#thesvenqueen

[kristoffsqueen]

Our smug and fancy Sven ♥︎

[thesvenqueen]

plz enjoy my excitement lmao 😂🤣

[punkpoemprose]

I Hate You (And I Hate That I Don’t Really Hate You)- A Kristanna Oneshot

Universe: Modern AU Length: 3432 Rating: M (Mature, because there’s some sexy bits)

Notes: Happy Unbirthday @thesvenqueen! Sorry it took me a while to post yours. I’ve been rewriting and deleting and rewriting it all day. Enemies to lovers man, it’s just got to be perfect, you know? Hope you like it!

Her distaste for Kristoff Bjorgman had started early, when she was just five years old. He was the boy next door, with messy blonde hair and spirited brown eyes who was always playing outside, earning freckles on his nose from the sun. She’d despised him more than anything because he could do all the things she couldn’t.

She’d ask her parents, “Mama, Papa! Can I go ride my bike down the street?”

And in return they’d given her hundreds of reasons why it wasn’t an option. She was too small, it was too dangerous, what if she fell and hurt herself and they didn’t see? What if one of the other kids was mean to her?

No, they always said, better for her to take her little bike with its training wheels up and down the same short stretch of hallway in the house where they could keep an eye on her, or up and down the driveway for a few short minutes when her father could tear himself away from work long enough to watch her. And in the meantime, Kristoff would ride by the front bay windows, like he was taunting her.

He was three years older, he was a boy, and he wasn’t their son. Those were always her parent’s reasons when she saw him doing something she wasn’t allowed to do, and after a while she started hating him for those same reasons. He was older than her so he was able to do things that she wanted to do without having to have training wheels of any sort. He was a boy so he was allowed to get messy and do the things she and her sister could not in their nicely pressed little dresses. He was the neighbor’s son and that meant that all his rules were different than hers.

It was unfair, how he’d wave to her through the window with a smile on his face, telling her to join him like she had a choice, and walking away disappointed when she didn’t come out. She wanted to play in mud puddles and pretend to sword fight with sticks. She wanted to catch bugs and ride her bike down the road. She wanted to leave the house. She wanted to play like the other kids did.

She didn’t hate him so much on the days where Elsa felt well enough to play, the days where they’d play with their dolls in the front window and wave to the other children as they walked by. Those days his smiles and waves seemed a little kinder, almost like he meant he wanted to meet her.

She did meet him when they went to school. He was in Elsa’s grade, not that Elsa went to school very often. Anna hadn’t understood then, just a little thing herself. She didn’t know that being nervous could keep someone from living a life, for her being nervous was something that she just got over. Being angry though, being so angry she couldn’t think of anything else, was something she could understand.

She understood it when she would see him through the classroom window, playing on the playground with the other kids, and heading inside when it was her turn to go out with her class. They were polite enough to her, her classmates, but they didn’t pick her for kickball. They treated her like a china doll, not to be played with, but to be looked at in her little pretty dresses and perfectly shined Maryjane’s. She’d longed for clothes like Kristoff wore, jeans worn at the knee, t-shirts from the discount store with dinosaurs on them that were meant for playing in, that were meant to get dirty.

She’d see him get on the school bus at the end of the day when her parents would send a car to get her. Other kids would be talking to him and they’d laugh. She always felt like he was laughing at her.

When Anna had turned twelve, she’d been allowed a little garden in the backyard to grow flowers and strawberries. It was ladylike enough work to please the housekeeper and governess their parents had hired for her and Elsa when Anna had turned six. Gerda was a kind woman, but a strict one, with very specific thoughts about what Anna should do with her life. Those thoughts included a preparation and boarding school, but her mother hadn’t wanted to separate her daughters.

She’d go out to weed and neaten and harvest every evening in the summer months, and when school rolled around, she’d tended to it after finishing her homework. It was the dirtiest work she’d ever been allowed and she’d been so proud of it. Everything was meticulously neat, the opposite of the way she liked to keep her room, and she’d done such a good job of it that the house staff and even her parents had noticed and gave her a few quick words of admiration. It had meant everything to her.

One day when she returned home from school and finished her homework, she’d had her heart crushed to see the whole thing destroyed. Apparently, the neighbor boy had gotten a dog and he’d gotten out without them noticing and had dug up all her hard work. She’d cried over crushed plants, holding broken little flowers in her hands and blaming him, blaming Kristoff for what had happened. Afterall, she thought, if he’d just been better at training his dog, if he’d just kept track of him, she’d still have her garden. It had been her only comfort as Elsa had been locked in her room most days and her parents had been increasingly preoccupied with doctors, trying to figure out what had happened to her that she’d just stopped speaking.

He’d come over to apologize, but she’d made someone else answer the door. She hadn’t thought that she could accept his apology without telling him that she hated him and never wanted to see him again, and she knew that if she had been that rude, her parents really would have had her sent off to a boarding school to learn manners befitting a young lady.

So she kept on hating him, but she’d been quiet about it. The grounds staff had seeded over her destroyed safe place, grass growing where her flowers had to “beautify” the place that she’d once loved, and it was all his fault.

Her parents died in a car crash when she was fifteen. It had been bad weather, they’d slid off the road and hit a tree. She hated Kristoff for it.

Not because he caused the rain or because he told them to go out driving because he hadn’t. He had had nothing to do with the death of her parents, but he’d come to the funeral with his parents. He’d come through the receiving line where Elsa had stood shaking at her side, Anna’s broken sister and legal guardian at the tender age of eighteen and fresh out of a mental health counseling program that had only succeeded in making her functional, not the sister that Anna remembered from their childhood years.

He’d shaken their hands solemnly, eighteen himself and barely a man even in a legal sense. She still saw that little boy of eight in his face, in his eyes when he’d touched her. She’d hated how he still had his parents. How he still had someone who loved him while she and Elsa were all alone in the world.

He went off to college that fall, and Anna hated him for being able to leave while she was stuck in a too-dark too-quiet house with Elsa trying to manage the family business and go to school online and spend more and more time away from her and in her psychologist’s office.

She hated him for leaving. They hadn’t been friends. She’d hated him since she knew how to hate someone, but there was a comfort in seeing him through the window, a comfort in seeing him walk through the halls in school, and it was gone.

She was twenty-one when she saw him again.

Of course he’d come home, she’d seen him summers and on holidays walking into his parent’s house and down the street like he’d never left, but she’d tried her best to not pay him any attention. She hated him, and it should have been easy, but she’d really needed to put the effort in after he left to pretend that she didn’t care whenever he came home.

More accurately, she was twenty-one when she saw him in any context other than him visiting home. She’d been a senior in college, just finishing up her degree, and out at a bar with friends celebrating. She’d seen him, two beers in, and all the hate and pain and fear from an entire childhood spent hating him welled back up in her, but his hair was tousled just right and he was watching hockey on his phone and she was willing to pretend for a moment that it wasn’t him. Because of course she knew that he lived in the town she’d gone to college in. It had been an accident. She’d picked the school then heard through the grapevine that he lived near it and she’d just had the good fortune to not run into him in nearly four years.

But that was a lie and she knew it. Because she’d gotten into every school she’d applied to and she’d accepted the offer after she heard he lived there, and she’d looked for him in every shop, in the movie theater, at the gas station ever since. She’d told herself that it was because she hated him and she wanted to tell him as much, but that wasn’t why she crossed the bar and sat next to him, daring him to look at her, to see her, with her thoughts as she finished beer number three.

She hadn’t been drunk when she’d kissed him in the back corner of the bar. Not really anyway, at least she was sober enough to blame it on the beer. She kissed him with her mouth open, with something slow and soulful playing over the speakers as he swayed with her to the rhythm. She didn’t know the song, but he’d been humming it and she’d asked him to dance.

Waking up in his bed had been an accident. At least she told herself as much when the morning light found them both fully clothed in his bed with a dog, the dog that had destroyed her garden, at her feet. She’d slipped out while he was pretending to sleep, and she hated him for it. She hated him for not holding her tight and telling her not to go.

She’d patted the dog, Sven, on the head on her way out though.

The second and third times she’d wound up there, staying the night in his arms and waking up fully clothed, were mistakes too. Because she hated him, and she wouldn’t seek out a man she hated at the bars, she wouldn’t ask him where he worked so she could accidentally pass by wearing her Wonderbra under a tight shirt, so it had to be an accident.

It was an accident now too, with his mouth on hers, totally sober, pulling him toward his bedroom.  It had to be an accident, because she couldn’t put want and hate in the same room in her head and stay sane unless it was a mistake. She knew, she’d known for over a week, that she didn’t hate him anymore, but she was having a hard time letting go of it.

As she tried to pull him towards his bedroom, her motion was halted by his large hands scooping her off the floor. It felt all to natural for her to wrap her legs around his waist and let him carry her to his bed. Her fingers fisted into his hair as she resumed kissing him.

A groan in appreciation came from the back of his throat and his hands squeezed her bottom as he knocked the door open and then closed behind them.

She cursed when he dropped her to his mattress and immediately descended to kiss down her neck. Her fingers were already fumbling against his belt, tugging his shirt out of the waistband. She hoped that he’d unbutton it himself, because if not she thought she might just tear it off him.

He’d grown so much since they were young. His jaw had taken the set of a man and his beard scratched against her skin as he mouthed across her skin to the place where her dress’s top gave the slightest peek into her cleavage.

When his hand went for the zipper on the back of her dress, she leaned up into his kiss, giving him access and encouraging his mouth to dip down as far as her could under the fabric to kiss the tops of her breasts.

They’d been on a date. An honest date, because he’d said “we have to stop meeting this way” at a bar, and she’d understood it as “I need to stop bringing you home drunk because I want to do things to you I can only do sober.”

The dress was thrown to the floor quickly, along with his shirt and her bra and then her panties.

It wasn’t long before he was asking her, begging her, to let him go down on her.

She writhed under his attentions, his tongue first, and then his tongue and his lips, and then his tongue and his lips and his fingers curled in her just right. His beard had certainly helped the matter, and she wished she had been able to get a better look at him when he was between her legs, treating her so reverently, pulling the pleasure from her in waves. It had been over before it started. In fact it had been over twice within minutes. She thought that maybe he’d want to try for a third, but she’d pulled him up for air, feeling shaky legged and overstimulated.

His fingers in her had been so much better than her own, her own experimentations had been nothing compared to his abilities. She almost wanted to ask if he was experienced, but somehow she knew that the answer would be no, that this, all of this, had been just for her.

He’d licked her from his fingers, he’d kissed her open mouthed, letting her taste herself on his lips. It was as debauched as it was gentle.

In the aftermath he’d covered her with his bedspread, turned the lights out, and curled around her tightly. He hadn’t asked her to reciprocate, he hadn’t said anything. He’d just kissed her and held her for what felt like forever and no time at all until the mood shifted from heated to simply warm.

He’d kissed the crown of her head, and then down to her neck and shoulder, he’d pulled her in close, and then when he seemed content himself, he spoke.

“You hated me. I could always see it in your eyes. You hated me so much.”

It wasn’t accusatory. It was spoken like a fact, and she nodded to confirm it.

His fingers carded through her hair gently and she cuddled into his side. She couldn’t change the past, but she realized that she was starting to remember a hundred little things she’d made herself forget.

Kristoff at age eight slipping a paper airplane through her mail slot, and the pair of them playing, Anna tossing the paper plane out the window and him catching it, walking it back to her mail slot and repeating the process over and over until it started to rain. Kristoff at age fifteen leaving a potted peace lily for her as an apology for her garden, a lily she’d mourned the death of her freshman year of college when it had lived out the last of its longevity on her windowsill. Kristoff at eighteen holding her hand a little longer than necessary at her parent’s funeral, bringing her a glass of water and a slice of lemon cake at the wake, inviting her to his grad party. She thought about Christmas cards from his family every year, and how she’d watch him from the window, hand delivering them through her mail slot. She thought about the way he always looked for her in the windows and how his smiles and waves really had never been teasing or mean, but honest and hopeful.

“I had to make myself hate you,” she whispered into the stillness of the dark room, “Because it hurt too much to know that we could never be friends.”

His lips found her bare shoulder and pressed down gently, like it was natural, like they did this every night before they fell asleep.

“Because of your parents?” he asked quietly, pulling her back into him in a gesture she read as protective. She wondered how long he’d known she was unhappy, how hard he’d tried to do what he could. She wondered what might have changed if she’d just gone to his graduation party years before, whether finally being free to see him would have made her happy. She couldn’t quite imagine a whirlwind summer romance. She’d been too young for romance, but she could imagine him in that crap truck of his bringing her for ice cream or down to the lakeshore or them not going anywhere at all, watching crap movies in his living room. She could imagine a summer where she’d made him her friend, and then months of letters and texts and emails. She could imagine a few years of friendship, him coming to her graduation, him helping her pick colleges, him realizing that he was falling in love with her, and her picking her college because he’d be there to love her.

She nodded. “It wasn’t really their fault I don’t think… or at least I don’t think they meant to keep me indoors so much. It was just Elsa was sick, and then she had the mental health problems, and they had the business and her to think about all the time… it was just easier for them to keep me safe if I were inside and proper and… I think they would have been different if the situation was.”

His beard scratched against her skin, reminding her of the way his mouth had felt elsewhere. She only felt a little bad thinking about how he’d made her see stars now that they were having a serious conversation.  

“I can understand why you must have disliked me so much. Even though I was adopted I always had family, I didn’t have much for friends, but I had a few and I had Sven… and I can see how you probably wanted that.”

“I did… I do… A lot’s changed since we were kids, but not that. Elsa’s family now. She did her best for me those three years, she’s gotten better now. We talk a lot.”

He hummed, like he already knew. She wondered if he’d been checking in on them. His parents had always been good neighbors to them, especially after her parents passing, so she imagined that his mother had been able to update him on how they were doing.

“And I have some friends now, at school… and… I just I guess I’m realizing that it’s not too late.”

“Too late for what?”

She took a deep breath, taking in the way it felt easy to breathe for the first time in a very long time. She hadn’t realized how much baggage she’d been carrying around until she’d seen him that first night in the bar.

“I don’t think it’s too late for us to be friends.”

He chuckled and pressed his lips to her neck again, his body warm and solid against her back.

“I don’t mean to be crass Anna… but I think we might be a little more than friends already.”

“Lucky thing,” she said, blushing as she pressed her rear into him a little closer, feeling the press of his cock against her, “Because I think I want to get a little friendlier with you… it’s only fair after all.”

A growl of appreciation had her letting out an easy and warm laugh.

She felt light and warm, and for the first time since she could remember, she felt like everything was alright.

[jjnora]

tagged by: @graanger​ to make myself using this picrew

tagging: @hippiegriff @hermynegranger @thesvenqueen

[nightblightowl]

WAIT IT WAS YOUR BIRTHDAY?!?! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

LOL Yesterday, yeah. It’s cool, t’was a busy day for me anyway, I nearly forgot XD THANK YOU GIRL <3

[upthenorthmountain]

Tent. Heart. Hand(s) 👀

Quiet footsteps went past the front of the tent.

Nothing for heart (yet)

Anna dried her hands on the tea towel, spread it in the sun to dry, and walked over towards her sister.

[awesomemaple]

@thesvenqueen hello hello hello!!! i’m your secret santa~ you gave me a TON of ideas for your gift, and i decided to go for bodyguard and secret relationship AU :D hope you like it!

they’re not as sneaky as they think they are ❤️

[thesvenqueen]

got bored so I put on a cute outfit and slapped on some eye makeup & lipstick cause why not✌🏼