen paces ahead of him. "Geralt! Where did you- that was... very good you know. I didn't take you for someone who would be so-"
"What?" Geralt asks.
"I just didn't think you got a lot of practice, is all."
Geralt scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns back to his tracking. Theoretically, Jaskier knows Geralt has had some practice with kissing and sex. He's been to brothels and some of his friends seem just this side of too familiar, but shit he was not expecting that.
Jaskier is quick to catch up to him again, but he spends the rest of the night in a daze.
two.
Jaskier has been invited to a ball. Normally, he would be delighted to attend an event back home, but it's a special celebration, a party to celebrate his sister's engagement and it's for family only. But Jaskier isn't about to drag Geralt all the way to Lettenhove and tell him he's not allowed to come. Which only leaves one option-
"I need you to be my husband," he announces cheerfully. They're already well on their way to the coast and Jaskier has been considering how to break the news before deciding it's best to just get it over with. "They won't let anyone in who's not family, but they could hardly refuse my husband entry now, could they?"
He beams up at Geralt, stumbling a little over a rock. He thinks it's a great plan, but Geralt doesn't show emotion one way or the other. He just stays silent and looks ahead again. Jaskier would give anything to know what's going on in his head right now.
It doesn't come up again until they're on the border of Temeria and about to cross into Kerack. Jaskier reminds him again when they're sharing a room at an inn. Geralt refuses to share the bed so Jaskier offers it to him before climbing up next to him and cuddling up behind him. Geralt grumbles.
"Hush my love. You're my husband, remember? You can hardly deny me the warmth of our bed so soon after our marriage."
Geralt scoffs at him, but Jaskier thinks it sounds more like a laugh than a grunt and he'll take what he can get.
They set out early the next morning, reaching the borders of Lettenhove by late evening. Jaskier is exhausted and Geralt seems to be getting antsy - probably about the party, maybe about the lie. Jaskier isn't worried about it, he knows well enough how to throw his title around when he needs to and most of the time, it works.
They're stopped at the bridge across to the palace and Jaskier dismounts, nodding his head at the guardsmen. One of them gives him a flash of a smile before looking up and scowling at Geralt.
"Your invitation was for one, master Julian."
"You'd hardly deny my husband entry," Jaskier says simply. The guard lifts an eyebrow and gives Jaskier a questioning look.
"The viscount isn't married," he says simply.
"I understand where your position, truly," Jaskier starts, "but I've been away for some time and in that time, I've found myself not only betrothed but married to a man whom I love very much and whom I wish to bring home to introduce to my family."
The guard looks unconvinced and Jaskier is both angry at his defiance and the fact that he simply refuses to believe Jaskier would marry someone like Geralt. Which, as a matter of fact, he would be delighted to do. Anger boils up and he's about to start threatening when Geralt slips from Roach, coming up to wind a comforting arm around his waist.
"It's fine, love," he whispers and it may just be a ruse, but Jaskier will never forget the sound of that word on his lips, the way it shudders through him like the cold.
"It's not-" he starts, but his voice fails him and before he can do anything else, Geralt gets two fingers under his chin, tipping it up so Jaskier is looking at him.
"Go alone, I wouldn't want you to miss your sister's party on my account. You can introduce us another time."
The look in his eyes is so unbearably soft and when he leans in, Jaskier's breath catches in his chest. Cold lips brush against his own and Geralt leans in, deepening the kiss as Jaskier presses into it. It's so unexpected that Jaskier isn't sure what to do with it, but Geralt's arm remains around his waist and he pulls him forward, pressing their bodies together.
Jaskier is stunned by his enthusiasm. Geralt leans into him, fingers twitching against his hip as he deepens the kiss and Jaskier barely withholds a groan as he feels Geralt's tongue against the seam of his lips. He wants to press into the touch, wants to touch and feel and have him, but it's a fine line between pretending to be with him and pushing too far. And right now, Jaskier isn't exactly sure where that line is.
Because Geralt's hands slip under his doublet, moving further until they're on either side of his chest, moving down to settle in the dip of his sides. And Geralt just presses closer, breathing hard through his nose and nipping softly at Jaskier's lower lip.
And Jaskier can't keep from losing himself, can't hold himself together with Geralt like this, so he kisses him hard. He throws his arms around his neck, arching against him as Geralt's teeth press in a little firmer and it's not until the more suspicious guard clears his throat that he's tugged abruptly back to reality.
He pulls out of Geralt's arms, smoothing his clothes down even as the memory of Geralt's hands on him lingers. He opens his mouth to speak, but Geralt's voice is the one he hears.
"Apologies," he pants, "it's been… some time since my lord and I have been together. He keeps so busy I don't see him often and we were hoping to get to the palace and to our room."
The same guard chokes and steps aside, not even daring to look at them as Geralt reaches up and takes Roach's reins, tugging gently to urge her forward.
It's not until they get to their room that Jaskier finally trusts his voice enough to speak and to thank Geralt for getting them out of what could otherwise have been a mess.
three.
Jaskier is struggling. It's been a relatively easy day in an easy week, but tonight he has time to compose and he can't get this one particular verse right. And it's killing him.
It's supposed to be a romantic ballad of a peasant woman in disguise as a knight, recusing the love of her life from where she's been held captive in a tower. The longing of being apart, he's got down, but now he's reached the point where they're reunited and he can't get the words out. And how is he supposed to when he needs to write a kiss and he himself hasn't been kissed in ages (Geralt notwithstanding, but even that was weeks ago now and they're not talking about it).
He's just not feeling very romantic tonight, so he flings himself back onto the grass, staring up at the stars with his notebook and lute on his chest and he sighs. Across the camp, Geralt makes a noise and shifts.
"What's wrong?" he asks, not even looking up from where he's stitching one of his shirts back together.
"How am I supposed to write the most romantic ballads the continent has ever heard when there is so little romance in my life?" Geralt snorts at him, attention still focused on his shirt. "Do you know," Jaskier continues, "that I can't even remember what it's like to be kissed?"
Geralt just lifts a skeptical eyebrow at him but says nothing.
"Perhaps you could help?" Jaskier suggests.
"What could I possibly do to help?"
"I have it on good authority that you're an excellent kisser and… maybe we could do that again. For research purposes, you see."
"What," Geralt smirks, "your memory not good enough for you?"
"Please, Geralt, it'll help."
For a moment there's nothing, then there's a scuffling sound and when Jaskier looks over, Geralt is rising to his feet. He crosses to stand in front of him, nudging Jaskier's knees apart to stand between them and Jaskier holds his breath. Geralt bends low over him, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a soft kiss. He doesn't let himself sink too much into it, keeping only at the surface and Geralt hums against him.
He shoves a leg between his thighs, pushing closer, but just as Jaskier bites back a moan, Geralt pulls back before it can get to be too much.
"Good enough?" he asks and Jaskier wants to say no, to pull him down and kiss him senseless and press against him and- he pulls himself back to the present and looks up at Geralt, nodding solemnly.
He pulls himself back up, taking his quill to paper and scratching out notes of what he wants Geralt to do to him. If he can't write a kiss from memory, he can write about what he wants.
four.
He's not supposed to get involved in Geralt's battles, but what was he supposed to do when Geralt was disarmed and backed into a corner. Jaskier jumps into the fray, bolting for Geralt's sword. If he can just get it to him- but he catches the attention of the devourer and instead of getting Geralt his sword back to him, he only manages to distract the devourer by turning its attention on him.
For a few moments, he manages to keep it away from Geralt and also keep away from it, but it's fast, faster than he is and before long, Jaskier finds himself right in front of it. The thing swings at him and Jaskier ducks, but not quickly enough. The strength of the devourer sends him flying sideways into a tree and Jaskier cries out as his shoulder connects with solid wood.
Immediately, he pulls himself up to his feet, holding his shoulder and seething. He tries to call the beast toward him again, but it's turned his attention back to Geralt. Luckily, the diversion bought him some time and Geralt has had time to retrieve his sword and lunge for the monster.
And he looks furious. Jaskier is dreading whatever comes next for him, but for now, he's just relieved that Geralt is in control again. Geralt dodges and swipes and fakes out, eventually overtaking the beast and piercing his sword up through the underside of its jaw. It shudders on his blade then collapses against the dirt and it's barely stopped moving before Geralt is bolting forward, dropping to his knees right in front of Jaskier.
"Are you hurt?" he asks and Jaskier shakes his head, but only because he doesn't trust his voice not to waver if he speaks. "Let go of your shoulder," Geralt says calmly and slowly, Jaskier does as he's asked. "I think it's dislocated," Geralt hums, looking it over and brushing his hands over his shoulder.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I have to put it back into place for you."
"I.. no, I don't think so. Can't it just go back on its own?"
"It won't," Geralt huffs, "it has to be put back or it's going to continue to hurt and be useless."
"Please-" Jaskier says, but Geralt cuts him off.
"Last week you threw yourself between me and a harpy and just now you tried to fend off a devourer and you don't want me to put your shoulder back into place?"
Jaskier shakes his head and Geralt sighs. He tries again, but Jaskier is adamant and then suddenly there are warm lips against his and he gasps at the suddenness of it before letting himself enjoy it. Geralt kisses him deeply, running one hand through his hair and then his other hand is on his shoulder, shoving and-
Jaskier pulls back with a start as pain shoots through him, but when he tries to move his arm, the pain is significantly less than before. He looks up at Geralt to find him looking rather smug at him and Jaskier splutters.
"You used me-" he accuses, but Geralt just huffs a quiet laugh at him, taking his arm again and wrapping it up so he can't move it around too much and make it worse.
It does feel better and by the time they turn in for bed that night, Jaskier is reluctantly grateful for it. But as he watches Geralt methodically prepare for bed, he's a little disappointed that the kiss didn't last longer this time.
five.
Strictly speaking, Jaskier isn't supposed to be here at all. The contract had specified utmost secrecy and while Geralt is usually willing to do anything asked of him (within reason), he was firm but not leaving Jaskier alone with a bruxa roaming the halls of the castle, regardless of what the king had asked. The working story, if caught, is that Jaskier is acting as bait, but Jaskier likes to pretend that Geralt just doesn't want him out of his sight after the incident with the devourer.
So now at midnight, they're creeping through the halls, looking for any sign of the bruxa but so far there's nothing. Though the bodies the previous night say something is definitely lurking around after hours. Geralt slips around a corner, motioning for Jaskier to hold back and he does, but a second later Geralt is barreling back into him, hissing for him to get back.
They stumble back and Jaskier is suddenly pressed back against the wall firmly. Geralt hesitates for a moment, looking away from him, but then Jaskier hears the voices coming closer and Geralt pushes him back again, pressing a hand over his mouth. And abruptly, Jaskier's body goes limp under him, a side effect of years of being shoved up against walls for very different reasons.
Geralt seems unconcerned and slowly pulls his hand away, whispering for him to be quiet. Jaskier nods his understanding, but Geralt is so close and he smells good and he can't help the way his body reacts to that.
The guards come closer and Geralt presses right against him and Jaskier can't help the little moan that escapes him. It's quiet, barely even a sound, but in the silence of the hall it seems to echo and Jaskier bites down on his lip too late. Geralt's eyes snap onto his and in the very near distance, Jaskier can hear the guards' footsteps speed up.
But then Geralt is kissing him, somehow even closer than a moment before so there's not even an inch of space between them and Jaskier's mind goes blank. He can't think of anything but Geralt's mouth against him, hot and demanding and not letting up, even as the guards turn the corner. A diversion, he realizes, but it doesn't stop him from winding his arms around Geralt's waist and sliding his hands down over his ass.
Barely a few paces away now, the guards continue their approach, but Geralt pushes a knee between Jaskier's and he'd be happy enough to be tossed in the dungeon so long as they can continue uninterrupted. His hips give a little twitch and Geralt growls into his mouth and that… seems too real to be a diversion. Jaskier feels the vibrations all the way through him and he stutters when he pulls Geralt closer because Geralt's hard, the line of his cock pressing against Jaskier's thigh. Which is something. Jaskier doesn't have the wherewithal to process that right now, but then Geralt is tipping his head up roughly, ducking to kiss his neck just as the guards come upon them.
There's a thud as one walks straight into the other and then scattered mumbling as they trip over themselves to apologize and when Geralt looks up at them, they both mumble additional apologies and turn back in the opposite direction. Geralt doesn't kiss him again, but he doesn't pull away from him and Jaskier is aching with the effort it takes not to rut up against him.
Eventually, long after Jaskier can't hear the footsteps anymore, Geralt pulls away and Jaskier nearly cries though he's unsure if it's from relief or disappointment. He either wants Geralt back against him immediately or he needs to go back to their room on his own for a while and he doesn't see either being a likely option.
"Come on," Geralt whispers and Jaskier just shuts his eyes, leaning back against the wall.
"I'm just gonna… need a minute." To his surprise, Geralt nods and turns away.
By the time they get back to their room that night, Geralt seems to have forgotten the entire situation, but Jaskier will be thinking about it for the rest of their trip, if not the rest of his life.
plus one.
It's been a while since they've just been able to relax, but when they stroll into Oxenfurt, they arrive in the middle of a festival. There's a market in the center of town and various stages with performers scattered within the city so that everywhere they go, there's music on the air. Jaskier shuts his eyes and listens as they make their way to the inn. Once they've rented a room and organized their things, Jaskier asks if they might head down toward the festivities and Geralt, to his surprise, agrees.
They stroll through town looking at all the booths and stopping to watch the performers. Jaskier takes a turn on one of the stages, delighted when Geralt stays to watch, a soft smile on his face, and he's the only one Jaskier sees in the crowd. Afterward, they split sweet buns and pastries and fruit ciders of every variety imaginable. It's been a long time since Jaskier has enjoyed himself so thoroughly, and as the sun begins to set, he takes Geralt's hand and leads him, tipsy and warm with intoxication outside the city.
Others are already gathering for the firework celebration and Jaskier finds them a spot on the ridge of a hill, somehow unclaimed despite its views over the river. He plops himself down, only letting go of Geralt's hand when the angle becomes too awkward, but Geralt sits behind him, and Jaskier shuffles back, sitting between his thighs and leaning back against his chest.
It earns him a huff of amusement, but Geralt doesn't complain and doesn't tell him to move. They're both a little drunk, but the sunset is beautiful and Jaskier can't think of a better way to end his night, nor a better person to share it with. By the time they set off the fireworks, he's so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, instead resting his head against Geralt's chest and listening to the crack of their explosions, quickly followed by cheers and sounds of awe from the younger spectators.
Geralt's hand rests on his thigh and Jaskier twines their fingers together, humming softly as Geralt wraps his hand around his.
He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until Geralt is shifting under him and for a moment, he's disappointed to have woken up because he's sure Geralt would have carried him back to the inn otherwise. But he looks up and Geralt smiles softly down at him, brushing a stray hair out of his face and Jaskier wouldn't trade this night for anything.
They make their way back to the inn, bumping against each other in their drowsiness and it's not until they get up to their room that Jaskieer realizes the room they booked only has one bed. They've both been looking forward to crawling into bed and sleeping well for once because it's been some time since they've had a bed. Jaskier makes a quick decision to let Geralt take the bed because it's hardly big enough for the both of them to share, even if they've done it a hundred times before when coin was low.
But Geralt strips down to his shorts and when he climbs into bed, he shuffles to one side, holding the blankets back in invitation. And Jaskier isn't one to turn down such an invitation, so he quickly undresses and climbs in next to him. He lies facing out into the room with Geralt's chest against his back, warm and rising softly with his breath.
"I had a good night tonight," he hums, "it's a shame we can't do this more often."
"Mm," comes the reply from behind, much closer than Jaskier had anticipated. He can feel Geralt's breath against the back of his neck and he shuts his eyes with a soft sigh.
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
"I did."
Jaskier turns over to face him, and Geralt smiles at him without opening his eyes. Jaskier shifts closer, tangling their legs together and Geralt's arm comes to drape over his hip, bringing him closer. The smile remains firmly in place and Jaskier's heart feels like it could burst from his chest.
"Geralt?" he asks quietly.
"Hm?"
Jaskier looks up at him, unable to find the words to properly thank him for the night, and he reaches up, brushing one hand through his hair.
"Thank you," he whispers, though the words feel flat on his tongue, not enough to express how much he truly appreciates tonight. Geralt hums again, tipping his head down so their noses bump together.
"Jaskier," he breathes.
There's nothing else, but then Geralt's lips brush against his own, soft and tentative and Jaskier's heart nearly stops. It's hardly the first time he's kissed him, but Geralt is so much softer than before, pressing forward only when Jaskier moves against him. And this is so different from before.
Tonight, there's no reason for Geralt to kiss him, there's certainly no reason for him to be so soft and gentle with him - none other than he simply wants to - and Jaskier could cry. He lets himself be drawn closer, completely entangled with Geralt as he kisses him, soft and slow and delightfully pointless.
There's no need for it, just the want to be closer, to feel each other, and Jaskier sinks into it easily, losing himself to the soft press of Geralt's lips of the brush of his thumb against his hip. When they do finally part, Jaskier isn't disappointed that it's over, because Geralt kisses his nose and his forehead as he settles against him and rather than an ending, it feels like the beginning.
could u write a drarry oneshot inspired by sweet creature of harry styles? :)
Hello Nonnie! I absolutely can. This is a great suggestion, I love this song for Drarry. I hope you enjoy it. Warnings: injury, drinking, attempted sexual assault that is VERY QUICKLY STOPPED and NOT H/D!!! Thank you to @apr1cots for the beta!
3 Times Harry Brought Draco Home...+1 Time Draco Brought Harry Home
1.
The first time, Harry found him in the cafe near their flat.
He sat down in the chair across from Draco, who glared at him over his cup of tea. "I thought I told you not to follow me."
"I waited three hours. I figured that would be enough time for you to come to your senses, but you didn't come back, so I got worried."
"I can handle myself, thanks."
"I know you can. But you didn't tell me where you went."
Draco's eyes flashed. "That was for a reason, you imbecile."
Harry shook his head. "Flatmates don't do that—disappear for three hours after a fight without saying where they’ve gone."
"I'm an adult. And you're not my father or my boyfriend, so back off."
"No, but I am your friend. And your flatmate. And I don't want to be worried sick for three hours when you fuck off to Merlin knows where because you're feeling pissy!" Harry snapped, letting his anger creep into his voice.
Draco sighed. He took a moment to sip his tea, and then he looked at Harry. "I'll tell you what. If we fight, and I don't return, send an owl, Floo or contact you in some way within six hours, you can send out a bloody search party."
Harry shook his head. “I will give you three hours.”
“Five”
“Three and a half.”
“Four and a half.”
“Four is my final offer.”
Draco scoffed. “Is that so? What are you going to do, show up with half the Auror department?”
Harry pursed his lips. “Not if I don’t have to. But I would.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Care to find out?”
“You’re mental.”
“Maybe,” Harry shrugged. “Trouble is, I don’t care. Now, will you be here for a while, or are you coming home with me?”
“I suppose I'll go, but only since I've already finished my tea,” Draco said with another sigh, which Harry ignored as they both rose from their seats. While they walked to the Apparition point together, Harry replayed in his mind the flicker of emotion on Draco’s face when he said “home.”
2.
The second time, Harry’s glass nearly shattered in his hand from how firmly he was gripping it.
He ignored Hermione’s knowing gaze and Ron’s eye roll as he unabashedly stared daggers at the bloke practically groping Draco at the bar. Harry saw Draco’s eyes widen imperceptibly, noticed his smile falter and his cheekbone twitch.
Yes, he observed this from across the room. You get to know a bloke after living with him for almost a year; besides, Harry was very perceptive—constant vigilance and all that.
Speaking of being an Auror, Harry was pretty sure this prick was breaking some sort of public indecency laws by the way he was sliding his hand further and further up Draco’s leg. Draco gently pried the man’s hand from his thigh, only for the stranger to laugh and reach over again, gripping it even more firmly.
Harry didn’t think beyond getting up from his seat and striding toward the bar, quickening his pace when he saw Draco’s eyes widen in panic. He barely registered the look of horror on the stranger’s face when he grabbed the hand gripping Draco’s thigh and pinned the man face-down on the bar.
“He said no,” Harry said through clenched teeth, ignoring the man’s grunts and protests.
“We were just talking!” The man sputtered, his cheek pressed against the counter as he twisted and wriggled to get free.
Harry tightened his grip. “Conversation’s over. If I catch you trying to ‘talk’ to him again, I’ll make sure you have a nice chat with the Wizengamot about sexual assault. Now, apologize.”
“But—”
“Apologize!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry.”
Harry smirked. “Good.” He released the man’s arm and let him right himself. The man froze, looking between Harry and Draco expectantly.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Leave. Now.”
The man nodded, scurrying out of the now silent bar, the bell attached to the door tinkling behind him.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Draco’s face was blank other than a raised eyebrow.
Harry shrugged. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not. But I am glad you’re okay. You are, right? He didn’t hurt you?” Harry’s chest tightened at the suggestion.
But Draco shook his head. “No, I’m fine. But I think that’s my sign to head home.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to. I’m fine to Floo.”
“I want to.”
“What about your friends?”
Harry cringed and turned back to face the table to see Ron and Hermione looking at him, expressions full of nausea and amusement, respectively. He held up a hand in a small wave. Hermione shook her head and smiled fondly.
Harry grinned and turned back to Draco. “They’ll be alright without me. C’mon, let’s go home. I’ll make us some tea, yeah?”
Draco hesitated at first, but he nodded. And if Harry let his hand linger lightly on Draco’s back when they headed toward the Floo, they could both chalk it up to a safety measure.
3.
The door to Pansy Parkinson’s flat swung open before Harry could knock.
She took one look at him and rolled her eyes. “Could you have taken any longer to get here?”
Harry bristled. “I was—”
“Don’t care. Get in here, he’s on my couch.” She turned and walked away purposefully, and Harry trailed behind her.
“I thought you two were just going for drinks?”
Pansy sighed. “We were, but then we came back here for a few more, and he got into my tequila when my back was turned.” She shook her head. “Tequila is his one weakness—well,” she smirked. “One of them, anyway.”
Harry furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth to respond when a shout sounded from the living room.
He looked over to see Draco sprawled across the couch, an empty glass in one hand and the other nearly touching the floor, his leather-clad legs spread wide.
Draco grinned at Harry. “Harrryyy!!! Come to join the party?”
“He’s come to end it, more like,” Pansy crossed her arms. “It’s time for you to go home, love.”
Draco let out a high, keening whine and burrowed himself further into the couch. “Don’ wanna. Tired. Stay here.”
“No, Draco, we’ve got to go home,” Harry walked up to the couch. His breath caught when gray eyes blinked wide and pleadingly up at him.
Draco held out his arms. “Up.”
“Er, what?”
Draco jerked his arms up and down, keeping them in the air. “Up! Help me up, you great oaf!”
Harry sighed and bent down, taking Draco in his arms and nearly stumbling when the blond let his body weight fall into him.
Draco smirked lazily. “Oops,” he said with a grin in his voice. “Guess you gotta carry me.”
Harry scoffed, looking to Pansy for appeal.
She waved a hand dismissively. “He’s your problem, now. Just get him out of my flat and back home intact, will you?” She didn’t wait for him to respond, walking away into another room.
Harry sighed. He wasn’t sure about the safety of Apparating or taking the Floo with someone in your arms, and the twists and turns of the Knight Bus could make a sober person sick up. With a grunt, he hoisted Draco up and into his arms bridal style, and the other man yelped and then giggled wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck.
“Home,” Draco said softly, and affection spread through Harry’s chest.
“Okay, Draco,” Harry whispered as they made their way out of the flat. “I’ve got you.”
+1.
Harry woke to the sound of muffled voices shouting at each other and the constant beep of a monitor.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, wincing as a sharp pain exploded in his side with the effort. Memories came rushing back: the raid, turning his back for a split second to shout something at Ron, blinding pain, then darkness. He tried to sit up in the hospital bed, but he let himself lie back down when his side throbbed once more.
Suddenly, the door was opened and then promptly slammed shut. “Honestly, the nerve of these people. If he needs bed rest, then where is better than his own bed? Is my Healer degree rendered meaningless the moment I’m off the clock?” Draco muttered, running a hand through his hair as he paced the room angrily.
“Draco?”
Draco jumped and turned to Harry with wild, startled eyes that made Harry laugh, and then wince in pain.
“You’re awake, thank Merlin,” Draco approached the side of the bed, relief replacing the shock on his face.
“How long have I been out?”
“Two days. You were hit with a rare curse that caused an ever-bleeding wound in your side, and the healers had to put you in a magically induced coma to reverse it.”
“That sounds good. Do Robards and—”
“Yes, Ron gave Robards the full briefing. You’re not expected in the office until a Healer permits it.”
“So, can I go home?”
“Yes, now that you’re awake, you can go home. I’ll monitor you from there.”
Harry frowned. “You don’t have to.”
Draco let out a short, humorless chuckle. “You were in a coma for two days, Harry. The only reason they’re discharging you is that you’re going home with a Healer.”
“But you don’t actually have to stay and watch me all day, right?”
“What part of ‘I’ll monitor you from there’ don’t you understand?”
“But I’m fi-!” The last word was cut off as Harry hissed through another spark of pain.
“Fine, are you?”
“Shut up.”
Draco smirked. “Not likely.”
Harry scowled, eliciting a real laugh from Draco, who moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Flatmates don’t do this, y’know.”
Draco’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
“Take several days off of work to care for the other when they’re injured. I’m not even sure friends do that.”
Harry noticed Draco’s jaw tighten. He ached to reach up and relax it with a gentle touch, but he kept his hand at his side.
“What are you saying, Harry?” Draco asked, his voice low and even.
“I’ll tell you what,” Harry swallowed. “I won’t argue about you wasting days away from work if you let me take you to dinner when I’ve recovered.”
The beginning of a smile curved Draco’s lips. “And what will we do in the meantime?”
Harry waggled his eyebrows. “I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”
Draco chuckled. “If you think I’m missing work just so you wind up back in here because you restarted bleeding during sex, you’ve another thing coming.”
Harry pouted halfheartedly. “Apparently I won’t be coming at all.”
Draco mimicked his petulant frown. “Aww, ickle Harry, being waited on for days by his flatmate-turned-boyfriend.”
“I’ll tell you what—”
“Didn’t we already make a deal?”
“I’ll tell you what: I won’t argue about you missing work or not having sex until I’m recovered if you let me take you to dinner once I’m healed and if we can snog as much as we like.”
"What makes you think I’ll agree to those terms?”
Harry shrugged. “If you don’t like those terms, I can come up with more. Now that I’m on bed rest, I’ve got plenty of time to think.”
“You’re not supposed to strain yourself,” Draco smirked when Harry glared at him.
Harry huffed. “You need to work on your bedside manner, Healer Malfoy.”
“I’ll get plenty of practice this week, then, won’t I?”
“Yes, you will. Now, can we get out of here? I want to start my healing regimen right away.”
Draco laughed and laced their fingers together. “Alright, Harry. Let’s go home.”
Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).
Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!
This was supposed to be a 5+1 but will be a 6+1 because plot happened.
It was born from an idea by my beloved Neko (I love you girl <3).
Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Part 5
Peter loves to wear skirts and dresses and is afraid of what people will think if they discover it. Endgame is WinterSpider.
Thanks to Gypsywoman13 for beta-reading <3
@starkeraddictbaby I think you wanted to be tagged :)
Good Bro Natasha
Peter checked the agenda he was carefully keeping updated to be sure there would be no one at the compound. After having double, no, triple checked, he went to the back of his closet where, hidden in a plastic bag, one of his most beloved possessions was kept.
Peter didn’t love it because of its beauty. He knew the Christmas skirt was ugly, an insult to every fashion designer that ever lived in NYC, but he loved how it felt to wear it and how pretty it made his hairless and muscled legs look.
Because he was afraid of how people would react if they discovered his little secret, he had never told anyone... not even his Aunt. Peter knew that most people would not care, but one person not accepting him would be enough to keep Peter from wearing his ugly snowman skirt. And he did not want that.
So, with the help of Karen, he carefully kept the agendas of the other Avengers. He could not wear it often as he liked, so he treasured every moment. He put the skirt on and started to do his homework for college.
Peter nearly died when he heard Natasha’s voice.
“What the fuck Parker?”
How he hadn’t heard or felt her come in, Peter would never know. It wasn’t the first time she sneaked up on him, but Peter was always more careful when he was wearing his skirt.
Peter closed his eyes, trying to ready himself for the backslash.
“You can’t be serious, this, this is a fucking insult.” The pain nearly made Peter fall. He had known it would come, but he had hoped it would be less violent. He felt his heart break.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“You better be. Does Tony know you’re wearing that ugly thing? I mean, are those stains? Where did you find this garbage?” Peter blinked. What? He finally looked at Natasha. She was very close and stared at his beloved skirt with disgust.
“In...In the garbage bin?” he said with a small voice.
“In the-- Why?” She lifted one of her perfect eyebrows.
“I was looking for parts for my computer and found it there.” Peter was nervously playing with the seam of the skirt.
“Ok, no, there is no way I’m letting you keep that thing.” She went to his closet and threw him some pants. “We’re going to burn it, just so you know.”
Peter felt his heart sink. It was one thing to hate the fact he was wearing a skirt and another to burn his most beloved possession. However, maybe if he let her burn it, she wouldn’t tell the others. Peter turned around, changed the skirt for his pants, and left the problematic piece of cloth on the ground. Maybe if he left it there she would forget about it?
“What...What are you doing here? You should be in Washington right now.”
She looked at him, surprised.“They moved the meeting to tomorrow, which is good because I will have all the time to take care of that-- I don’t even know what to call it. Come on, we have a lot of things to do.” She grabbed Peter’s arm and started to walk hurriedly to the garage.
“Wh-where are we going?” Peter asked shyly, still hurting from the backlash.
“I know a place. They are discreet.” Peter felt horror build. Was that like those conversion camps? Would they torture him until he didn’t want to wear skirts anymore? “We could go to Macy's, but you hated it last time.”
Peter looked at Natasha, confused. “Macy’s? Are we going to buy pants?” Why else would she bring him to a clothing shop?
They finally arrived at the car and both climbed inside with Natasha at the wheel. It wasn’t her red sports car, but a more discreet SUV they used when they didn’t want people to recognize them. She started the car and began to drive.
“You need pants too? Not a problem.” Too? Before Peter could ask, Natasha started to talk again. “You will also need better underwear; we will buy a little bit of everything so you can try them out.” Even if he was hurting, Peter felt annoyed at that. There was nothing wrong with his underwear.
“I don’t need underwear, my underwear is alright.”
Natasha turned to look at him, with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah? We will see. Boxers with a skirt are a big no in my opinion, but if you still want to wear them, it will be your choice. Do you want dresses too or are you only wearing skirts?” Because she was driving, she did not see Peter’s expression.
Wearing a… dress? Oh, yes, Peter wanted to wear a dress. He sometimes dreamed about those pretty skirts and dresses that would swirl when he walked.
“I--Both?” he said hesitantly.
“Ok, works for me.”
And at that moment Peter understood. Natasha wasn’t mad because he was wearing a skirt, but because it belonged in a garbage bin. Hope started to bloom in Peter’s heart. He thought back to everything that just happened with this new information.
“Underwear?” he asked, voice wavering. “What type of underwear?”
“I would say thongs? Maybe lace? As I said, we will buy a bit of everything and you will try them out to see what you’re comfortable with.”
Oh... Peter had never thought about wearing lace, but now he could not think about anything else. How would his ass look in lace?
Natasha’s voice made him startle.
“Please tell me you were not thinking I was mad that you were wearing a skirt.” When after a few seconds Peter said nothing, Natasha sighed. She took Peter’s hand into his, but kept her eyes on the road; slowing down. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t- I have no excuse.” Natasha started to park the car. ”I saw that disgusting thing on you and I didn’t think about why you would wear...that. I just--I am sorry Peter.” She seemed regretful, so Peter smiled.
“You--” Then, the reality of what happened earlier dawned on him and Peter jumped on Natasha to hug her hard. “Are we going to buy new skirts? And dresses? Am I going to have a dress? Can I have one that swirls? I always wanted a dress that I could swirl like a --” Peter froze completely.
Natasha moved back a little bit so that she could delicately take Peter’s face in her hand, forcing him to look her in the eyes.
“A what, little Spider? I won’t judge, I promise.” Her voice was so soft and so full of honesty that Peter could only answer her.
“A-A princess?”
Natasha smiled at him with so much fondness.
“Ok, let’s make a princess out of you then!” With those words, she quits the car.
--
Natasha buys him a couple of dresses, some skirts, and underwear, which is more than Peter could ever have hoped for. She tells Peter that when he feels feminine on the days that he does not dare to wear a dress, he can always wear some nice lace or silk with ribbons and soft colors.
After the multiple shops, she brings him to a spa where they both have their nails done. Peter keeps it nude for now, but absolutely loves it. In the end, it’s the start of a great tradition between the two spiders.
5 times Eddie was imperfect in Ana’s eyes (and she couldn’t handle it) + 1 time Eddie was, in fact, perfect but for someone else
1) Dark humor – Apparently being a firefighter also means you have a morbid sense of humor. Constant jokes about death, accidents and other disturbing stuff makes Ana very uneasy. How could Edmundo laugh about such things? And not only him, also his co-workers, Mrs Wilson, Howard, Captain Nash and this Buck. What on Earth is wrong with these people? Perhaps it’s not Edmundo, it’s their bad influence. Yes, that’s probably it.
What Ms Flores will never understand is that lightly joking about dark stuff is their way of coping with hard things they encounter on calls. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps them afloat on bad days.
2) Street fighting (anger issues) – Never in her life would she thought that her perfect man is capable of violence. Going out and beat up people and getting beat in return. This is horrible! What if Edmundo hit her if they get into argument? What kind of example he sets out for poor Christopher?
What Ana Flores is not seeing is that sometimes people make mistakes and they will regret them for the rest of their lives, but they also will try to work through them together with the people who love and support them. Making amends for your wrongdoings and working on yourself is what makes you a better person, and surely means a good life lesson for anybody.
3) PTSD – When Ana first found out about Eddie’s military service, back at the show and tell at school, she thought it was another tick in the box of a man of her dreams: he is a hot firefighter and, add to that, is a decorated war hero. Perfect. But the reality of this is that, yes, Eddie is an ex-army medic and a firefighter, which means flashbacks of war, panic attacks, he can get triggered in a parking lot, or in supermarket, or even just at home, not to mention his general anxiety. No one prepared her for that! How could she take him to any celebration or friendly gathering if he gets jumpy just from some fireworks and crowded places?
What she certainly don’t understand and doesn’t even try to is that with field experience comes sometime severe PTSD episodes in daily life. And that Eddie needs support and right approach during those moments. It can get better with professional help and family support but it won’t go away completely, and that’s how it is.
4) Trust issues (intimacy issues) – They’ve been dating for a few months already. Both of them are grown up people who have some needs. Surely Edmundo wants to have some private time with her? Why her little teacher foreplay didn’t work out? Is he having some issues… down there? He is not that old, she hopes it’s not that problem, because she was really looking forward to some one on one time with Edmundo pretty much since the first time she saw him.
🤢just writing about this makes me go blegh 🤮
What Ana doesn’t realize is that for Eddie sex and relationship are separated. His relationship with Shannon got messy and complicated because of their inability to talk things out – they just kept falling in bed together, which wasn’t a solid ground for a healthy relationship. They hurt each other badly and were equally guilty for their failed marriage. After what happened Eddie wasn’t comfortable with opening up to people, especially to a romantic partner. Getting intimate is a level of trust which he didn’t reach with Ana yet, and, if Eddie is being honest with himself, never will. She just not the one.
5) Christopher is Eddie’s priority – On their every date Eddie often checks the phone in case of emergency. When they have stay-at-home dates, Christopher always there and interferes (in Ana’s opinion) on their time together. She is not getting Edmundo’s full attention and it frustrated her to no end.
What Ms Skateboard still doesn’t get is that Christopher is Eddie’s life. That sunshine of a boy was, is and always will be his first priority, because no one is above his son.
+ 1 time
Ana thinks it is her right as Edmundo’s girlfriend to bring his flaws to the attention. Considering that Evan Buckley is Edmundo’s best friend (or so they claim), she believes he is the right person to address the issues and maybe she will get his support in trying to change Edmundo for the better. She never was so horribly wrong in her entire life. And Buck is about to educate Ana Flores on what it means to be a person. And decent human being, for that matter.
If someone's interested in writing this, please tag me when you're done.
