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one-sad-human · 3 years

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•Worth It• Duff Mckagan

Pairing: Velvet Revolver era! Duff Mckagan x Younger! Reader

Requested? Nope!

Theme: Little bit of everything/???

Warnings: Language, panic attacks, anxiety references, drug references

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Fic 2 of 2! This is the longest fic yet! Took a different approach to writing this one, hopefully it payed off. Let me know if you guys liked it or if I wasted my time with this one lol.

You had met Duff in a coffee shop in LA. It was crowded and you were lucky enough to snag a chair before the lunch rush. Duff wasn't, and asked you if he could sit at your table.

You grew up with Guns n Roses, bought his solo album the day it came out when you were just 15, and now listened to Velvet Revolver faithfully. To see your idol, your celebrity crush stand right in front of you holding a cup of coffee and a scone sent you for a loop.

"Of course," you had said, starry eyed. You were only hoping he was as kind as the interviews made him out to be. Maybe have a conversation with you and be polite for a while before leaving and never seeing each you again. That would be good enough.

It didn't end with a coffee, it had just begun. He asked for your number, and you stared at him for a moment thinking you had imagined it. That was until he tilted his head a little and looked at you with a nervous expression. He backtracked and you immediately stopped him.

"No! I mean— yes! Yes, you can absolutely have my number." You scrambled for a pen and paper and ended up scratching your number on a receipt from the record store. You shook so hard you could barely get the numbers down.

Out of all the record store receipts you've stuffed into your bag, the one you gave Duff Mckagan had to be the one for when you bought Velvet Revolver's 'Contraband.' He didn't say anything, just smiled and promised to call.

You honestly didn't think he would've. You played it off as just him trying to be nice. It didn't stop you from answering every call you got for the next three days, however, even if you recognized the number as the tax collector you'd normally never answer.

But then he called.

"I tried calling sooner, but I kept calling the wrong number. You don't have the most eligible handwriting," he had told you. You laughed but really, you were in shock.

You set up a date at the fancy restaurant downtown that always intimidated you. You didn't say anything though, even though you knew you wouldn't want any of the overpriced food and you'd end up eating something you couldn't pronounce and was two portions too small. Maybe even hit up a fast food joint afterwards.

When the day finally came, you couldn't even figure out what to wear. You couldn't tell if you looked underdressed or like you were trying too hard. Did the clothes even fit the right way? What would Duff think? Would he even care?

All questions were answered when you left your house. Duff was leaning against his slick car parked in your driveway, a button up that was barely buttoned and dress pants with boots. He stared at you and you wanted a hole in the ground to shallow you up until he smiles.

"You look gorgeous," he said. You blushed and grinned, thanking him before saying that he looked great too. He drove you to the restaurant and on the way, you talked about music.

You shared some of your favorites, he adored how well rounded you were. You liked pretty much everything from punk rock to the mellowest of mellow. Duff mentioned some of his favorites, some you made sure to remember the names of so you can check them out.

When the ride was over and you finally got to the restaurant, your previous fears came back. Duff reassured you looked better than 90% of the people there and you knew it wasn't true but it made you feel better anyway.

Your eyes widened to the size of saucers when you saw the prices of the food. You knew it'd be pricey but you thought there'd be more options that stayed within two digit numbers.

Duff saw your panicked expression and said not to worry, he'd pay. It didn't settle your nerves enough and when the waiter came, you ordered the cheapest and simplest thing you could find.

"Chicken noodle soup?" He teased. You shyly looked down and shrugged. "This isn't your scene, is it?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Want me to be completely honest with you?" You nodded. "It's not mine either."

That's all it took for you and Duff to scramble sheepishly out of the restaurant. You both shared a laugh in the car and went to Burger King. It was much more your speed and, as you'd find out that night, Duff's too. You suppose all the money he's had since such a young age didn't completely change his ways. He was like a kid trapped in a 40 year old man's body.

You'd thought at first the age gap would feel strange, after all, you were 15 years younger than him. But after that night, it was barely noticeable. Funny looks from strangers every once in a while was nothing.

By the second date, Duff was already aware fancy spots weren't your forte. He told you it was a surprise and to wear something cozy, as LA nights got chilly.

He packed a picnic basket and drove you out to the most beautiful flower field you had ever seen at sunset. It was secluded and high up, giving a perfect view of the city skyline. After gawking and taking in the sights for a few moments, you regained your ability to speak.

"It's gorgeous. Pretty far from the city, did you take me here to kill me?" You joked. He laughed and rolled his eyes. His lighthearted laugh sent sparks straight to your heart, and you decided that it was your favorite sound.

You unfolded the blanket Duff brought and you both sat down. You ate the sandwiches and sliced fruit Duff packed and talked. You talked about everything, from your family to fears and insecurities.

You told him how you suffer from nightmares. Flashbacks from your broken childhood coming back to bite you in your sleep. Duff shared how he's suffered from panic attacks since he was a teenager. You felt you knew each other for years.

Neither of you felt weird for sharing and neither made the other insecure. You were completely open and honest with each other. It was strange, you've never connected to quickly and effortlessly with someone before. Sure, you've had men in your life, but never had you clicked with someone so fast, never had you fit with someone so perfectly.

Hours passed and it felt like minutes. Only did you realize how late and how exhausted you were when you saw most of the city buildings light have gone off for the night. The city that didn't sleep was dark.

"I should get you home," Duff said to you.

"Will you stay the night?" You felt a little silly for asking. Were things going too fast? Would he even want to stay over?

He agreed, and that's how your first night together went. You both stayed up even later and had more lighthearted conversations, unlike the ones that partook at the field. Like how one of Duff's first jobs was at a bakery and could bake a mean cake and how you can't cook to save your life.

You ended up waking up without remembering falling asleep. You're head was placed comfortably on Duff's lap while his head was lolled back against the couch cushion. He looked so serene and peaceful you couldn't help but smile at the sight.

You made toast and somewhat successfully cooked some eggs and bacon. It might have been the first breakfast in years that didn't end with the smoke alarm going off.

Duff eventually wandered into the kitchen and you both ate. By the time he left, another date was already set up. He was like a drug an you were already hooked.

Months later and the addiction still wasn't kicked. You didn't want to, and Duff didn't seem to want you to quit either. You both soaked each other up like the sun on a warm day.

You had almost weekly dates and you stayed over each other's houses almost every other day. Duff did have his kids some days, though, so some days dates were cut short or Grace and Mae slept over his house and you wouldn't see each other.

You were always understanding, his kids came first and you'd never blame or get upset about it. It's something Duff admires about you, your never ending understanding and empathy for him.

One of those days where Duff stayed over at your house started normal. He cooked dinner and you washed the dishes, and then you put on an old Ramones concert you had on DVD.

You were laying on his chest, his fingers running through your hair when all of a sudden, he tensed up. He quickly stood and excused himself to the bathroom. You frowned but before you could think much of it, you heard a loud bang and something clatter to the ground.

You jumped up and rushed to the bathroom. You swung open the door because you were perfectly aware the lock hasn't worked since you moved in.

Duff was sitting on the floor, a pill bottle laying on its side not far from him. You quickly spot the name of the medication and identified it as your anti-anxiety pills. You shoved them aside and sat next to Duff.

He was sweating bullets and his skin felt cold and clammy, his breaths were labored and heartbeat was loud and pounding erratically. You coax him gently to take deep breaths, holding onto his hand tightly and talking quietly.

"I'm sorry, they come on randomly sometimes," he apologized after he'd called down, but you quickly shushed him. You reminded him of just how many nightmares he'd comforted you for and he stops feeling so bad about it.

It was always a true partnership with Duff. Never had you felt you gave or took too much, it was always equal. Always a two way street, with everything.

That wasn't the last panic attack you had to help him come down from. Later down the line you've gotten better at calming him down and learning his triggers, even though sometimes they really do come on suddenly without reason.

A year into the relationship was when you met Grace and Mae. They were young and didn't completely understand why their parents weren't together anymore, so it took them a while to warm up to you. Luckily, they eventually came around.

Duff and Susan met up regularly to discuss their kids and co-parent properly. And while you had all the reason to be jealous of your boyfriend with his ex wife, you never did. You had complete confidence in him, he was honest and loyal and you doubted he'd ever hurt you purposely.

That's why it destroyed you when he left you. Tears were shed from both parties as he gave his reasons for breaking up with you. His insecurities he tried his best to bury had come to light and nothing could change his mind.

You thought you were completely honest with each other, but you suppose his doubt in his relationship with you was the one thing he kept secret. He had somehow convinced himself you'd be better without him, between the constant touring and the baggage that came with him and his kids, he finally buckled under the weight and stress.

You had tried to convince him that he was worth it, but if Duff is one thing it's stubborn. The best relationship you'd ever have and the best year of your life went down the drain within the matter of one conversation.

You were down in the dumps for days. You barely left your bed and didn't ever leave your house. You were in a depression and couldn't get out. A few of your friends eventually found out what had happened and broke into your house and shoved you into the shower before taking you to your favorite Chinese restaurant.

You felt like a disaster. Your hair was ratted despite the shower and you refused to put real clothes on, instead wearing sweatpants and a shirt Duff had left behind. You were a mess.

The hole in the wall restaurant was never busy but always had the best food. You were almost happy your friends dragged you out of your home until you saw Duff sitting at a table, eating egg rolls and lo mein.

You've came here together all the time. The high sodium in the food always made him sick to his stomach and you'd always end up giving him nausea remedies and tea. He never changed his order though.

You locked eyes with him for a while. Dark bags were under his eyes and he looked more pale than usual. He looked as terrible as you felt. You weren't sure if you were spitefully glad he felt awful or if the despair on his face just made your heart break further.

When you couldn't take his intense jade stare anymore, you looked up at the menu. The next time you looked back he was gone, you weren't sure if he was really there at all or if you were finally losing your mind for good.

Another week crawled by. You got better enough to continue working. You had to pick up extra time for calling out for a few days after the breakup. You wouldn't say things were going well, but you weren't crying in bed every day all day anymore.

You had constant dreams about him. Some were nice, ones where he didn't leave and you were together, holding each other tightly. Most were nightmares, flashbacks of when he left. You didn't have him to comfort you anymore when you woke up soaked in sweat and tears, and that might've been the worst.

Another week went by, and you were starting to get back into the swing of things. You still thought about him, even silly little things reminded you of him. Like when you would catch a sniff of freshly baked sweets like he'd bake you or certain songs playing on the radio. It also didn't help that you ran into people wearing Guns n Roses shirts on the daily.

You also refused to get rid of anything he'd left behind. Tee shirts, guitar picks he left from when he'd play for you, or CDs from bands he introduced you to. Reminders of what you lost were scattered around your home but you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

Suddenly, it's been a month. You weren't over him, but you had a feeling you'd never be completely. He was something special, you can't forget things as special as your relationship with Duff.

His items still weren't thrown out or returned, instead all packed in a box sitting in your closet. But you'd be lying if you said you would never reach into the box to grab a shirt to sleep in or a CD to listen to when you needed a reminder of the good times. You were making progress though.

You decided to leave your house one evening. You were feeling especially terrible and wanted to take a walk to clear your head. You went to the coffee shop you had first met Duff in. Maybe it was a mistake to go and get a flood of memories but you couldn't stop yourself.

You sat in a seat near the window and people watched, taking occasional sips of your drink. It was quiet except from the talk of the workers and the hum of the overhead speakers.

There was a sudden squeak of a chair of hardwood floors and it broke you out of your daze. You snapped your gaze up to meet the very familiar green eyes you've been trying to forget.

"Can we talk?" He asked, and you couldn't say 'no.' Duff sat across from you and started off by apologizing.

He said he wanted to talk to you sooner, but was too afraid you wouldn't want anything to do with him. You rolled your eyes at that, if only he knew just how much you missed him.

He then started from the beginning and explained why he made the decision to leave you. As it turns out, it was mostly because of stress. His bandmate Scott was having problems with drugs and the flashbacks from his GnR days frightened him. He was worried he would end up relapsing and he didn't want to drag you down with him.

Combine that with all the troubles that came with dating a single father, and he couldn't take it anymore. He felt too guilty.

It all seemed like ridiculous reasons to you. Even if he had made the mistake of falling off the wagon, you still would've stuck with him. And you didn't mind his kids at all, after nearly a year of knowing them and you were very close to them.

"I love you, Duff. I wouldn't have left you over that, I'd help you through anything. And I love Grace and Mae, too," you told him.

"I know, but I didn't want you to have to deal with all that baggage." You frowned at that. You reached your hand across the table and grasped his, squeezing it tenderly.

"You're worth it."

After that day, you and Duff started seeing each other again. It wasn't the same as before, but maybe even better.

You were more transparent with each other. If one had a worry or problem, you'd go to the other. You talked everything through with him and he did the same. Even if it seemed insignificant, talking everything through never failed to make it better.

You were happier and healthier than ever before. Sure, there were a roadblock or two, but they only made the relationship even stronger, and you wouldn't have changed a thing about it.

#classic rock imagine #guns n’ roses #guns n’ roses x reader #guns n’ roses imagine #80s #duff mckagan fluff #duff mckagan x reader #duff mckagan #duff mckagan imagine

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mcufox123 · 3 years

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Table 5 (Chapter 6)

Summary: Wanda finally meets one of your closest friends. You are also overcome with emotions about your new relationship.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety and anxiety attacks. Implications of smut

A/N: This was a hard chapter to write and read back. If you guys have any suggestions or comments please let me know!

Chapter1 Chapter2 Chapter3 Chapter 4 Chapter5

Your night went on and when it was time you lined up the food to bring to the Avengers. The servers helped you carry the food, and you were sure to grab Wanda’s food so you could place it in front of her. As you put it down you put your hand on her back and she leaned back into your touch.

“I hope everyone enjoys their meal here tonight! If there are any problems, please feel free to let me know!” you say as the group begins to dig into their food. You walk back to your station nervous that they wouldn’t like your food.

You were wrong when 15 minutes later Tony Stark meets your eyes and waves you over to the table.

“Yes sir? Is everything ok?” you ask nervously.

“Chef Y/N, dinner was unbelievable. My swordfish was cooked perfectly. I mean how do you do that? It was flakey and the flavors just danced in my mouth.” He gushed about his platter that was now completely clear of any food that had been on there.

“Dude my steak was so good too!” Sam continued the praise and you felt pride well up in your chest.

“Thank you! I’m only as good as my team, I’m sure you guys know how that goes.”

“Of course! You’re giving Wanda down there a run for her money. She cooks as well, pretty decently actually.” Tony said nodding to the girl down the table from him. You smiled because you knew what an amazing cook she was. You played along so nobody would suspect anything.

“Is that so? I will have to see for myself someday.” You see her laugh and you smile in return, loving the way her laugh sounds.

“Anytime you want Chef Y/N.” she said giving you a wink. The way she said your name sent a chill through your body.

“Seriously, thank you. And I will definitely be coming back here.” Tony said while shaking your hand. You thanked him once more before finding their server and telling her that their meal was on you tonight. You chuckled to yourself a bit as you imagined their faces when you show up to movie night on Wednesday while walking back to where Bill was chilling behind the counter.

“So how did you land her?” Bill asked, nodding his head to the big table who were ordering dessert.

“Remember that night her and Vision came in and he proposed, and she said no and just sat there?” you remind him of the night all those months ago.

“Yes, and she sat there all night.” He continues, he doesn’t know the full story though.

“Well, after everyone left, I told her she could stay as long as she liked, and I started making dinner for myself. She came over and instead she insisted on finishing making my dinner. After that night she came as much as she could when the restaurant closed to make me dinner. We were friends for the first few months and then about a month ago I asked her to be my girlfriend and we’ve been dating ever since.” You fill him in on your relationship.

“Wait, so you let this lady cook at your station before you let me cook back here? That’s messed up I thought I was your best friend?” You looked at your friend and chuckled as he continued. “Why are you so scared then? She seems great.”

“Her job is scary, and I didn’t think about that till tonight. I mean what if something happens to her? How will I know? I can’t do anything to stop her or help her.” You say thinking about all the things that could happen to her running through your head.

“Y/N, it’s her job, just like cooking is your job. Also, everyone, not just superheroes, could get hurt at any point of the day. I could get hit by a car and die walking home tonight. We can’t focus on everything that could go wrong, focus on how happy you are instead.” You are shocked at how wise your friend is.

“Who are you and what did you do to Bill?” you ask giving him a serious expression. “For real though, thank you. That made me feel a lot better.”

“No problem. It’s what I’m here for. Serious question though, when can I meet her?” you take a minute to think about it.

“If you want to stick around, she’s coming back tonight.” he nods his head in excitement and the two of you clean up the kitchen. You see the avengers walk out of the restaurant and you give them a wave. The group walks down the sidewalk before Wanda says something to Steve and turns around to come back.

She walks in the restaurant and over to your station. She gives you a loving kiss and says, “See you tonight my love!” before she runs back out the doors to the team who are just standing there chatting not even paying attention to their missing teammate.

You watch her with a grin on your face. Bill claps you on the back as you go to the cupboard to grab a bottle of wine. Bill stands at the counter, and you decide to whip up some brownies for dinner tonight.

The time passes, the servers finish cleaning up and all of your staff besides Bill leaves. Your brownies are in the oven, and you go to the freezer to get your vanilla ice cream. When you come back you see Bill talking to Wanda by the counter.

You gently put the ice cream on the counter and sneak up behind Wanda to wrap her in a hug and kiss her cheek.

“Hi beautiful.” You say. Bill watches both of you with curious eyes.

“Hello my love.” She says back as she wraps her arms around your waist.

“Bill this is Wanda, Wanda this is Bill. He’s second in command here and my best friend since high school.” You tell her. She looks at you while your speaking loving the way you look after work.

“Thanks y/n! I already introduced myself but Wanda it’s so nice meeting you!” Bill says bringing the wine glass up to his lips. “Wanda was just telling me about the Airport battle in Germany.” Bill loved hearing about the Avengers so the fact that you were dating one was a fanboy moment for him.

As they continued to talk about numerous battles that the Avengers have fought and won, you felt yourself becoming more and more anxious. Bill talked you down earlier thinking about Wanda getting hurt but the more they talked about battles, the harder it was to be ok. Thinking about Wanda being hurt and not being able to be with you left you feeling lost. She was a very powerful person and probably a target for many people. What if she was seriously hurt? What if she had to go away for months? What if she died? The thoughts kept swarming your head and they wouldn’t stop.

You stayed silent for most of the conversation as you put the brownies on plates with ice cream on top for them to eat. You stayed by your station while they were by the counter talking. Zoning out in your thoughts you missed when Bill informed you both that he had to leave.

“Well, I have to head on out! Lots to do tonight before tomorrow. Wanda it was so nice meeting you though!” Bill says hugging Wanda and coming around to shake your hand. You stare at it for a second before shaking it.

“Bill it was so nice meeting you!” Wanda says eyeing you curiously because of your behavior. He grabs his things and walks out the back door with one last wave.

“How was your day babe?” She asks you once Bill leaves. You don’t know why but you start to feel very anxious being with her alone tonight. All of the words Natasha and Bill said still running through your mind. It’s like your brain is running a marathon and you can’t stop it.

“It was good.” You give your shortest reply to the question. It was starting to get difficult to breath or focus on anything.

“Are you ok?” she has concern clear on her face. You feel your chest tighten up more when you look at her. You see her face littered with cuts and bruises and you freeze. You don’t know how to help her or make the cuts better. She can tell something is wrong and she isn’t sure what to do.

“Y/n, honey, I’m here ok. Whatever you need.” She says as she walks towards you realizing that you are not ok. The closer she gets you can see the cuts becoming more prominent on her face and you start to hyperventilate.

“Hold me please?” You can’t even look at her as you ask but you feel arms wrap around you. The weight on your chest is heavy and you try and calm down but it’s difficult. Wanda runs her hands up and down your back as she tries to soothe you.

“It’s ok I’m here.” She reassures you. After ten minutes you feel yourself start to calm down. You know exactly why you feel this way, but it is hard for you to communicate it to her tonight. You have a troubled past that doesn’t reach the light too often. She continues to hold you until you pull away. You put a mask back on as you pretend that you are fine.

“Here let me clean up these plates.” You grab the dirty dishes and put them in the sink choosing to ignore what just happened. You do not want to dwell on it, and you know Wanda is going to ask questions.

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m here for you I’ll listen.” Wanda asks you to try to figure out your sudden outburst. You wish you could put into words what was happening, but you didn’t want to scare her away.

“Can we just forget about that please?” you walk towards her grabbing her hands. She can see that you aren’t going to budge so she agrees. You turn off the lights in the restaurant before the both of head to your loft. You get ready for bed, as does Wanda and when she comes out of the bathroom, she is quick to cuddle into your arms.

“Do you want to watch some TV?” you ask her, and you just feel her nod against your chest. You put on Modern Family, a mindless show.

“Hey y/n can we talk about something.” Wanda works up the courage to bring up a tough subject.

“Of course, my love.” She sits up so she can look at you while talking.

“Y/N, I know we haven’t really talked about it but I’m an avenger. My job is taxing and it’s constant. And I never know what is going to happen.” You could tell this conversation was hard for her to say, it was hard for her to hear but in this moment, you forget about all your worries as best you can to focus on her. You push all your unsaid feelings aside so you could try and help her through this. “If you can’t… if that isn’t ok you know the… the… unknown I understand.” She says tears welling up in her eyes. This broke you because although you have known this girl for 6 months you would do anything for her.

“I love you.” You reassure her, cupping her face in your hands. “I’m not going anywhere don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” she’s unsure at your words.

“Wanda, I have not been this sure of anything else in my life.” And it’s true. You don’t want to go anywhere, the part you’re not telling her is that you don’t want her to go anywhere either. You don’t want other people to have to need her like you do. She brightens every night when she comes to see you, and you don’t want to lose her.

You share a sweet kiss before she snuggles into you again. “Can I ask another question?”

You chuckle before you reply, “You can ask me as many questions as you want whenever you want.”

“What did Natasha say to you?” You tense up a bit, your anxiety bubbling in your body again as the question is heading back to the subject you just tried to shut down.

“Just saying she knew who I was and what we were.” You tell her half the truth hoping she didn’t feel you go stiff under her.

“Haha yeah I kind of told her about us today.” She chuckles nervously.

“That’s quite alright. I mean I’m happy to tell everyone I know I’m dating you.” You reassure her. “You are amazing. The way you care about people, the way you love the team, you’re not too bad of a cook either.” You start to sit up and she falls underneath of you. You are quick to climb on top of her, so your face is mere inches from her. “You are stunning, I could get lost in your eyes for forever. And you make me the happiest person I have ever been.” You look into her eyes, so she knows you mean every word.

Tears start to form in her eyes as she is overcome with emotion. She reaches up to your face keeping your eye contact. “You make me the happiest person I have ever been too. I am so lucky to have you to brighten up my days. After everything that I’ve been through with my family, with being experimented on, with losing my brother, with everything that happened between me and the avengers at first, I never thought I would feel this way about anyone.” You felt butterflies swirl in your stomach as you leaned down to kiss her.

“Are you sleepy?” You ask her hoping she said no. You wanted to spend the night wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“Not particularly. Are you?” Her eyes grew a few shades darker as she looked in your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m super tired.” You say in a sarcastic tone while you roll your eyes. She squints her eyes at you.

“You better not be.” She expertly flipped you both over, so she was now on top of you. She leaned down to pepper your face in. Needless to say, you both end up barely getting sleep.

Taglist:

@b0mbdotc0m @yeetus-thyself @ineedafinghug @madamevirgo @when-wolves-howl @musicinourlips

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iamdeku · 4 years

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Positions: Prohero!Deku x Reader

I’ve been working on this little drabble for a while, haha. I just wanted to write something really cute and domestic. I hope you guys like this!

Warnings: nudity (non-sexual), mentions of kids/pregnancy

Dating a pro-hero could be taxing, to say the least. That was what everyone had told you when you and Izuku had first gotten together. They had warned you of the unpredictable hours, the nightmares, the trauma. They had said he would be physically unavailable at best, emotionally unavailable at worst. You had ignored all of that, though, and every day you were glad you did.

Dating Izuku had never been anything but a joy, a privilege even. He was one of the kindest souls you had ever met. His work only seemed to strengthen that side of him, accenting his willingness to help others, always with a smile on his face. He never made you feel second best to anything or anyone. In fact, you often felt like he did more for you than you did for him, which was what brought you here.

You’re pulling out all the stops tonight, spinning around your kitchen in your pretty pink over the knee socks that always made you glide across the floor, one of Izuku’s baby blue hoodies tossed over your head and falling far enough to be a dress, negating any need for pants. You had chicken katsu going on the stove, and you were making some tea to go with it. In the other room, you had made the bed with freshly washed sheets, still a little warm from the dryer, and an array of bath salts and bubble baths set up for selection.

Your entire body tenses when you hear the jangle of the keys in the lock, rising up onto your tiptoes in your excitement. You slip at least twice as you dash for the door and the man on his way through it, and you should have bit the dust once except for the arms wrapping around you now.

“Baby, you’re slipping all over the place. You know you can’t run in these.” His laughter hits your ear warm and sweet, body close from the way he’s holding you up. “What’s got you in such a hurry? We have all night.”

You pull back to look at him, smile spreading across your face. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You hold his face between your hands, used to how fragile they looked compared to his broad strength. You brush your thumb across his cheekbone, where a bruise is painted, red at the center but blossoming out to a deep purple, nearly black. You lean forward and press a gentle kiss to it.

“You work too hard.” You sigh, letting your eyes close and lashes flutter over his stained skin. “Do you want dinner or a bath first?”

“Whatever you want.” The answer is immediate, instinctive.

You had seen this coming. You had prepared for it, in fact.

“Nope. Tonight is about you. That’s what I want, and I’m not letting you argue with me. C’mon, we should get you changed out of your costume.”

He lets you drag him back to the bedroom, hands laced together with his. Slowly, you peel him out of his hero costume, the movements routine and your hands gentle as you unveil new bruises. Most of the blood and gunk on him seems to be from other people, hopefully the villains, but you don’t ask. He’ll tell you if he wants to, and he does when he sees the way you pause on a patch of his uniform stuck to his skin from dried blood.

“It was a good night,” he reassures you. “We got them, and everybody is okay.”

“Good.” You nod. “You hungry?”

He smiles down at you. You’ve gently pushed him back onto the bed now that you’ve gotten the top half of his suit off, your navy blue sheets contrasting the green of his hair as he lays back to stretch while you finish undressing him.

“Yeah. It smells good. Chicken katsu?” He leans forward, resting his cheek in his palm.

“Yeah.” You pull his boots off his feet, then shuck of the rest of the costume.

You stand up, knees flushed from the coldness of the hardwood floor, already reaching for his favorite pair of sweats and an old, soft All Might shirt. You let him dress himself as you take his costume to the laundry room, although the damage done to it is likely beyond you. Straight to support team, then.

When you turn to leave the room, his body is stretched across the doorframe, filling it up. You take a moment to let yourself be breathless at the sight of him. It’s not that you forget how beautiful he is, but more that nothing could possibly prepare you for the sight of him, especially not just casually out of nowhere like this.

“Dinner?” He asks.

“Thought you might want that before a bath.”

That was a lie. You knew he would want dinner before a bath when you heard his stomach growl about 5 minutes after he walked in the door. Not that he would admit to that, silly boy.

You move to walk past him into the kitchen, but he catches you around the waist, nose skimming across the skin of your neck as he leans forward. He looks you up and down, bright green eyes soaking you up.

“You look so pretty,” he mumbles.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, leaning into his touch. He brushes his lips against your jaw, just beneath your ear.

“My pretty girl.” He pulls you flush against him, pushing a strand of your hair back. “Gonna drive me crazy.”

“I know what you’re doing,” you breathe, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Oh? What am I doing?”

He plays innocent, but you see the look in his eyes.

“You’re trying to distract me from taking care of you. Not going to happen, pretty boy.”

You slip out of his embrace, throwing a teasing glance his way over your shoulder as you head towards the kitchen, swaying your hips perhaps a little more than was strictly necessary.

“Maybe I just think you look really good in my clothes,” he suggests, following you. “Hard to resist.”

You hum mindlessly, a grin playing on your lips as you reach up into the cabinets to pull out an All Might themed bowl for him and a more traditional choice for yourself. You put rice in both of the bowls, doubling the portions for him, and serve the chicken.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Izuku grows more serious from where he sits at your kitchen table, his chair scuffed and comfortable with age, face lit up and golden in the warmth of your kitchen.

“Well, somebody has to feed my big strong hero, and it better not be any other girl,” you respond lightheartedly.

“Wouldn’t want any other girl. Not when I have the best one in the world right here.”

You can’t help but blush as you start in on the food. Deku eats like a starving man, and he has for as long as you’ve known him, except when he’s upset. It gives you almost no time to admire him as you try to keep up, but you still try to get as much of him as you can, always afraid that he’s too good to be true. Worried of the moment he’ll disappear on you.

“I can feel you watching.” He says when he’s finished.

You just roll your eyes, still eating despite your best efforts. He’s called you out on it a million times before. You stopped being embarrassed a long time ago.

You two sit in silence until you finish, but it’s comfortable, the sort of silence that settles down when one of you is tired and the other is pleasantly content, or when maybe you’re both a little bit of each. He speaks up when you take the dishes to place them in the sink.

“You know, you would make a good Mom.” His eyes are glazed over in thought, obviously somewhere else.

“You think so?” You asked quietly, frozen at the kitchen sink.

“Yeah. We would have pretty babies too,” he muses.

“Yeah?” You turn around, leaning your back against the sink.

“Uh huh. Can see it now.” A distant smile pulls the corners of his mouth up. “Our little babies calling you Mommy.”

You cross the kitchen table, settling down into his lap. Your arms loop effortlessly over his broad shoulders, so used to the motion.

“Tell me about it,” you say.

“Wanna buy you a house,” he says, burying his face in the crook of your neck in the way he always does when he’s tired down to his bones. “And a ring. A ring as pretty as you are. I want to have so many babies with you. Have all these kids running around the house, and I want them to all look just as pretty as their Mommy.”

“That sounds perfect.” You run your fingers through his soft curls, body intertwined so closely with his you feel his lashes against your shoulder when he blinks sharply.

“Did you say something about a bath earlier, or did I imagine that?” He asks, voice confused with his exhaustion.

You giggle. “I did actually mention a bath.”

“That sounds nice.”

He stands, picking you up even now, as tired as he is.

“Izuku!” You squeal. “Put me down!”

“Nope, sorry princess. We’re gonna go take a bath.”

He’s all business as he carries you to the bathroom, plopping you down on the edge of the tub. You beat him to the faucet though, determined to keep your hold on the night and keep taking care of him.

“What bath salts do you want?”

He sits down on the floor beside you, back leaning against the tub and cheek pressed to your thigh as he sighs deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

“Whatever you use. Wanna smell like you. You smell good.”

You follow his instructions, setting the bath up with all of your favorites as he peppers the outside of your thigh with kisses. Your hands never shake, the movements practiced from all the years you’ve spent making baths for yourself and later, yourself and Izuku. When you’re finished, you both slide into the bathtub.

You take your time, washing his hair gently. You’re just as careful with the washcloth, paying attention to every part of his body, making sure not to miss a speck of blood or a smudge of dirt. You’re dedicated to your work and unconcerned with your own cleanliness, though you do briefly wash up so you don’t get the sheets dirty.

You wrap him and yourself up in towels when you get out, the darkened water swirling down your drain.

“Somebody was messy today.”

“Sorry.” Izuku blushes, knowing you’ll have to clean the tub later.

“Don’t be. I’m proud of you. You work so hard to keep people safe.”

He smiles at you, and you can see in his eyes he’s woozy from tiredness. You pull him forward into you, holding him in your arms even as you drag him back into bed with you. He manages to crawl into his sweats before crawling under the covers, and you don’t bother to do anything but pop his sweater back on.

He rolls into you, already half asleep but still wrapping you up in his arms. “I meant all of that earlier, you know?”

“Hmm?” you ask, confused.

“I really do want to have a family with you. A home.” He presses a tired kiss to your temple.

“I know. I want that too, ‘Zuku,” you mumble, his tiredness contagious.

“I love you.” He wraps you up tighter if that’s at all possible. “To the moon. And to Saturn. And Pluto.”

You giggle a little, eyelids falling closed. “Love you too. To the moon and to Saturn and to Pluto.”

#prohero!deku #deku #agedup!midoriya #deku x reader #izuku x reader #mha #izuku midoriya

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface.

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion.

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan.

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way.

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness.

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound.

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up."

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though."

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong.

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up."

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives.

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over."

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly.

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners.

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort.

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day.

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot.

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated.

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself.

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could.

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind.

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn.

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre.

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor.

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened.

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you.

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress.

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands.

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment.

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night.

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed.

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band.

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor.

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused.

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval

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boxofbadaddiction · 4 years

Text

Build Me Up, Buttercup

George Weasley x Reader

Song Inspired

Warnings: Zilch. Pure Fluff.

Life at the Burrow can get pretty hectic. With so many people running in and out all of the time things can quickly get out of hand. So, fortunately for Mrs Weasley she had so many ready and willing children to lend a hand when necessary.

Okay, maybe 'ready and willing' is a stretch. It's more of a 'whether you like it or not' arrangement if we're being honest. But regardless it gets the jobs done.

Today being no exception, so while Molly and Arthur left for town to run some errands preparing for the new school year, there were a list of chores for her 'happy' helpers; Fred, George, Y/n, Ron, Harry and Ginny, to get done.

Ron and Harry were set the challenge of De-Gnoming the garden, Ginny had a chicken coop to clean, Fred - to his great pleasure - were on laundry duty (though last George saw there weren't much folding going on. More his brother were sprawled out dramatically over a pile of towels groaning loudly), Y/n meanwhile was on kitchen duty and so that left George the very taxing chore of cleaning the attic. Molly were sure to give he and Fred separate jobs knowing full well, left to their own devices, no work would get done - if anything she'd come home to a bigger mess.

George hated the attic, it were so cluttered and stuffy. Not to mention the Ghoul were no help with all the racket he liked to make banging one piece of junk against the other. Thankfully, however, he were nearly finished.

Placing the final box atop the others he'd organised George dusted his hands before resting them on his hips with a tired sigh.

He let his eyes roam the space - damn they had some junk. Although there were a notable improvement thanks to his efforts. All that remained was to dust the, many, cobwebs and sweep the floors.

Looking around the room he noticed the broom and dustpan were nowhere in sight - that's when he remembered y/n had been using them to clean the living room earlier. As he was sure she'd be finished using them by now, he turned to descend the staircase, ducking briefly to avoid an old pan the Ghoul threw in protest of the houses usual quietness, George made his way towards the sitting room.

Passing Fred, whom were not much better off than when he'd started - still groaning, but now upright and reluctantly folding, this brought an amused smile to his twins face until something piqued his curiosity. There were Muggle music coming from the bottom floor.

Y/n, being a half-blood, had introduced the Weasleys to some records from her home on her previous visit and must have put one on to listen to whilst she cleaned.

As he drew nearer the music grew louder and more recognisable. Her record of The Foundations was playing - a favourite of hers George had learned.

As he reached the bottom flight of stairs his eyes scanned the room - y/n had done an excellent job - unfortunately though the object he required were nowhere to be found. Turning to step off the landing George reddied to ask y/n if she were done using it, assuming she'd carried on her good work to the dining room, but he found himself halted by the sight before him.

Y/n were by the sink scrubbing this mornings dishes. But that's not what stopped him in his tracks. She were dancing and singing along to the record as she did so - quite passionately.

George leant against the nearby cabinet as he admired her while she 'performed', so obliviously happy wrapped up in her own little world. He watched the way her hips swayed in time with the beat, the slight bounce in her step as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. How her hair was flowing wildly with each silly head-bang and nod along. He could see the way her face lit up in joy by the faint reflection in the window. His favourite thing by far though was the way she used the scrubbing brush as a microphone as she sang along.

His smile grew as the next song began to play, which he knew she were very fond of, and her enthusiasm seemed to increase ten fold.

Her arms flailed about of their own accord as she danced, singing excitedly, "Why do you build me up, Buttercup, baby, just to let me down?"

It were moments like these George found himself falling for her harder - everytime. When she finally let her walls down and would let herself be truly happy and unashamedly expressive of her real - crazy - self. A side he wished she'd show more.

His relationship with y/n were complicated in a way. They've known each other for years. Grown up in the same small town and had been sorted into the same house at Hogwarts; so naturally she'd always been close with the Weasleys, especially the Twins, and over the years it became blatantly obvious to everyone, even y/n and George, that they'd developed feelings for each other.

They'd just never managed to act on them.

There'd been plenty of moments. Nights spent up late talking by the fire of the common room. Plenty of long walks by the Black Lake. Plenty of midnight snack runs to the kitchens and Butterbeers drank in Hogsmead. Plenty of moments, just never the right one.

A slight chuckle rolled from the back of Georges throat as he watched on and y/ns movements became more energetic and her voice began to carry more over the music

"...worst of all, you never call, baby. When you say you will. But I still-" y/n had spun in place only to be met with the realisation she were no longer alone and that her little concert had an on-looker.

George stood smugly, with arms folded as his tongue slowly came to wet his lips and a wide toothy smile graced his features.

Y/n was frozen like a deer in headlights. Her make shift microphone still held high. Her eyes left his as she drew a heavy breath but simply shrugged and carried on with her karaoke, only now it weren't a show for the dishes - she instead began to serenade George.

She smoothly tossed the scourer from one hand into the other, her dominant one now pointed dramatically at George as she sung,

"I need you! More than anyone, Darling." George raised his eyebrows in mock surprise as if to say 'oh, really?'

"You know I have from the start" her arm that'd been pointing at the redhead was then swiftly cast high into the air, her head falling back with it singing loudly "so, build me up!" George couldn't help the laugh that erupt from his chest at her theatrics watching as she put her hand over her heart, looking back to him with doey-love eyes, a slight shake to her head finishing the chorus' "don't break my heart" in a loving tone.

As the song continued y/n kept on with her awkward dance moves, beckoning for him to join her. He'd genuinely tried to resist - but he could never say no to her.

His hands found hers twisting in time with the music and twirling her just to hear the laugh it brought from her.

Y/n hadn't expected him to join her much less start singing himself but he did and she couldn't be happier.

"Baby, baby, try to find a little time and I'll make you happy" both were laughing loudly as their moves slowly became more comical. George was swaying her about the room, pushing her away in a twirl before pulling her back into his chest (all those lessons for the Yule ball really paying off right now) as he continued to sing y/n jokingly raised the brush for him to sing into as she had, which he did with as much energy and flare as he does anything.

"But I could be the boy you adore, if you'd just let me know...BA-DAH-DAH!" he yelled the last part particularly loud which nearly had y/n falling to her knees in laughter, but George had caught her.

Y/n snatched the 'microphone' back from him as the chorus came back round and sang sweetly to him once again;

"But I love you still. I need you, more than anyone, Darling. You know that I have since the start. So build me up, Buttercup. Baby, don't break my heart."

George didn't know what came over him. Maybe it were because of how unbelievably adorable she looked in this moment. The way hearing her say 'I love you' got his heart racing, beating harder than a drum. Or simply the build up of years of pointless pining for one another, when they both clearly wanted this - all that wasted time in which they could have been together. Whatever the reason; he knew there'd never be a more right moment than this.

Suddenly his hand was finding her waist and pulling her body tight against his while the other came to her cheek. His thumb delicately traced her bottom lip as his fingers slowly moved to caress and rest lovingly by the nape of her neck.

"I'd never" he'd whispered the words so tenderly, with eyes which seemed to hold more love than could be considered possible. Her body all but melted under his touch, eyes dancing frantically back and forth between his trying to anticipate his next move. But it was her word he was waiting for, he wasn't taking this any further unless he was sure she wanted it, and she did. Her gaze flicked briefly to his lips encouragingly.

Georges hand slowly glided across her soft skin, tracing the line of her jaw till reaching her chin, tilting her head up ever-so-slightly as they leaned towards one another. Their eyes fluttered close, lips only just meeting in a feather-light touch that had y/n inhaling shakily at the tingles which had erupted through her spine. Their lips were just about to connect-

A flash of green and loud crash from the fireplace sent them jumping from their skins. Lungs coughing copious amounts of soot which indicated the return of Mr and Mrs Weasley.

"My, the place looks marvellous" Molly beamed, admiring the dining and living areas. "Afternoon, Kids! Keeping busy then I hope?" Arthur greeted smilingly. "Yeah" George answered, "we're just finishing up the dishes." He grinned down to y/n who was determinately focusing on the two adults in attempt to control her nervousness. "Excellent, well don't let us mind you - we'll be out of your hair in a tick" his father spoke as both parents ascended the staircase fussing over the school supplies they'd purchased.

The teens turned their attention to the long since forgotten dishes in the sink. They worked in comfortable silence, y/n scrubbing as George dried. His eye was constantly being pulled to the girl beside him as he noticed how she were trying - and failing - to hide a smile. Playfully he bumped her hip with his own, which finally turned her attention to him once again. She was waiting for him to speak but he never did. Merely smirking down at her with a glance to her lips, a look that completely broke the girls composed facade as she focused back to the task at hand, biting her lip to suppress a giddy smile.

George did the same, but there were no hiding his own wide smile, not even if he wanted to.

#George weasley x reader #harry potter #george weasley #fred weasley #hp imagine #hp #harry potter fanfiction

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holidaywishes · 3 years

Text

I Can’t Always Be Perfect

Summary: Having a sibling with a mental disability isn’t easy and can often be taxing, especially when things start to pile up at home and at work. So when things fall apart when (Y/N) tries their best to make things as close to perfect as they can, she has a bit of a breakdown.

Warning: angst, mild language, trigger warning for mention of anxiety and emotionally abusive parents

Author’s Note: So, I’m going through something right now. I don’t really know why I chose Willy for this, to be honest, but I felt like he might be a good one to make you feel better after you’ve had a rough time with things. He seems like the type to be able to make you laugh when you need it. This was a fic that came about because of things that have been building up for a while now and I’m lucky enough to have a few close people in my life that I can talk about these things with but sometimes, you just don’t want to burden anyone with your shit, so I wanted to put some of my personal drama and angst into a short little fic. I also want everyone and anyone to know that if there is anything they need to talk about regarding mental illness, anxiety, stressful home situations, anything, I’m here to be an ear and a metaphorical shoulder to lean on. Always. Also, I tried to keep this non-gendered so I used they so it would feel more inclusive. I’ll try to do this more in the future or use (Y/P/P) for Your Preferred Preference as I know that, even though it’s a small thing, it’s important. I love you all and I hope you enjoy this thing I wrote. Stay golden <3

masterlist

the other masterlist

You considered yourself a good person. Not perfect, not even exceptional, just good. You took care of things at home when your parents were at work, you cleaned up after your brother when he made a mess out of the entire house. You tried to do the right thing and tried to give back when you could, especially to causes that hit close to home, but that didn’t mean you were exempt from sometimes missing the mark and sometimes it meant taking a lot more than you had the capacity to take.

“(Y/N)!” your mom yelled from the kitchen and you ran to see what was wrong, “What is this?!” she asked, pointing to the mess on your carpet from your brother spilling his cereal on the carpet earlier in the day

“Carter must have.. I forgot to clean it up, I’m sorry” you whimpered

“I’m sick and tired of coming home to a dirty house!” she shouted

“I’m sorry” you repeated

“We’re at work all day, me and your father, the least you could do is make sure these things are done”

“This is just one time..” you said before squeezing your eyes shut, knowing that the words probably wouldn’t sit right with your mom

“ONE TIME IS ENOUGH!” she yelled, “You’re not working and you’re staying here, RENT FREE, so what the hell do you have going on that you can’t clean up a mess when it’s made?!”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you tried, speaking softly to not upset your mom anymore than she already was, “I just meant that the house is usually clean and tidy and supper is usually made when everyone gets here. Today was... a mistake and I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say”

“DO BETTER!” she continued, snapping at you as you quickly tried to clean up the mess under her feet, “and stop being such a god damn brat!”

“HEY!” your dad shouted as he walked in the door, “what the fuck is going on?! I can hear you all from down the street!”

“I didn’t clean up after Carter today”

“And she’s been home all day, just moping around because she can’t find a job I’m sure”

“She lost her job because of the pandemic, Susan,” your dad argued, “it’s different for us. We’re both on the front lines. We can’t lose our jobs”

“I know!” she snapped, “and she should know how lucky she is that we’re letting her stay here without paying for anything”

“Stop it” your dad said, trying to get your mom to calm down but it didn’t work

“Don’t you start with me” she urged

“Can I just vacuum this? And then I’ll make supper, okay?” you tried, wanting to get away from everything

“Fine,” your mom yelled before stepping out of the room, “but that’s not the point! This should’ve been done before we got home!”

“She’s trying to do it now!” your dad yelled back, “let her do it!”

“YOU KNOW WHAT?!” your mom countered, grabbing the vacuum and pushing you aside, “I’LL DO IT MYSELF!”

“SUSAN!” your dad yelled

“MOM! STOP!” you shouted but she didn’t listen, tuning everyone out with the buzzing of the vacuum. You looked at your dad who only shrugged and you were forced to scoff at the reaction, walking away to your room because there was nothing more you could do, only to find your brother sitting on the couch listening to everything; you rolled your eyes at his complete lack of accountability and scoffed before shaking your head and walking to your room. Your hands were shaking and your body was buzzing, you didn’t know what to do. This had been a long time coming. The fighting, the arguing, the yelling. Everyone was stressed out and stretched thin and you were doing your best to keep yourself together so no one around you would feel like they had to take care of you on top of everything else but when a text came in, you couldn’t help but start to feel the stress build up in your chest

“Hey!” William’s text read

“Hey” you sent back, trying to be as casual as possible

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.. My mom’s just a little stressed out. Can I text you later?”

“Of course but are you sure you’re alright? I can come over, help out?”

“No!” you sent back quickly, noticing the ellipses pop up and you knew you had to back track, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to come over, I just need to sort somethings out and then I’ll text you, we’ll talk. Just... later okay?”

“Okay.” You sighed as you pushed your phone to the side, dropping your head in your hands to rub your temples; it wasn’t long before your mom barged into your room

“Why?” was the way she chose to start. No apology, no greeting, just straight into the same argument you had before, “why didn’t you clean it up as soon as you saw it?”

“I thought he would do it himself” you admitted

“You saw that he tried, you couldn’t have finished?”

“He vacuums his mess all the time,” you argued, “I thought that he’d say something or realize... I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think”

“You know his brain doesn’t work like ours” she said, glaring at you as she stood in the doorway

“I know,” you sighed, “I just had some errands to run this afternoon and when I saw that he spilled something, I thought that he was embarrassed to tell me and he needed a minute before he could clean it up. So I did the dishes and left the room, forgetting about the mess. Then you came home and found it”

“That’s not an excuse”

“I’m not trying to make up an excuse, mom!” you yelled, just once, before you settled down and composed yourself, “I’m just trying to explain what happened.”

“You know that your brother is different and that you need to do more to help him but you’re so concerned with yourself that you can’t manage to clean up one tiny mess!”

“Concerned with my--” you scoffed, “I do take care of this place when you’re gone. There have been so many other messes that I’ve been forced to clean up that you have no idea about -- including the many times he’s missed the toilet and peed around the toilet -- so one day, one mess not being cleaned up, does not mean that I’m so concerned with myself. This isn’t a gigantic mess that he can’t clean up, he vacuums all the time so excuse me for thinking that he would have the ability to clean up some dry cereal on the carpet!”

“He’s your brother!” she countered, “and he’s got mental delays so you have to be able to take care of him”

“AND WHAT HAPPENS TO ME?!” you finally snapped, “I do my best to take care of him and you and dad and make sure no one is stressed out more than they already are but I’m not a caretaker. I’m not the older sibling. He’s 10 years older than me, Mom, and sometimes I need to be able to walk away and do things that don’t require me to act like his mother!” The tears began to fall down your heated cheeks and you looked at your moms face which only seemed to shift slightly at your words, “I’m sorry that I didn’t spend every second of my day today cleaning every inch of the house to make it look that no one lives here. I’m sorry that I took a little bit of time for myself. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“You just have to do better” she said quietly and you shook your head, trying to hold back your tears

“I can’t always be perfect. I can’t always do everything. I missed something today and I’m sorry that it screwed up your day. But I shouldn’t be expected to do everything!” You finally got up, grabbing your phone, and pushed passed your mom so you could escape everything

“Don’t you dare walk away right now” she growled and you pulled your arm from her grasp, making your way to the door before finally meeting your dads stare

“Don’t leave, (Y/N),” he pleaded, “talk to us. Talk to me.” Part of you wanted to say something, to make him feel better, but you didn’t want him to see you cry anymore than you already were, so you ignored his attempt to make you stay; grabbing your keys and jumping in the car.

Willy’s P.O.V

“Can we meet somewhere?” (Y/N) finally texted you after nearly two hours and you were quick to suggest the rink. When you got there, you found (Y/N) huddled up, head against their knees as they waited for you

“(Y/N)?” you whispered, seeing the tears on their face when they raised their head

“Hi...” they replied

“What’s wrong?” you asked, rushing to their side

“I’m just feeling like I can’t do anything right today. Like, I’m supposed to never make mistakes and I failed today”

“Everyone makes mistakes...”

“You don’t...” they scoffed

“Have you kept up with my career at all?” you teased

“Sure but,” (Y/N) faltered, “I don’t know, Willy, I just hate having this pressure on me to be perfect. Feeling like I have to be a parent to my older sibling. I know that he’s gone through a lot and that his life is hard and that it will always be harder than mine. I know that and I try, I try so hard to make his life easier and my parents lives easier. But I have given up so many opportunities to make that possible. I deferred University for two years because my parents needed me to stay home. I didn’t apply to NYU because it was too far away. I didn’t take that amazing job at Massey Hall because the hours were too flexible. I gave up my personal life, my romantic life because it was too hard to make time for my brother with all of it. I sacrificed both my High School Graduation and my University Graduation so he could feel included. I got offered an internship in London that I had to pass on because it was too far away and my family needed me here. I love him, he’s my brother and I would die before I let anything happen to him but I just get exhausted sometimes, always having to worry about him and take care of him and make things easy for everyone but me. Then, I feel bad for getting exhausted and I overcompensate and exhaust myself even further.”

“You’re burnt out”

“Yeah,” they sighed, “I don’t wanna be. But I can’t ask for help or get my parents to understand why, if I don’t have a job, I am so burnt out”

“Want me to tell ‘em?” you joked

“No.” You noticed their eyes begin to tear and you tried to be there for them as best you could, letting them rest their head on your shoulder, rubbing their hand softly, “I just... I don’t know what to do anymore. Some days everything is fine and then other days, the smallest thing sets my mom off and I feel like she hates me and that she doesn’t think I do anything or that I haven’t given up anything. Like I should always be doing more...”

“I want to make you feel better,” you finally said, “tell me what I can do.” You waited in silence for a minute so (Y/N) could get their composure

“This.” (Y/N) said softly, “Just be here, with me. All this stuff, it’s my problem and I have to learn how to solve it. But you being here with me right now, letting me lean on you, helps.”

“So I have strong shoulders?” you joked and they laughed, “Is this me being your superhero?”

“Can you not?” they said, smacking your arm before looking up at you with a smile

“I’ll always be here to save the day” you smiled

“Yeah, you will won’t you?” they smiled back and you kissed their forehead, staying still in the cold ice rink until both of you were ready to leave.

#William Nylander #Willy Nylander #hockey #but also #not hockey #angst #William Nylander angst #William Nylander fic #William Nylander imagine #tml #nhl #masterlist #the other masterlist

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stiltonbasket · 3 years

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but ALSO okay so first of all thank you so much for the ficlets so far they are Adorable and i love them so much. second of all i am so glad you opened prompts again bcuz. i have. smth ive been wanting to read for a WHILE. so. prompt: junior generation post-canon, they all have super high standards for romantic partners cuz they spend time with Super Lovey Dovey WangXian. not like jiang cheng's List but smth a la Tenille Arts's Somebody Like That iykwim

i hope its not too late to insert a detail to my prompt!!! (i ran outta chara space in the og prompt message and then forgot ^^" ) but theres just one thing!! i really wanna see!!!! in the wangxian spoiling each other bit!!!!! (and the juniors being all That is Love Why Should We Settle For Less) -- i want lan zhan walkin around at one point with his hair in a braid and flowers braided in!!! and if asked he gets all soft and looks at it and is like "wei ying did it" ahhh i love the image <3

can anybody find me (somebody to love)

by stiltonbasket

“Wei-qianbei, we’re getting old enough to go courting now,” Jingyi says eagerly; but he’s a horrible liar who lies, because he and Sizhui are only nineteen, and Jin Ling doesn’t come of age until early winter. “What do you think we should put on our list of requirements?”

(Or, the one where Jin Rulan visits the Cloud Recesses, contemplates his love life, and gets a new point of view on the Lan sect's taxation policy.)

Jin Ling is seventeen the year his dajiu marries Hanguang-jun, and finally gives Jin Ling the right to call Lan Sizhui his cousin. Sizhui’s always been his cousin, of course—they’ve been cousins since Jin Ling was born, even if neither of them knew it—but he couldn’t say so, because that would mean telling everyone that Sizhui was born a Wen. And telling everyone that Sizhui was a Wen would lead to terrible things, so Jin Ling keeps his mouth shut until after his dajiu’s wedding.

“You could just say that he was born to us during the Sunshot Campaign!” Wei Wuxian laughed, when he finally heard why Jin Ling wanted him to hurry up and take his three bows with Hanguang-jun. “Half the cultivation world already thinks he’s ours, anyway.”

But regardless of whether he could call Sizhui his biao-ge in public, Sizhui is first and foremost a very dear friend; and so are Lan Jingyi and A-Qing and Ouyang Zizhen, though Jin Ling’s best friend is probably Zizhen, just like Sizhui’s is Jingyi. He visits them in Gusu as often as he can, since all of them save Zizhen live there, and even Zizhen hangs around the Cloud Recesses more often than not.

“Don’t you have a clan of your own?” Jin Ling frowns, when he visits his dajiu around midsummer to find the younger boy eating xiaolongbao in the jingshi’s new kitchen. “How come you’re still here, A-Zhen? The lectures ended weeks ago!”

“I’m almost sixteen,” Zizhen yawns, reaching for a shallow dish of black vinegar and soaking a salted mushroom in it. “Father says I’m old enough to go where I like, and Lan-xiansheng said I could keep studying with the Lan disciples as long as I stayed.”

“You’re just here for the food,” grumbles Jin Ling. His dajiu is a good cook when he doesn’t cover everything in chili peppers, and Jiujiu once told him in confidence that Wei-dajiu’s food was the closest Jin Ling would ever get to having his mother’s. But a steaming plate of xiaolongbao lands in front of Jin Ling before he can really start thinking about that, and then his baby cousin crawls into his lap and steals one of the soup dumplings.

“Ling-gege pays taxes,” three-year-old Lan Yu says serenely, poking a hole in the xiaolongbao and sucking out the broth. “Xiao-Yu can have one more?”

“Taxes?” Jin Ling stares at him. “What in the world does he mean?”

Wei Wuxian laughs and comes back over to give him another succulent soup dumpling to replace the one Xiao-Yu stole. “He’s pretending to be the sect leader,” he explains, ruffling Jin Ling’s hair on his way back to the stove. “And he found out about tax management this morning, since Lan Zhan and Xichen-ge are thinking about lifting the luxury tax on goods from some of the minor sects. But A-Yu thinks taxes are presents for the sect leader, so…”

“One more bao tax for xiao-Lan-zongzhu!” Xiao-Yu says imperiously, holding out his chubby hands. “Ling-gege give, please?”

“That is not polite, Xiao-Yu,” Hanguang-jun scolds, sweeping into the kitchen with A-Yuan and Jingyi behind him and A-Qing bringing up the rear. He lifts Xiao-Yu into his arms and sits him down on the bench next to Zizhen, and then he reaches up for a stack of patterned bowls and passes them around to the others.

Jin Ling still hasn’t gotten used to eating at the Chief Cultivator’s table, even if Hanguang-jun is technically his uncle now. Sometimes Hanguang-jun even does the cooking, and feeds Wei-dajiu with his own chopsticks while everyone else watches, and then Jin Ling tries to choke himself to death on the bamboo shoots in his yan du xian before deciding that Lanling can’t afford to lose the first decent zongzhu it’s had since his great-grandfather’s time.

“I wish I was married,” Ouyang Zizhen sighs dreamily, resting his cheek on his hand as Xiao-Yu tries to steal his dumplings next. On his other side, A-Qing’s cheeks flush crimson, and she stares resolutely down at her hands while Hanguang-jun offers her a plate of savory vegetables. “It looks so nice, Wei-qianbei.”

“It is nice,” Wei-dajiui winks—and oh, gross, because Hanguang-jun is blushing now, and staring at Wei Wuxian as if he’s the most amazing thing in the world. “Marrying Lan Zhan is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Mm,” Hanguang-jun says quietly, putting a heaping spoonful of potato congee into his husband’s bowl. “Wei Ying is the best thing that happened to me, too.”

Ouyang Zizhen wails.

“What, you want an arranged marriage?” Wei-dajiu frowns. “ I never went through the process myself—” and Hanguang-jun reaches out and squeezes Wei-dajiu’s waist, as if even thinking about Wei-dajiu seeing a matchmaker was too much— “and I don’t really know anyone who did, since Yunmeng’s a lot freer about these things. Are you sure, Jingyi?”

“I’m not asking for a matchmaker,” Jingyi says, tossing his long ponytail over his shoulder. “I want to know what to look for if my love of a lifetime comes along. So what were you looking for?”

“Nothing when I was your age, A-Yi. I thought I would spend my whole life at Lotus Pier, and marry one of the shijies or shimeis who liked me. But then I met Lan Zhan, and…”

And then his ideal became Hanguang-jun, Jin Ling finishes, chewing on a mouthful of mustard greens. Everyone knows that, Jingyi!

Unfortunately, the conversation doesn’t end there. It goes on for the better part of an hour, and all through the course of coconut pudding Hanguang-jun made for dessert, and Jin Ling can’t even leave because that would be rude, and the food is too good to pass up even if Ouyang Zizhen wants to ask about kissing now.

“How old is old enough to have your first kiss?” he inquires, while Lan Sizhui giggles into his hands and elbows Zizhen to make him stop. “I’m sixteen, so is that too young?”

“I was thirty-eight when I first kissed Wei Ying,” Hanguang-jun says dryly. “I would advise patience, unless Ouyang-gongzi already has a beloved one in mind.”

Jin Ling wants to die. Why is his extended family like this?

“Pudding tax,” Xiao-Yu announces from his lap. “Ling-gege, can A-Yu have a bite?”

“I’m Sect Leader Jin, though. I don’t have to pay you taxes.”

Xiao-Yu gives him a serious little nod before turning to Sizhui. “Yuan-gege, pay pudding taxes.”

“You’ve had enough pudding,” Sizhui scolds; and indeed, the dishes are mostly empty now, except for the serving bowls in the middle of the table. “Come on, A-Yu. Let’s go visit the rabbits.”

They end up at the rabbit field about ten minutes later, after Jingyi and Sizhui help Hanguang-jun with the dishes. Jin Ling thinks it must make a very strange picture: after all, one doesn’t often see three Lan juniors, one Ouyang sect heir, one Jin sect leader, and one Lan baby lying in the grass with bunnies climbing over them. But the peace and quiet is beautifully welcome after the political unrest in Lanling and the dog food in Wei-dajiu’s tiny kitchen, so Jin Ling closes his eyes and settles down for a nap with a small white rabbit on his chest.

“I think Shufu was right,” he hears A-Qing say. “There’s no point in having a list of requirements. Look at what happened to Jiang-zongzhu.”

“His first list was terrible, though,” Zizhen objects. “And he’s going to be married by next spring, so it worked for him in the end. After he fixed his requirements, I mean.”

“Gossipping is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses,” Sizhui says tranquilly. “And what Father meant was that having a list means you might miss your fated one when they come along, so it’s best to think about what you want, instead of what your beloved should be.”

“I’d like it if my wife liked to eat my cooking,” sighs Zizhen—he’s an excellent cook, too, and Jin Ling knows for a fact that A-Qing’s favorite food is the shrimp and water spinach Zizhen’s mother taught him to make. “Then I could cook, and she could wash our children’s hands and bring them to the kitchen when I was done, and we would all eat together.”

“I think I’d like a husband who knew how to do my hair,” A-Qing says, not even trying to be subtle. Jin Ling has seen the combs Zizhen keeps giving her, even if they’re far too young for a courtship, and Zizhen is always the first to offer assistance whenever A-Qing’s hair falls out of its bun. “Even a plain bun is too hard for me, since my hair’s so bushy.”

Zizhen nearly drops his rabbit. “Oh,” he whispers, blushing so hard that his neck turns red. “That’s good!”

Jin Ling wants to die. He can’t stand visiting Lotus Pier because his jiujiu is obviously courting, even if he won’t say he is, and now he’s going to have to watch A-Qing and Zizhen flirt until Zewu-jun and Ouyang-zongzhu give them permission to get married.

“What about you, Jingyi?”

“Huh? Oh, I want to marry someone who won’t mind how loud I am,” Jingyi shrugs. “Or someone even louder than me, so we can make trouble together. A-Yuan?”

“I haven’t really thought about it, actually,” Sizhui sighs. “I’m Zewu-jun’s heir, so I have to get married, but I’m not sure if I want to.”

A moment of silence.

“Then you won’t have to,” Jin Ling says. Everyone stares at him. “Zewu-jun didn’t get married, and Hanguang-jun wouldn’t have if Wei-dajiu didn’t come back to life. You can just choose an heir born to one of your cousins, since Jingyi was going to inherit the sect before Hanguang-jun adopted you.”

The others swoop in to assure Sizhui that no one’s going to make him get married, and Jin Ling folds his arms behind his head and wonders if his biao-ge could possibly be like Zewu-jun: a yi xin yi shen, whole in heart and body, who eschewed marriage in favor of cultivation. It would explain a lot, Jin Ling thinks, because even he knows what it feels like when someone makes his heart beat fast and his face turn pink, and Sizhui’s never felt that way.

(Jin Ling tries not to think of Nie-zongzhu’s hot-tempered archivist, who knocked him into the dust with her saber the last time he visited Qinghe and then told him he had pretty eyes. Nie Shiyong is a few years older than him, and he usually ends up nursing several new bruises each time he meets her, but Jin Ling is man enough to admit to himself that he likes her. Maybe.)

“Xiao-Yu is sleepy,” little A-Yu says, interrupting his embarrassing train of thought before it can go any further. “Yuan-gege, I have a nap?”

“You can just sleep here,” Jingyi suggests. “The grass is soft enough, right? And you can use one of us for a pillow.”

“Jingyi,” Sizhui chides, and Jin Ling hears the long grass rustling as his cousin gets to his feet. “Come on, A-Yu. I’ll take you home to A-Niang.”

“No need,” someone else says; and that’s Hanguang-jun’s voice, coming up the hill from the direction of the jingshi. “I am here. A-Yu, come.”

Jin Ling scrambles up to greet his uncle by marriage (sect leader or not, jiujiu would kill him if he greeted the Chief Cultivator from the ground) and then he reels back and blinks in surprise, because Hanguang-jun’s hair is up in a loose braid instead of a half-topknot, and somebody seems to have decorated the braid with a row of half-bloomed lotus flowers.

“Wei Ying did it,” Hanguang-jun says, with a small, soft smile that makes Sizhui and the others gasp. “He will do the same for your hair, too, if you ask.”

And then he lifts Xiao-Yu up into his arms and carries him away, leaving Jin Ling still frozen mid-bow with Jingyi and Zizhen gaping behind him.

“I think what Hanguang-jun meant is that the first requirement for marriage is love,” Lan Sizhui remarks, when Jin Ling finally snaps his mouth shut. “And that no matter what we want, or think we want, we shouldn’t settle for less.”

(Jin Ling is the first of his friends to marry, and he never forgets his biao-ge’s advice until the end of his days.)

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #jin ling #my fic

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teanicolae · 3 years

Photo

Tender Run Through Memories: You are crazy, my child. You must go to Berlin (2018)

extracts from a Berlin travel guide i worked on during my first internship. i was spellbound by Berlin’s entrancing mix of rich culture & gritty club-scene. i fell in love with the city, bit by bit, and i spent one month reviewing its art, museums and vegan food. during my time there, David Bowie kept ringing in my ears, as it was one of his soul-cities 🌼 you got the width of my tongue name on the sun 🌷 velvet goldmine, you stroke me like the rain, snake it, take it, panther princess you must stay 🦋

Feature: Introduction to Berlin

Much has been written about Berlin’s blend of history, outstanding culture and infamous nightlife. Proclaimed the capital of cool, Berlin is where you can “go to all-night parties, attend a screening of an arthouse film and an anti-Trump demonstration within 24 hours”, as The Times noted. Some talk about Berlin’s fall from grace, wondering if the city’s growing popularity diminished its authenticity and turned the city into a growingly expensive tourist trap.

From Marlene Dietrich, who sang “I still keep a suitcase in Berlin” with a piercing longing, to the rebellious singer Iggy Pop, who called Berlin his home, many artists have voiced their love for Berlin.

“You are crazy, my child. You must go to Berlin” (Franz von Suppé)

Affordable, buzzing, wild and carefree, Berlin is a symbol for tolerance and open-mindedness. Unlike other metropolises in Europe, it’s a place where you can relax. Berliners do not rush. They take their time, basking in the sun with their low-cut T-shirts and heavily tattooed arms, flicking back their occasionally bright-coloured hair.

Nights in Berlin are freaky, intense and fiery. The club culture is exhilarating; anything goes. Berlin is a techno capital: notorious DJs, outrageous raves and 36-hour long parties. There are plenty of clubs to choose from, perhaps the most infamous being Berghain, which pays the same taxes as theatres and concert halls, as it is considered to produce work of cultural significance.

It’s magical to lose yourself in Berlin’s night scene, in the hazy beat of electronic music and in the half-clothed masses. There is a strong sense of acceptance. You are free to be yourself. You won’t be judged.

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“Berlin, the greatest cultural extravaganza that one could imagine” (David Bowie)

Berlin is a home to artists and a paradise to emerging creators, who come here to pursue their dreams. There are around 20,000 artists living and working in the city, lured by cheap rents, the city’s libertine energy and the massive studio spaces. The street art mirrors the city’s fantastic art scene.

Berlin is bursting with culture and history. It has 175 museums, even more than New York. It’s an open museum too: from the Berlin Wall to Checkpoint Charlie and to the Nazi book burning site at Babelplatz, Berlin’s unique history can be seen by foot.

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“Berlin is cheap, but sexy” (Klaus Wowereit)

Berlin is the cheapest capital city in Western Europe. While it is getting expensive, perhaps because of its touristy appeal, it is the perfect place for backpackers, artists and adventurers for now. You can get a cup of coffee for €2, a lunch for less than €10, a pint of beer for €2-4, a day travel pass for €6,50 and a decent double room in a hotel for €50 per night. What is more, some of the attractions of Berlin are free, such as East Side Gallery, Raw Tempel and Yaam Beach.

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Paris is always Paris and Berlin is never Berlin! (Jack Lang)

Nonetheless, Berlin is constantly changing, you never know what to expect. You need to experience it yourself.

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Reviews: Art, Beauty & Vegan Food

Beyond Compare: How African and European Sculptures Carve the Essence of Humanity

There are few exhibitions as fascinating as Bode Museum’s “Beyond Compare”. “Beyond Compare” brings together, compares and analyses the sculptural traditions of two continents by displaying, side by side, 70 African sculptures, along with renowned masterpieces from Byzantium, Italy and central Europe.

Despite their radical stylistic differences, it is interesting to observe how the artworks touch the same themes. They illustrate the frailty of the human experience, exploring subjects such as death, beauty, motherhood, power, spirituality and love. Cultures apart, humans seemed to be moved by the same matters; it is remarkable to see the dainty, gothic sculpture of Madonna, Virgin of Mercy, appear next to a seemingly raw sculpture which represents a power figure from Congo. The second sculpture looks quite crude next to the carefully-carved Madonna, but both were made with the intent to ask for protection, to invoke forces that are beyond the physical world.

In the exhibition’s first slide, it is noted that the works displayed were made by human beings, and not by “cultures”, “tribes”, “ethnic groups” or “nations”. It is important to keep this in mind while strolling through the museum, as this exhibition is not an objective comparison between two different cultures, but a soft reflection of human nature.

Address: Am Kupfergraben, 10117 Berlin. Closest stations: Friedrichstraße, Hackescher Markt; Bus TXL Staatsoper, Lustgarten, Friedrichstraße. Opening hours: Monday – closed; Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday: 10:00 – 18:00; Thursday: 10.00 – 20.00. Prices: 12,00 EUR, Reduced 6,00. Website: https://www.smb.museum/museen-und-einrichtungen/bode-museum/home.html Contact: Tel 030 266 42 42 42

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Enjoy the silence in Museum der Stille

Museum der Stille (“Museum of Silence”) is a unique invitation to embrace the silence in the middle of the lively district of Berlin Mitte. It’s a small, free and beautiful exhibition of paintings and architectural models that illustrate different stages of stillness. It is lovely, subtle and, above all, silent. In the middle of the museum, there is only one piercing painting of a woman who’s gazing through you, with a simple wooden bench in front it. The walls are a deep, warm red and the light is dimmed. The profound silence makes the experience sincere and intense; you are struck by a strong feeling of here and now. While at the beginning you might be put off by the awkwardness of hearing your feet clumsily shuffling through the museum, you will gently ease into the museum’s serenity, if you let yourself. For once, you do not have to rush. It’s enough just to take it all in.

Even after leaving the museum and walking back into broad daylight, the spell of silence is not broken. You might be finding yourself humming Depeche Mode and thinking that they were right, perhaps. It is enough just to enjoy the silence.

Address: Linienstraße 154A, 10115 Berlin Closest stations: Oranienburger Tor, Oranienburger Straße. Opening hours: Tuesday - Sunday 14:00 - 19:00 Prices: Free Website: http://museum-der-stille.de/de/ Contact: [email protected] Tel: +49 (0) 30 278 919 90

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CWC Gallery: exploring the modern and the contemporary

If you have a soft spot for art, but find most museums to be too sombre and a little old-fashioned, CWC Gallery might just be the place for you. “CWC” stands for “Camera Work Contemporary” and, as its name suggests, it focuses on contemporary and slightly modern positions found in photography, painting and sculpture. The gallery is in the heart of the bohemian Berlin-Mitte quarter and, while stylish and elegant, it isn’t pretentious and it has an easy-going vibe. It’s also completely free!

The first floor is a homage to the 1990s that recreates the dreamy allure of the era. Wandering around, you are charmed by goddesses of the ‘90s: photos of the iconic Iman, Gisele Bündchen, Uma Thurman and Halle Berry, all captured by Micheal Comte, are plastered on walls. Their half-smile and bouncy curls will leave you longing. You can soothe your temporary nostalgia by moving onto the next floors, where you can admire a beautifully curated and impressive exhibition of modern works of art, some of which display a striking social commentary.

In the same building, you can also find quite an interesting permanent exhibition about The Kennedys, which explores the political success and the private life of John F. Kennedy. The admission fee is 5€.

Address: Auguststraße 11–13, 10117 Berlin Closest stations: Oranienburger Tor, Oranienburger Straße. Opening hours: Tuesday to Friday 10:00 -18:00 Saturday 11:00 – 18:00. . Prices: Free. Website: https://camerawork.de/ Contact: [email protected] Tel 030 24048614

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Yoyo FoodWorld: the oldest vegan fast-food joint in Berlin

Yoyo FoodWorld is a hip fast-food joint on the Gärtnerstrasse 27 and the first and oldest vegan fast-food in Berlin.

For almost ten years, Yoyo hasn’t been your typical fast-food. Its atmosphere is similar to one of a quiet, cozy indie bar. Indoors, the light is slightly dimmed and there are photos of famous musicians and philosophers plastered on the restaurant’s walls, along with cult film posters that would make any film student swoon. Soft rock music plays in the background. The outdoor sitting is just as delightful, as the area surrounding the joint is lovely and inviting.

The food is cheap, fantastic and sure to satisfy your cravings, as the options are varied. They have 3,50€ burgers, 6,50€ pizza, 5€ wraps, 6€ schnitzels, 5€ seitan Currywursts, 3,80€ sea food and meatballs at the price of 8 for 3,20€. All the dishes are deliciously vegan and would work perfectly as comfort food or hangover food. It’s also the place to take your friends to convince them that vegan food is tasty.

Another highlight is the toilet, which is exceptionally cool. It’s filled with queer stickers, feminist and political statements, colourful graffiti and carefully scribbled love poems; ideal for a quirky Instagram post.

Address: Gärtnerstraße 27, 10245 Berlin Closest stations: Samariterstr., Frankfurter Tor, Warschauer Str. Opening hours: Monday- Thursday 12:00 - 23:00, Friday - Saturday 12:00 - 00:00, Sunday 12:00 - 23:00. Prices: € Website: http://www.yoyofoodworld-berlin.de/ Contact: [email protected]

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Get fettundbetrunken at the Chaostheorie

Chaostheorie is the first vegan cocktail bar in Germany. Their slogan is “fettundbetrunken”: “fat and drunk”, so expect to find a perfect mix of cheap comfort food and funky alcohol.

Onto the first part of their motto, “fat”: the food is fantastic. From a veganized traditional cuisine to more modern dishes, the highlights are juicy currywursts, enormous doner kebabs, fries with dripping dips, pulled mushroom burgers and thick cheese meatball sandwiches. To sweeten things up, the selection of house-made cakes is flavourful to say the least. The Oreo cake, smooth and crunchy at the same time, is a popular favourite. The soft drinks are also a dream: creamy milkshakes, Snickers, Manner or Oreo flavored, and rich freakshakes. You can settle for classic options, too: late macchiato, hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows, coffee with caramelized milk and hot applesauce with cinnamon and vanilla soya milk.

Now, onto the second part of their motto…”drunk”! You can sip traditional cocktails or try out the bartender’s specials: experimental and refreshing mixtures such as Julep Blue, bourbon, blue curaçao, ginger ale and limette.

The place itself is cozy: dim light, soft indie music, shelves stacked with books and a lovely photobooth perfect for making memories.

Even if you’re looking for a quiet afternoon with good food or for a tipsy evening, in Chaostheorie you can find the things you thought you’d never enjoy again once you went vegan.

Address: Schliemannstraße 15, 10437 Berlin. Closest Stations: Prenzlauer Alle, Stargarder Str., Schönhauser Allee. Opening Hours: Mon, Tue, Wed: 17:00 – 22:00; Thu: 17:00 - 23:00; Fri: 17:00 - 01:00; Sat: 15:00 - 01:00; Sun: 15:00 - 22:00. Price range: € (under €10). Website: http://www.chaostheorie.berlin/ Contact: 030/548 907 34; [email protected].

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Challenge yourself at the Kunst-Werke Institute for Contemporary Art

The Kunst-Werke Institute for Contemporary Art is a remarkable contemporary art institution located in the Berlin’s picturesque district Mitte. The building is a sight itself and it has a sophisticated allure, tall and elegant. The outdoor café has a lovely Parisian appeal and it’s where the hip tattooed artists you might have seen on Tumblr sip their coffees in the afternoon.

The works of art exhibited in the Institute are complex. You can marvel at political activist art, video art, visual art or interactive art. They’re also controversial, with people either excitedly praising them or dismissing them as meaningless. The exhibitions are divided into rooms: in some rooms you might be deafened by booming nature sounds, while in others you might be asked to take off your shoes and wander into an empty, soundproof room, where you’d be faced with a gut-wrenching documentary about the condition of the modern black artist. However, you never know what to expect, as the exhibits change constantly. Nonetheless, the works of emerging young artists are unique and do not hold the reassurance of traditional art: they challenge you and shake you. They draw out a strong response, be it positive or negative.

Finally, even if you occasionally roll your eyes at modern art, you should give the KW Institute a chance. At least one of the works of art displayed might move you.

Address: Auguststraße 69, 10117 Berlin. Closest stations: Oranienburger Tor, Oranienburger Straße. Price: 16€ general entrance, 10€ reduced. Opening hours: Monday: 11:00 – 19:00. Tuesday: Closed. Wednesday: 11:00-19:00. Thursday: 11:00-21:00. Friday, Saturday, Sunday: 11:00 – 19:00. Website: https://www.kw-berlin.de/ Contact : +49 30 243459-0, [email protected].

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Be Here, Be Queer at the Schwules Museum

The Schwules Museum is the world’s first gay museum, originally opened in 1985. It exhibits the violent history and the injustices the LGBTQ community endured in the past, as well as Berlin’s current queer life.

Schwules is not your typical queer museum. If you expect it to be bustling with colour and rainbows, you might be taken aback. To an extent, it is exceptionally colourful, with cheeky illustrations of young gay couples kissing, soft porn photos and neon slogans about love. But a more serious tone is predominant. The permanent exhibitions also depict gay history milestones, such as the feminist revolution, the composition of the first feminist songs of the German movement or the protests of a working group of lesbian teachers. In the middle of the museum, there’s a memorial dedicated to the LGBT people who were killed in concentration camps. Their names are written in blood-red. You will also shudder upon entering the museum, where you can see a lengthy list of countries where homosexuality is currently considered a punishable crime.

It is important to go to the Schwules Museum because you will be reminded of how painful history is and how the free world we live in required sacrifices. And how, for some, the world still isn’t free.

It is not allowed to take pictures, which at first might be quite annoying, as your initial impulse might be to want to immortalize everything. However, this might help you take in all the information and carefully weigh what you’re seeing.

Finally, is important to go to the Schwules Museum because you will be reminded of how painful history is and how the free world we live in required sacrifices. And how, for some, the world still isn’t free.

Address: Lützowstraße 73, 10785 Berlin Closest Stations: U Nollendorfplatz, U Kurfürstenstraße, Lützowstraße / Potsdamer Straße, Lützowplatz. Opening hours: Monday: 14:00 – 18:00, Tuesday: Closed, Wednesday: 14:00 – 18:00, Thursday: 14:00 – 20:00, Friday: 14:00 -18:00, Saturday: 14:00 – 19:00, Sunday: 14:00 – 18:00. Price: € 7.50 regular, € 4 reduced. Website: https://www.schwulesmuseum.de/ Contact: 030 69599050

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Sun and wholesome food at The Bowl

The Bowl, self-proclaimed a “clean-eating restaurant”, is the perfect place for a cozy lunch with your friends or for a breakfast date with a book. They only use fresh, seasonal, healthy and gluten-free products. Everything is fully sustainable and vegan. They even use natural sugar! And, truthfully, the food is indeed full of flavour and it leaves you with a sense of freshness. They have a great variety of bowls: from rich breakfast bowls filled with sweet fruit, raw chocolate and creamy soy yoghurt to lavish plates with roasted vegetables, mashed avocado raw crackers, zucchini and smoked paprika.

The desserts are a treat, as well. The highlights are the lush vanilla almond cake, with coconut blossom sugar, raw chocolate and coconut strawberry and bananenbrot, with grilled banana, granola, warm strawberry sauce and raw chocolate.

While it is a bit pricey, 6,50 € for breakfast bowls and around 10 € for the lunch specials, the naturalness of the food, its filling base and vitamin-rich toppings make it all worth it.

The dishes are perfectly Instagrammable and the colourful variety of vegetables and legumes doesn’t even need a filter. While enjoying your wholesome food, you can bask in the sun in front of the large windows and observe the buzzing Warschauer Straße, with hazy, synth-pop music unfolding in the background.

What is more, on the ground floor of the same building where Bowl is, you can find Veganz, a plant-based supermarket with an impressively wide range of products, from cheese and ham slices to cashew cookies, ice cream and the finest chocolate cream.

Address: Warschauer Str. 33, 10243 Berlin Closest Stations: Warschauer Str. Opening hours: Monday: 10:30-23:00, Tuesday: 10:30–23:00, Wednesday: 10:30–23:00, Thursday: 10:30–23:00, Friday: 10:30–23:00, Saturday: 10:00–23:00, Sunday: 10:00-23:00. Price: €€ Website: http://www.the-bowl.de/ Contact: 030 29771447

#berlin #berlinart #travel #travel guide #travel writing #vegan food #art #bode museum #museums #culture

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bitchiha · 4 years

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A/N: I accidentally posted the request before I finished LOL. So I don’t know much about Tsundere relationships, but I did some reading on it just before I started writing and I hope I did the request some justice! Also I’m literally Kankuros bitch <3

Ps, I’m sorry I didn’t put a keep reading thingy idk how to do it on mobile and my trash laptop is broken 😭😭

Also I didnt include tobirama bc I absolutely hated how his turned out and I had to delete it im sorry 😖

✎ Tsundere relationship! (Hidan, Kank, Naruto)

Kankurō

Ahh, where to start? I think you’ll meet on a mission co partnered with the Leaf...

You and Shikamaru are sent to assist the Sand on a mission. Now, we already know Kankurō is a bit of a sassy mf when it comes to the Leaf like I think he whole heartedly believes the Sand is superior and you also have those feelings about your own village... So there’s an instant dislike for one another. Kinda like an instant rivalry.

Literally the first thing you say to him is “So, the Sand can’t take care of their own missions?” And that sets Kankurō off, “What, how dare you- ack! Temari, that hurt! I’m not gonna let her walk all over us like that, I’ll fight you right now you Leaf Village bi- ow! Temari!” Shikamaru has to hold you back LMFAOO you’re ready to throw hands “Huh, what’s that? Sounds like you’re really determined for me to kick your ass?” He lowkey liked when you said that to him lol.

Anyways, the two of you are bickering the whole entire way to the missions destination. You’ll tease eachother about anything and everything you can. So, once you find out about his puppet master jutsu its only natural that you fall on the floor with laughter. Like full on tears and strangled breathing. Now this is something you can really tease him about.

“What! You still play with dolls? I bet you have little sleep over parties with them and do their hair-“

You’re cut off because he tries to trap you in the Ant. Temari has to strangle him and force him to let you out. You’re lucky he didn’t iron maiden your ass LMFAOO.

This is the kind of the energy you guys carry whenever you see eachother from now on. He’ll see you more often too because you carry out a lot of Leaf and Sand allied missions and duties. Rip to anyone who gets put on a mission with you two tbh.

But on one particularly hard mission it ends up down to the two of you fighting off like 10 enemies. He’s trying to focus on fighting them, but he can’t stop thinking about if you’re okay. His distractedness earns him a particularly hard blow.

You end up having to fight off the remaining enemies yourself, all the while protecting him. The last thing he remembers is you screaming his name when he gets hit and the fear that was in your eyes at seeming him like that. It slowly turns to anger and then you kick the bad guys asses. He’s like half conscious but is laying there like: whatta bad bitch. Then he passes out.

Starts to really admire you after that and his comments aren’t as snarky when he sees you next. It’s more like little jabs and teases because that’s how he shows his affection, but they were no longer the hardcore roasts he’d dish out before. You probably stop flaming his ass too because let’s be real here; you’ve both obviously been attracted to each other from the start you just didn’t want to admit it.

Like cmon, he didn’t wait for you at the gates every single time he knew you were visiting just to insult you first. No. He came there to see your cute ass first!!Same goes for you, like you didn’t take all the missions to the Sand for nothing. You came there to see your fav hot headed puppet master.

He’ll ask you out a few months later, when you end up at the Sand again. Probably takes you to dinner before going back to his place. I 100% see him showing you his puppets and this time you’ll actually show your interest and not just tease him lol. Probably ends up making out with you on his workbench. Ok that’s all.

Naruto

You meet eachother for the first time at Ichirakus. Second to Naruto, you actually bring in the most cash for the place. So it’s surprising you two had never met each other before.

Until now of course. He’s just gotten back from a long mission and he’s dying for some ramen. He strolls right in and orders a miso pork ramen, but the old man tells him there’s no more pork left.

Probably flips his shit like who tf ate it all?? Then the old man points at you. You’re sitting there chowing down you’re literal 15th bowl, the giant stack of empty bowls next to you proving it. You watch the blondie charge right at you while you eat the last miso pork bowl of ramen for the day.

You put the bowl down and wipe your face just as he stops right infront of you, very close to your face. You can see the anger in his eyes, but you are not giving up. Also, the guy looks sorta comical so you basically laugh in his face which gets him more worked up.

“What are you laughing about? You just ate all of old mans pork for the day!! That last bowl is mine, believe it!” Once again you laugh in his face because you just can’t help yourself. Probably end up fist fighting eachother on the spot. Neither of you win because one of you ends up smashing into the bowl, sending it flying right at the old man. He kicks you both out, right after you pay your tab of course.

This arises a competition of who will eat all the miso pork ramen first, it goes on for a good few months. Ichirakus is swimming in your money now. Until one day, when you two arrive at Ichirakus at the same time. You basically have a show down. Unfortunately both your wallets are cleaned out and you can’t even pay off your bills anymore so you’re now indebted to the ramen place.

Narutos mission money won’t even cut it anymore and you can’t pay your debt off either. So you both have to get a job doing Ichirakus dishes until you can pay your debt off.

At first you two wanna strangle each other everytime youre in each others line of sight. But slowly — veryyyy slowly, you start to bond over your love for ramen. Like you can probably sniff the bowls before you clean them and tell instantly what ramen was eaten out of it.

You discover you both have the same favourite instant ramen, the same favourite Ichirakus order, etc... Then before you know it you actually start dating. Nobody knows how it happened because you were rivals for a good couple of months, but now all the sudden your holding hands while and eating ramen together peacefully. Mind blown.

Hidan

You’re a brand new Akatsuki member and you’re cute. Really cute. Not only was Deidara drooling over you too, Kakuzu just asked to file your taxes. Do you even do taxes? You’re a rouge ninja. Anyways, Hidan is so sure that Jashin would love to have you.

You two start taking to eachother and actually getting along pretty well, until he mentions Jashin. You shut him down so quickly after that. Like you’re not interested in his fake God, no matter how cute he is.

From then on he tries to ignore you or is just super petty towards you all the time. Like you just got back from a failed mission with your Akatsuki partner and he’s at the hideout mocking you like “if you prayed to Jashin with me this wouldn’t have happened.”

Literally so fucking petty.

Anytime you suggest an idea to the Akatsuki he immediately tears it down. It doesn’t really matter when he does though because nobody really listens to Hidan anyways, it’s just annoying.

You two get put on a mission together one day because Kakuzu has some important money buisness to take care of. Hidans so pissy about it, “oh come on! Out of everybody you picked y/n? She doesn’t even respect my religion, how are we supposed to work together!?” Kakuzu just looks at him and is like “Hidan, I don’t care about Jashin either.”

Butthurt the whole journey. If you guys get bombarded or run into trouble he probably doesn’t even bother backing you up. If anything he tries to feed you to them LMFAOOO. Such a jerk.

Then, once he thinks that all the bad guys are gone he turns to you all confidently because you got your ass whooped and he’s like “see, I bet if you prayed to Jashin you wouldn’t be injured this bad-“

An enemy just stabbed him right through the chest and he watches the look of shock on your face. That’s when he gets an idea. He falls on the floor super fucking dramatically and you have to take the last guy down for him.

Then you kneel next to him and cradle his body because yes he was such a petty bitch but he actually started to grow on you. So you cry and in this distressed moment you probably even attempted to pray to Jashin because you’re desperate as fuck.

This bitch really makes his eyes flutter open and is like; “y/n?” Really fucking plays off that he was unconscious, “Jashin... Jashin saved me.”

Your ass just got clowned but I mean you believe it because like he just got stabbed right through the heart. Even immortal people should die if they were stabbed in the heart, right? It seemed like it was the case.

So yah he basically just emotionally manipulated you into being semi interested in his religion.

Then he stops being petty with you and probably asks you to sleep with him as an offering to Jashin. “It’s only fitting! He just saved my life afterall.”

Literal definition of a sleeze bag <3

#naruto shippuden #naruto #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #naruto x reader #hidan x reader #kankuro #hidan headcanons #anime headcanons

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goblin-biscuits · 3 years

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Journals: Zak

Aug. 10,

So, the quack says I’m being “willfully resistant” during sessions. Either I cooperate or my lack of participation is “noted”. I’m sure my parole officer, Larri, would love that so here we are. Day one of the proposed compromise. Ain’t never been one for this diary shit but it beats spilling my guts on a couch just so the city can pick apart my psyche.

~My name is Evelyn, not “the quack”, and three sentences does not a journal make.

Aug. 12, I know you’re hoping for all the juicy, sordid details you ain’t getting during our sessions but I got news for you Evelyn. My life ain’t exciting. Not only have I been bored out of my mind but adhering to what’s expected of me has been more of a challenge then anticipated. I thought having a lot of free time on my hands would be a good thing but I ain’t sure what to do with myself. Drinking was the only thing keeping me sane, but according to Larri, I ain’t supposed to do that. Which means most of my spare time has been spent just sitting around and crawling out of my skin. Thank fuck I’m still allowed to smoke or I’d put a bullet between my ears.

Finally got fed up enough to go visit my sister Zinni at the diner. Thought maybe catching up would help my sanity; It did. She asked if I’d been keeping out of trouble; I have. Problem is, keeping out of trouble sort of means times is lean. Told her I ain’t had a proper meal in a week, and color me surprised, she got me a job washing dishes at her work. It’s boring as all get out and I don’t feel overly useful, but I like helping her out and I think she likes it too.

~Good for you.

Aug. 14, Raining today. Couldn’t find enough get up and go to get to the diner. Still made parole. Larri’s an asshole. Wouldn’t stop asking me questions. Thought about making him leave. Just want to sleep.

~If you have days like this I’d like to know more about how you’re feeling and what you’re doing to cope?

Aug. 15, Doing better today. The rain quit but still can’t seem to get moving. I’m throwing in the towel again. Called in “sick.” Naturally my sister saw fit to come by and check on me. Brought me something to eat from the diner.

The food from work is typical greasy-spoon fair unless baby sis is cooking. She’s magic in the kitchen. Don’t know where she got it from since none of us kids cooked. Either way she’s got a real knack for it. Says she wants to open up her own joint someday. Who knows, maybe someday she’ll have enough bread in the bank to do it. After everything she’s been through, she deserves her happiness. Zinni’s a good kid.

She brought me a dime novel too. She made a big fuss and apologized for not being able to find something more to my taste. Made me feel bad, so of course I said it was fine. Now I got to read the damn thing.

Anyway, it don’t live well to make her worry so I’ll go in to work tomorrow. Even if washing dishes ain’t glamorous it beats staring at the back of my eyelids.

Aug. 16, Finally made it in to town today. Thankfully baby sis smoothed things over for me with the boss. I take back what I said about this gig. I’m finding ways to enjoy the work and I’m gonna ask Zinni if she’ll train me to cook. I could get used to this. I know what to expect on the daily and I like the stability. What’s more, my brothers came by during lunch. I ain’t seen them in a dogs age so it was good catching up.

The book sis got me’s called “The Jewel of Kirk Castle” and it turns out the title is some kind of double entendre. The “jewel” is a literal gem but it also refers to the heroin of the story. It’s the sort of cheesy trash school girls and lonely housewives read, but you know what? It ain’t half bad. I’m already halfway through and I got a good feeling about the ending.

~I’ve read that book. It’s good but the sequel “Thunder in the Valley” is better.

Aug. 18, Gave my ex Kynzie a ring today and she ain't hung up on me this time. Guess she was feeling a bit charitable since she let me talk to the kid. Get this, the kid said she ain’t sleeping since there’s “unrest in the kingdom.” Asked her what she meant and I guess her toys are throwing some kind of coup? Said her newest tax proposal didn’t go over well which means the “Empress” is having a hell of a time squashing the rebellion. She also told me not to worry since she’s put the worst offenders in the dungeon.

Is that normal? I figured if anyone knew it’d be you. Maybe I weren’t as imaginative as a kid, but my games was just the typical lawmen and bandits scenario.

~I’m aware you think you can deflect my attention elsewhere but I assure you my focus is wholly on you. That said, I find the revelation that you have any progeny at all a bit of a surprise. Why haven’t you mentioned her?

Aug. 19, Yes, Evelyn, I got a kid. Why’s everyone got such a hard time wrapping their head round that? I don’t know why I ain’t mentioned her afore. It just didn’t seem all that poignant. Besides that it’s kind of, well, personal.

My relationship with her Ma is sort of a sore point. Kynzie thinks I’m bad news and she never misses an opportunity to tell me. Okay, I admit I’ve been a headache but I never set out to cause such a fuss. I know I ain’t made the best life choices but who does? Life just sort of does what it wants to. I didn’t know things was going to get so messed up.

All I was trying to do was take care of myself. After Pop took off we had a lot of debt looming over our heads. That and I had three younger siblings to worry about. The guys Pop owed came knocking and told me I could work it off. I figured that didn’t sound like too bad an offer. That’s how it started anyway. It was just supposed to be a one and done sort of deal, but, well, those sorts of things ain’t never “one and done," are they? You start with small jobs like loading cargo. Then you’re up late guarding said cargo with a bunch of armed guys. Then it’s running and fencing the cargo. Next thing you know you're hunting folks down and shaking them up when they try to pull a fast one. Just pay for the goods! It ain’t hard!

Anyway, it ain’t never enough for those types. With Ma dead and Pop gone, I sacrificed everything just to keep food on the table. Before I knew it, I was grown and the only thing I knew how to do was, well, what I’d already been doing. How do you go from that to a normal job? It ain’t easy. I just wish Kynzie could see what I was trying to do for her; for us.

~I’m being paid to get “personal” Zak. I thought you were joking when you said you didn’t want to talk about your “Daddy Issues”. We’re discussing this on Tuesday.

Aug. 20, I finished the book and I’m so fucking pissed! Clara finally escapes Kirk Castle and rides off into the sunset, wild and free. That’s great and all, but the stablehand she was into bites the dust. To top it off that Lord Blackwall guy don’t ever get his comeuppance. Don’t get me wrong, the story was good, but I’m going to need some time to get over the whole Blackwall thing. Please tell me he ain’t above snakes in the sequel?

Life’s hard enough as it is. Real people don’t get off easy. Not like they do in books. If the characters can’t have a happy-ending, what’s the point?

~Is escapism something you think of often? Let’s talk about this at our next meeting.

Aug. 27, Can’t stay. Some guys I used to know from way back came poking round the diner. Caused a big mess. Zinni’s okay but Larri ain’t going to believe my side of things.

These past few weeks were like a dream, but in the end that’s all they were. [I’m doing a lot more writing lately. This is nothing special, but I’m trying to do character journals as an excuse to get inside the heads of my characters and flesh them out a bit. I’m definitely going to do more. Zak isn’t really the sort who would talk about himself much or keep a diary so I thought the concept of a back and forth journal between himself and a psychiatrist was a good option to force him into being introspective.]

#Creative Writing #Writing #Fantasy #Goblin #Contemporary Fatnasy #Akelei #Akelei Art

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nothingeverlost · 4 years

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Fic: Thunderstorms and Pancakes (Baby Steps Verse)

We had a pretty big storm last week that gave me this plot bunny. Takes place about a week after Bae comes home to visit.

“I should be going.” He’d been to dinner every night since Bae had come home, at Belle’s insistence. Since it was Saturday he’d been at the house since lunch, sharing a picnic in the back yard with his son and Emma, Belle and Ruby. Trevelyn worried that it was too much, but when he’d tried to beg off dinner the night before Belle had reminded him that Emma was only around for another day, and Bae would have to go to New York in a week.

“It’s still raining pretty hard, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Belle never mentioned his cane or the limp that was evident, and he never offered any information. He could see her glance at his leg, though, before frowning at the window. It had been raining for more than an hour, the summer shower a surprise.

“I’m sure it will let up soon.” At that moment the windows lit up and a roll of thunder made the house shake.

“I don’t think so, dad. Remember what happened when I was ten and old man Hubbard drove in a storm like this? He was lucky to get out of the car before it ended up in the river.”

“Fortunately I don’t pass any rivers on the way home.” After another flash of lightning the lights flickered. The rain, rather than receding, seemed to pound harder against the glass.

“I think you should stay in the guest room tonight, Trev. We’ll all sleep better knowing that you’re not out in this.” Belle collected the dessert dishes. Ruby was already sleeping, the baby monitor on the table where Belle could watch her. Bae and Emma nodded in agreement.

“I don’t want to be an imposition.” Bae mentioned Hubbard, but Trev remembered another night drive fifteen years ago that had ended in weeks of hospitalization, months of therapy and surgeries, and a cane he still hated with a passion. He hated how much his knee ached in the rain too. Staying inside had more than one advantage, but he didn’t want to make Belle do any more work. It would be strange to sleep in his house again as well.

“You couldn’t be more of an imposition than Bae, and she puts up with him.” Emma leaned over, hitting Bae’s shoulder with her own. Their chairs were only inches apart; they liked to touch. Bae rolled his eyes but leaned into the touch as well.

“I insist.” Belle briefly squeezed Trev’s shoulder as she returned to the table. “I think you might still have some things in the back of the closet. If not Bae probably has something you can borrow to sleep in.”

He did end up needing to borrow a pair of sweatpants, though Belle found him a long forgotten t-shirt that had clearly been a present from Bae. It declared him to be the ‘world’s okayest dad.’ Trev shook his head when he saw it, but Belle had been amused.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer the master bedroom? The bed is bigger.” Belle made the same offer she’d made already.

“The guess room is fine.” A full sized bed was plenty for him. He tried not to think about any reasons why he might need a larger bed. None of his thoughts involved being alone, so they were best not considered at all. Especially when the only person he’d fantasized about recently was standing in front of him. The fact that the master room had been a space he’d shared with Milah for so long didn’t even occur to him. “Besides Ruby would be confused if she came looking for you.”

“Ruby would be delighted if she found her ‘Good’ when she came looking for me. She’s going to be so excited tomorrow when she realizes you’re here for breakfast.”

Gold nodded, holding the t-shirt to his chest. He couldn’t shake the image of lying in bed with Belle, an arm draped casually over her waist. Not doing anything, just lying with her and sharing space when Ruby came in for breakfast. It was a daydream that left him rattled; he never had moments like that in Bae’s childhood. It wasn’t his brain replicating a memory, but a completely separate dream. “I should go to bed.”

“Sweet dreams, Trev. You know where almost everything is, but if you have any questions you know where to find me.”

Unfortunately he knew all too well where to find her, not that he would breach the doorway that had been his own for so many years. “Thank you.”

“Hey dad, these should work. They have a drawstring, which I thought might help since you’re skinny.” Bae came out of his bedroom with the promised sweatpants. Behind him Emma leaned in the doorway of the bedroom that had been Bae’s since he was three weeks old and Milah had declared she couldn’t sleep with a baby in the master bedroom. While he knew that Bae and Emma were sharing a room it was still a little startling to see it with his own eyes. It didn’t bother him, but it was another reminder that his son was grown up. He was so proud of his boy, but some part of him would always miss the child he had been.

“Your dad has a little restraint around desserts, unlike some people I know,” Emma teased.

“Hey, I inherited my love of cake from him. He had a piece too. But I bet he’s still in the habit of skipping meals. Tea does not count as breakfast.” Behind Gold he heard a snort, and turned to find Belle covering her mouth. She shrugged, but he could tell she was amused to find that she wasn’t the only one to scold him for having tea alone in the morning.

“Yeah, like no one saw you sneak that second piece in the kitchen.” Emma rolled her eyes before vanishing into the bedroom. Gold was pretty certain he heard Bae mutter something about working off the calories. He didn’t want to ask for clarification. Fortunately the guest bedroom didn’t share a room with his son’s bedroom.

“I’ll just take this and-” he gestured at the door to the room that was just past Belle’s own.

“Sleep well, Trev.” Belle’s smile seemed to ensure he’d have either sweet dreams or troubled sleep.

“Goodnight Belle.” He was used to speaking to her over the phone and wishing her a good night, or speaking to her from the end of the hall at the bed and breakfast. Somehow the hallway of his home - her home now - seemed more intimate.

“Goodnight!” A duel shout came from behind the closed door of Bae’s room as he headed for the guest room door.

He couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was being back in the house that held so many memories, or perhaps it was knowing that only a wall separated him from the bedroom where Belle was sleeping. Either way he spent an hour staring wide eyed at the ceiling before giving up and getting out of bed. If he remembered correctly there was still a bottle of whiskey in the library. Unless Belle had a taste for it, which he doubted, it should still be there. A wee dram might help him fall asleep. Carefully he walked down the hall, avoiding the squeaky floorboard near Bae’s room. Since he didn’t carry his cane he had to use the handrail on the stairs. To his surprise there was a light on in the library.

“Belle?” She sat at the desk, the only light coming from the lamp in the upper corner of the desk and the glow of the laptop monitor. The clock on the wall told him it was a little after midnight.

“End of the month reports have to be finished tomorrow. I’m almost done.” She leaned back in the chair, taking off a pair of glasses he rarely saw her wearing. “Employees need paychecks and the quarterly taxes are due.”

“You don’t have a payroll person for that?”

“Granny always did it herself. I remember sitting next to her at the kitchen table, working on homework while she was working on it. There were always cookies. I guess it makes me feel closer to her.” Belle stretched, leaning back farther in the chail. The bottom of her pajama top rose just enough to see a narrow strip of skin. “I should probably look into a service, but I only think of it at midnight when I’m struggling to get it done.”

“I can ask my bookkeeper if she can take on someone new. I believe she does payroll.” Belle had enough to do, managing two businesses and raising a two year old. She didn’t need to stay up late with paperwork. He would make sure Ariel could take her, even if he had to pay to make it happen.

“You don’t need to-” Belle stopped mid sentence, shaking her head. “No, that’s silly. I know I need help and as usual you have just the answer I need. Thank you, Trev. I would appreciate the recommendation.”

“I’ll make a call tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Now what can I do for you? You didn’t come down here to talk about payroll and taxes.”

“I was planning on having a drink, actually.” The scotch was exactly there he left it. A few years additional aging would only improve the flavor.

“May I join you?”

“Really?” He’d seen her drink wine, and could imagine her with a daiquiri in hand.

“Sure. I’m almost done with my work and it would help me unwind. I even have my own glass.” Grinning she picked up a plastic tumbler with a cartoon on it, one of Ruby’s. “If you don’t mind sharing, of course.”

“I don’t mind.” She sat at his desk in his library, though he’d cleared enough bookshelves off to allow her some space for her collection. The bed she slept in was his. There was a great deal they shared already, a drink hardly seemed like anything in comparison. Yet as he placed the glass he’d brought from the kitchen next to the plastic cup and added the liquor to each it felt strangely intimate. Perhaps it was the late hour.

“Should we toast something?” Belle took hold of her glass, but a moment later almost dropped it when a lightning strike lit up the room.

“Belle?”

“I don’t like lightning very much.” She took a sip of her drink, making a face that told him she didn’t appreciate the taste. It didn’t stop her from taking a second sip.

“My father told a story when I was a lad about a selkie looking for his lost love in a thunderstorm. She was human and they had fallen in love when he had rescued her from a shipwreck, but her people had come for her and taken her back to their land. Whenever lightning fills the sky you know he’s still looking for her.” His father hadn’t been worth much, but he had been able to spin a story. As a child it had entertained him. As he’d gotten older ‘story’ had just been another word for a lie.

“My mother told me that angels were bowling. It didn’t scare me when I was a kid.” He couldn’t see into the plastic cup but guessed it was mostly gone after she took another sip. When he held up the bottle she nodded and he refilled her glass. She started into the depths of the glass as if it was something more than plastic with unicorns on it. Knowing what it was like to get lost in thoughts he didn’t say anything. It was a few minutes before she spoke. “There was a thunderstorm the night my mother died. She would always come into my room when there was a storm to check on me and ask me who was winning the bowling game. I waited but…”

“I’m sorry, Belle.” Her voice wavered and she didn’t seem able to continue. He remembered her mentioning moving to America after her mother’s death. She’d been too young to lose a mother, as well as a father not long after.

“Ruby doesn’t mind a storm, and I don’t want her to think they’re scary. I suppose I should have a story for her.” Belle looked over her shoulder, as if waiting to catch the next clap of thunder.

“You could tell her about the angels bowling.” He could almost picture her as a girl of Ruby’s age, asking for a story. She probably wasn’t quite as demanding as Ruby could be, but just as hard to deny.

“I think I like your story better. Maybe you could tell me the whole thing sometime?” Perhaps it was the fact that the thunder hadn’t rumbled again, or the fact that she was almost done with her second pour of whiskey, but she seemed more relaxed.

“If you like.” For a moment he could almost hear an echo of his father’s voice. And his own, as he tucked in a little boy that was now a grown man.

“Not tonight, though. I think I need to go to sleep.” She drained the last of her glass and closed up her laptop. “You know how early Ruby likes to get up.”

“I’ll walk with you.” She wasn’t wearing those ridiculous high heels she wore often when she was out, but he still worried about her balance, especially since she’d fallen only a few days earlier. Not that his balance was much better, and he hadn’t even finished his drink.

“I’m glad you stayed tonight, Trev. I would have worried about you driving in this.” They made it up the stairs, though there were one or two false starts. His leg was unsteady without his cane and Belle’s focus was less than perfect.

“I wouldn’t want to make you worry.” He understood her worry even better now then he had a few hours ago. “Sleep well, Belle. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Bae said something about pancakes.” Belle smiled sleepy at him as she stood in the doorway of the bedroom. The walls that had been white when it was his room were a pale blue now. It was a color that suited her.

“Unless he learned something in Italy I assume that means he’s volunteered me for breakfast duty.” Saturday morning breakfasts had been a tradition of theirs for most of Bae’s childhood. Milah had liked to sleep in, so it had usually been the two of them. It would be nice to cook for his boy again. And to cook breakfast for Belle for the first time.

“We’ll make him wash the dishes,” Belle said with a grin and a wink before she closed the door behind her. Gold walked on to his room, closing the door behind him. He was no less awake then he had been, but his mind felt more focused. He took out the notepad he always carried with him and a pen, and started to write the story of a selkie in love. It wasn’t the type of story he usually wrote, but it was a familiar tale and flowed quickly. Perhaps he’d talk to Bae about doing up a few illustrations. It would make a nice gift for Belle. And Ruby, of course.

The sound of howling woke him. Looking at his clock he realized that it was a little before eight. It took him a moment later to realize that the noise was a little girl declaring that she was awake. Since he didn’t hear any other noises he hurried from his bed to the room across the hall. Perhaps he would be able to let Belle sleep a little longer, she could do with a lie in.

“I’m looking for a little girl to help me make some pancakes, but all I hear is a wolf.” He stood in the doorway to Ruby’s room, where she stood up on her bed. It was a tiny thing no full sized person could possibly lay down on. Gold knew that the mattress had been part of Ruby’s bed before the move.

“Good, my good, my good.” Ruby’s cries of delight were slightly quieter than her howls, but not by much. Gold looked across the hall at Belle’s still closed door.

“You’ll have to be quiet if you want to make pancakes,” he cautioned.

“Ruby be quiet. Shhh shhh shh.” She held one chubby finger up to her mouth to demonstrate. Gold couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s what I like to see in a sous chef.” He held out a hand and she was quick to respond, jumping off her bed with a level of disregard of safety that would worry him if her bed was more than a foot from the floor. In moments her small hand was in his. Her other hand touched his sweatpants.

“Good go night night?” she asked.

“Yes, I slept here.” He was glad she didn’t ask any more questions as they walked down the hall past Belle and Bae’s rooms. When they got downstairs she was quickly distracted by cracking eggs and mixing with spoons, and didn’t ask any questions about why he’d spent the night.

“So Bae wasn’t lying about the pancakes.” Emma was the first person to come downstairs, heading straight for the coffee pot. It seemed that she liked her morning caffeine as much as Belle and his son. Ruby hadn’t been patient enough for him to make his usual tea.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this. Hopefully they’re edible,” he said with a shrug. He hadn’t spent more than a few minutes alone with Emma. She seemed nice enough, and certainly being around her made Bae happy, but it always took him time to get used to people. To call his social circle limited would be generous.

“I remember the first time my dad tried making pancakes for me. They were black on one side and raw in the middle but I ate them.” Emma took a mug from the cabinet and poured herself a cup of coffee, adding some of the flavored creamer Belle always had in the fridge.

“Was your mom usually the one that made the pancakes?” He asked, only half paying attention. Ruby was sitting on the edge of the counter and half of his focus was on making sure she didn’t decide at any moment to try jumping.

“Nah, she’s a teacher so mornings were not a leisure time for her. She’d already left for work that day, I think. I’d only been with them for a couple of weeks and David was kind of going overboard on trying to fit in as many ‘normal’ kid things as he could. He still can’t make a decent pancake but he was a great softball coach.” Emma settled at one of the stools on the side of the counter, both hands wrapped around her mug.

“You’re adopted.” For a moment all of his focus was on her, and he could see a look in her eyes that he recognized from his own years in foster care. He hadn’t seen it before.

“My mom likes to say that we were always a family, it just took us time to find each other. She’s big on fairy tales. Sometimes I think she forgets that I lived anywhere before them.” Emma took a sip of her coffee. “I hope you don’t mind, but Bae mentioned that you were in the system too.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t remember his mother. Malcolm had been interested in him as long as he was young and cute and a good distraction while he worked his cons, but once he’d gotten too older he’d become less useful and asked too many questions. He’d spent most of his time in group homes until Penny and Flo had taken him in just before his sixteenth birthday. They had taken their role as foster parents very seriously; the home he now rented to Belle had been theirs, left to him in their will.

“Belle reminds me of my mom a little. Ruby’s a lucky kid.”

“She is.” He remembered how nervous Belle had been in the beginning. She had worried about Ruby’s happiness and what was best for the baby, but had never said a word about her own plans changing so completely.

“Ruby lucky,” the little girl agreed, waving around a spoon and flinging pancake batter everywhere. “Ruby want pancake.”

“Soon,” Gold promised, glad of the distraction. “We have to cook them first.”

“Ruby want m’Belle.”

“Belle is sleeping.” He knew how rare it was for Belle to be able to sleep in.

“Bae’s sleeping too, but he doesn’t need to be. How about we go get him up, Rubes? Want to help me?” Emma downed the rest of her coffee and reached for the girl who eagerly jumped at her. Emma settled her on her hip. “Figured this breakfast thing might go smoother without the pancake batter flying everywhere and Bae will sleep ‘til noon if we leave him alone.”

“Thank you.” He would be less worried about the griddle without Ruby being so close, and he might even be able to make himself that cup of tea. For a moment when she turned to walk away Gold’s heart skipped a beat. Someday, whether it was with Emma or someone else, Bae would have a child of his own. A family that, he hoped, would visit him. He hadn’t thought much of grandchildren before. For so long his family had simply been himself and Bae. It seemed to be growing.

“Do I smell pancakes?” He expected Bae and Emma to come into the kitchen, but a few minutes later it was Belle that appeared, wrapped in a robe but wearing the same sea green pajamas underneath that she had worn the night before. “And coffee too? Bless you.”

“Emma made the coffee.” He looked down at his pancakes more intently then necessary, checking to see if they needed to be turned. He’d lived down the hall from her for almost a year and a half and had seen her early in the morning and late at night. Somehow, though, seeing her barefoot in the kitchen with her hair clearly tousled from sleep felt almost too intimate. It was too easy to think about the fact that she had been in a warm bed only minutes ago. His bed, though he hadn’t slept in it for years. “Everyone else should be down soon and we can eat.”

“Have I mentioned yet how glad I am you stayed?” She padded through the kitchen towards the coffee maker, her bare feet not making a sound. After she poured herself a mug she came to stand next to him, close enough to touch if he leaned to the side just a little. He didn’t.

“I…”

“Anyone looking for a tickle monster? Because I caught one.” Bae came into the kitchen with a laugh, holding an upside down Ruby insisting that she wasn’t a monster. Emma followed immediately behind declaring that Bae had earned whatever he’d gotten and that a tickling from a two year old was way better than a pitcher of ice water. The sudden chaos only settled down when everyone sat at the table and whatever he had been about the say to Belle was long forgotten.

#verse: baby steps #rumbelle fic #my fic #hints of #swanfire

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granddaughterogg · 4 years

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The day Death forgot something - part 1

Soo, guys, this was supposed to be a short story. Ya know, an itty bitty one. But it has grown to such a degree that I see no point in putting it here in its entirety. After all no one wants to read my long-ass posts.

This is mostly domestic fluff with a slice of life feel to it. Found family, sibling interactions, Reader being both Death and War’s girlfriend (not yet Strife’s, it’s Complicated) as a background and all that jam. Includes my headcanon that War hates spiders, because I find it hilarious. Perfectly SFW.

It seems that whichever chaotic deity stood behind those incidents, they’ve saved their best for War.

It all started with a leaky roof.

The Four have bought themselves - and you - a house. They did so with coinage looted in countless different realms. You'd always treasure the facial expression of the bank clerk. Poor guy squirmed in his seat while explaining to four freakishly tall, fiery-eyed, fully armoured individuals that Makers' hacksilver (mere 26 pounds apiece) doesn't register as "money" in those parts.

Most interesting day in his career, that's for sure.

The house in question was old.

Not dilapidated; just run-down enough to justify the low price. It has soon become obvious that it will have to be torn down and then rebuilt to fit the non-standard sized tenants. Poor War always felt so despondent among tiny human doorframes, their pitifully brittle walls and dainty knickknacks, prone to shattering at the slightest nudge.

You know, like tables and such.

Strife could navigate among those just fine; despite being the noodle of the pack, he’s got the proprioception of a seasoned ballerina. Still claimed that all this hunching makes his back hurt.

Death and Fury could fit into a human-sized environ without much problem.

Yet she bristled at the thought of wearing lower heels, and your beloved would loathe admitting that he’s a short Nephilim. One thing is to know something; another altogether is to put it into words.

Death has a recurring problem with this sort of thing.

So you didn’t make him. This house needed revamping anyway.

And it has been done. After countless trips to the local Home Depot, after summer weeks full of construction work - while you lived in a tent in the overgrown garden and the Four camped under the stars like they’re accustomed to. After amazing feats of Horseman cooperation and as much squabbling (Strife and Death had opposite opinions on anything), the house has been finally ready to be lived in.

Under the latter’s lead, your boys displayed adeptness at carpentry, even if they didn’t pay much heed to the decorative side of things. War etched some protective sigils into the walls, the doorstep and the ceiling joist - and that was it. You had no idea what those exactly mean, but they sure glowed pretty in the dark.

The house turned out to have a raw, pioneer aesthetic. There was a rustic stone hearth and lots of stained wood everywhere. You thought this starkness to be rather fetching.

Fury - who couldn’t be bothered to work with wood, but did care about them comforts and frills - made Death undertake another shopping trip. This time towards IKEA.

You enjoyed your first night spent in a proper bed like nobody’s business. Only partially because this was also Death’s bed.

And then the roof started to leak.

It was a slow leak at first. One morning Strife would drag his long ass down the stairs for breakfast, yawning and scratching, tendril hair pointing every which way, and claimed that he’s woken up to water splashing on his face.

„Maybe a bird relieved itself on you”, said Death flatly.

„In my own bed?!”

„Must have been a dedicated bird”, was the uncharitable response, followed by a swig of coffee. (Black, no sugar.) Fury rolled her eyes to high heavens but said nothing. You on your part couldn’t help but titter; even War’s dour Morning Expression gave way to a snort. Strife shot him a side-eye.

„Don’t you neigh, my square-shaped brother. Birds don’t poop on your head cuz they can’t find it.”

The Big Guy harrumphed and focused on his cereal. Strife slumped on a chair with an annoyed puff, stuffing his face with two toasts at once.

Next time is was Fury who fell prey to the stealthy leak. One day you dropped by to chat. She was brushing that awe-inducing mane of hers while sitting in front of a large mirror. Fury had a proper vanity installed in her bedroom; a sturdy, antique-looking affair, covered with lots and lots of little bottles. As far as you knew, all of them contained some sort of magic. Fury took this whole beautifying thing to the next level.

So there she was, styling her coif with a self-indulgent smoulder when – PLOP! - something fell from the ceiling and landed precisely on the top of her head.

Fury shrieked.

„WET!” she cried out, eyes bulging, hands frantically pawing the ruined hairdo. „What was that, Little One? WHAT WAS THAT?!”

You suspected that the disgrace of having bird droppings touch her precious hair would cause someone as vain as Fury to shave it all off. And to remain bitterly bald while never, ever disclosing the reasons for doing so.

So it was with relief that you could state what you just saw:

„Oh, it’s just water.”

„Water?” She eyed the ceiling suspiciously, both hands still submerged inside the fluttering blue flame (Ice Hollow was the look du jour). „But...how?...”

Both of you glared upwards like two paranoid magpies. Still, nothing else has happened.

It seems that whichever chaotic deity stood behind those incidents, they’ve saved their best for War.

It happened during dinnertime, too. You’ve just cooked a new dish – garlic butter shrimp pasta – and proudly displayed it to the Horsemen. The twins were already munching in abandon. Death excused himself politely. He seldom ate at all but would stay at the table nonetheless, sipping his extra bitter coffee or as unforgiving tea. You knew he did this entirely for your sake.

Meanwhile, the established big eater of the bunch seemed to have his reservations.

You watched the Red Guy pin his eyes to the full plate in front of him, fighting to retain his stony expression. The corner of his mouth twitched.

„What is it, baby?” You teased. „The shrimps are well and truly cooked. They ain’t gonna pounce at you.”

War exhaled. „Don’t misunderstand me, Little One...” he said, eyeing the dish with comic seriousness. „I would never dare to question your, eh, cooking abilities. I am just not that fond of food with tiny legs. It reminds me of many a thing I had to slay...”

„War’s afraid of spiders!” Strife chimed in, his mouth full.

The Big Guy sputtered in indignation.

„I am not afraid of anything”, he stated, accosting his enfant terrible of a brother with a glare. „I just don’t like things that...walk like that.” He made a crawling gesture with his good hand.

„Too bad”, Strife licked his long fingers. „This shit’s delicious!”

War crinkled his wide nose and said nothing.

„So it’s about the visuals, huh?” you said, struck by an idea. „Would it be okay for you to try it just a little bit - if you couldn’t see it ?”

„Huh?” War clearly didn’t follow.

„Please don’t make our brother eat with his eyes closed”, murmured Fury between slurping in more pasta. „He makes a fair mess as it is.”

„Wouldn’t dream of it”, you grinned. „What I mean is: just close your eyes and I’ll hand feed you.”

„...Okay.”

Death cocked an eyebrow - his lip curving upwards - but he said nothing.

„Uh-oh,” said Strife. „Here comes the lovey-dovey stuff. Excuse me while I go and puke.”

„And put all this food to waste?” Fury taunted.

The gunslinger shrugged in defeat and went back to munching.

You picked a decent amount of food on the fork, lifted it and smiled at War, who stared you in the face with that endearingly earnest expression. He must’ve really hated arthropods in any shape or form, you thought. Yet he was willing to overcome his disgust.

For you.

„Close your eyes.” He did, and suddenly there was much less light at the table. „Open wide!”

That he also did. You placed the shrimp inside his mouth with a jeweller’s precision. Strife sniggered.

„...Well?”

War’s snowy eyelashes fluttered while he pressed his jaws together, focusing on the taste. You saw his Adam’s apple bob a little.

You loved this big lug of a man so much.

„How is it?”

„Mmm. Good.” Those lightning blue eyes were looking at you again, wide and smiling. „This was really good.”

„Well then, ready for another round?”

War nodded, pressed his eyelids together and gaped, willing and trustful in that childlike way of his which always turned your cynical heart into jelly.

PLOP.

Suddenly many things happened at once.

Strife howled with laughter, while Fury’s face became a picture of slack-jawed bewilderment. Death, always the quickest to react, was already standing up, one hand pushing his chair aside and the other outstretched protectively towards War. Who was clearly choking.

You watched the Big Guy wheeze and gurgle as if glued to your seat, paralyzed, motionless, the shellfish on your fork like some absurd sceptre.

You didn’t do this.

Death kicked War’s chair out of the way and held his brother in some Nephilim rendition of a Heimlich Maneuver, shaking him unceremoniously through the coughs until the latter went slack in his grasp.

Finally, War stopped wheezing and did a dog shake.

Only then you were finally able to move.

„Oh, fuck. War. Are you all right?”

„I seem to be.” The Big Guy shot you a dizzy half-smile. Flyaway strands of hair covered his reddened face.

Death cautiously let him go and taxed you with a somewhat less-than-tender stare.

„I didn’t do this!” It hit as hard as a spoken accusation. You waggled the fork with the shrimp still on it. „I didn’t do anything!”

„Then what in the Nine Hells was that?” Fury wanted to know.

„Water”, gasped War, pointing upwards. „A lot of water fell into my mouth at once...I think.”

The four of you suspiciously eyed the ceiling.

Except for the lanky one, who was still guffawing.

„Strife. Did you see that happen?” Death’s voice was perfectly level. Focusing on the task at hand. You felt relief washing all over you; the Reaper clearly didn’t think that you just tried to choke his favourite brother.

Which was a good thing...your bond notwithstanding.

And out of the Four D might’ve been the fastest to react, but it was the gunslinger who had the perfect eyesight.

„Y-yeah!” Strife wiped the tears of mirth away. „Like, at least half a litre at once – boom! Hilarious.”

„What is so damn funny?” You could do with less of Strife’s sense of humour right now.

„Aw, come on there, pumpkin pie. It’s not like he could die from that. Or from anything else.”

You rethought this statement. „Right...yet D reacted!”

„Death used to do this all the time when we were kids”, Fury said softly, tilting her head in your direction. „We’d choke on anything, really. And back then, before we were anointed Horsemen we could have actually died, you know.”

„I guess old habits die hard”. Strife put on his shit-eating grin.

War nodded at his eldest and that was it. The whole „thank you for caring” compressed into one curt gesture.

You smiled at War and then at Death. He caught your kind, appreciative stare, pressed his lips together and looked away.

PLOP!

(to be continued)

#darksiders #darksiders fluff #darksiders war #darksiders death #darksiders fury #darksiders strife #horsemen/reader #polyamory as background flavour #domestic fluff #Horsemen as siblings

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

Text

Comfort & Joy

Summary: Arthur & Y/N celebrate their first Christmas together. Not everything goes as planned.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

Words: 4,645

A/N: A request from the mind of dear, sweet @ithinkimawriter. Special thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for being the wonderful beta she is!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

If you’ve sent me a request and I haven’t responded, it’s because I am working on it and will once it’s posted!

Arthur was on his way to Y/N's apartment when the storefront's window captured his attention. Batting covered the floor, imitating fake snow. A plastic fireplace, painted yellow, orange, and red, was angled against the left wall. The artificial tree, bedecked with multi-color lights and a plethora of wrapped gifts underneath, shone prettily. To the right, a cardboard cutout of a couple wearing Santa hats and embracing stood in front of a brand new refrigerator. The large sign suspended from the ceiling, tied in a red bow, advertised low-interest store credit: "Make all your Christmas wishes reality!"

There was a sweetness to the display. A festive cheerfulness. And it induced in him an ache borne of dejection. With Penny in her parallel universe and their lack of resources, his life had never had a place for holidays. Seven or eight years ago, he'd made his last attempt at doing something special. They'd shared the turkey dinner he'd sprung for at a nearby greasy spoon. She'd been mildly cognizant of the make-up compact he'd given her, one he'd gotten off the clearance rack. Then she'd gone to bed, leaving him alone to watch the television special he'd picked out. It had been one of the rare nights he'd poured himself a drink in an attempt to sleep.

Smoke swirled in Gotham's cold, night air as he exhaled around his cigarette. The heaviness in his stomach, his hint of indignation perplexed him. Why on earth did he feel shitty when he had a chance to have the type of Christmas people wrote about? That Sinatra, Cole, and Martin sang about? The type he'd dreamed of, despite knowing he'd never have it? He frowned as he trudged down the street, hoping he wouldn't fuck it all up.

Y/N's greeting was warm as always; the refuge of her arms, the smile she reserved just for him dulled his sharpest edges. He tried to take pleasure in her simple courtesies. How she hung his tan jacket next to her coat, all the while insisting he get a hat and mittens. The hot mug she handed him, the way it thawed his slender fingers. The taste of cocoa on her silken lips as they kissed and she declared she'd missed him.

There was quiet conversation. She did most of the talking; he did his best to pay attention through the distraction of his anxiety. The cards had to be finished, she said. Just for her colleagues, a couple of family and friends, and, if he didn't mind, Penny. He didn't react to that last name, letting Y/N draw her own conclusions. She moved to sit side-saddle on the floor to work, next to her coffee table. As her hand crossed the cream cardstock, he noticed she was signing both their names. He gaped slightly in shock, delight spiking through him. But then delight twisted into unworthiness, and he averted his gaze to his hot chocolate.

He'd believed he was doing okay, though he still didn't have his medication. Especially since Penny had been transferred from Gotham General to the nursing home he'd chosen two weeks ago, and it had clicked that he'd never have to see her again. There were days he woke up (if he was fortunate enough to sleep) energized and confident. He had slipped into delusion once or twice. A call to Y/N or the feel of her hand had helped ground him and bring him back to lucidity. But his negative thoughts were bearing down on him. It was getting harder to separate what was intrusive and what was Arthur. If only he could find it within himself to be better.

Once she finished addressing the envelopes, Y/N extended a hand his way and smirked. Unsure if she wanted him to help her up or join her, he sat on the plush, cream color carpet. "I can hear you thinking. I'm surprised smoke isn't coming out of your ears," she said, laying a palm on his thigh. "You haven't told me what you want to do for Christmas."

He picked up one of the cards, traced his fingertips along the corners. He was bereft of his own traditions to draw from; all his points of reference were from popular culture. It was difficult to know what he'd actually like doing. He gave it a go, anyway. "I dunno. A tree? Listening to music? Being together?"

Chuckling, she put her head on his shoulder. "Of course we'll be together. And we can do the other stuff, too." Her voice lowered as she continued. The caress on his leg became a massage. "I get out early Thursday - Christmas Eve. How'd you feel about me being your guest for three days?"

"Hm." He loathed the possibility of exposing her to what was going on in his brain, his darker notions and malaise. He wanted to hold on for her. To be the gentle person she claimed he was, the man she claimed made her happy.

The man she was mistakenly convinced deserved her.

A kiss on the sensitive skin of his neck. "I'll bring dinner and everything."

Fuck. She thought he didn't want her, that she had to sell him on the idea of her company. He had to put a stop to that assumption. Didn't she know she'd become a brick, a building block in his unstable foundation? He couldn't deny her - he didn't wanted to deny her. Taking a deep breath, he turned to her. The warmth in her eyes buoyed him enough to use what little confidence he could muster. He took her hand, ran his thumb over the back of it, and he forced the corner of his lips up. "I'd love that."

~~~~~

There wasn't normally a spring in Y/N's step, but Arthur had a habit of causing one. She was smiling like a fool, too, walking with her suitcase and canvas bag. The happiest woman in Gotham. It couldn't be helped, even as she struggled to climb those damned concrete stairs to finally reach his block. This would be the best Christmas in ages.

The holiday had been her childhood favorite. But it had become taxing as her father's dementia had worsened, and her sister and she had grown apart. Not being able to leave her father unattended had forced them to celebrate at his house, which Y/N shared with him. A couple of slow cooker dishes would be made, ones her niece and nephews liked. She would do her best to make the large dining table festive, using a red tablecloth and making a centerpiece out of a wreath. Once everyone had sat around it, she'd alternate between taking a bite herself and trying to feed her father, trying to convince him to eat.

The final year had been the hardest. Distress had been clear in her sister and brother-in-law's faces, in their stilted conversation. The middle child had asked why grandpa wasn't talking. Y/N had never learned to communicate on a child's level, and had waited for her sister to take the lead. That hadn't happened. So she'd tried to explain the most painful, complicated situation she'd ever been in in terms a four year old could understand. When her father had started spitting out his mashed potatoes and crying, everyone had packed up and left.

It was understandable. Handling him was exhausting and she didn't want the kids to be traumatized. But it had left her resentful and grief-stricken. She'd cleaned him up and changed him. Then she'd sipped the nice wine she'd bought for the occasion and taken down the tree, tearing up with each bauble she'd put away while her father stared at the television in his wheelchair.

After dropping off a card at Ms. McPhee's, she hurried around the corner to Arthur's building. He was waiting for her at his door, dressed in the red sweater he knew she loved on him. She pecked his sharp cheekbone as he bent to take her luggage, and watched as he made a show of putting it beside the sofa. "Did you pack your whole apartment?"

"Almost," she said, already digging out the food she'd brought and placing it on the kitchen counter. The ham and pineapple casserole had to be popped in the oven for forty-five minutes. The two pieces of pie were from the diner near her office. Lastly, there were a carton of eggnog and a small bottle of whiskey.

He didn't say a lot, but she had a pretty good notion of what he was thinking: a variation on the refrain that she'd done too much. "Arthur, this is for me, too. Besides, you got the tree." Then she pulled him in for a kiss. Though his lips were soft and returned her affections, she could sense the apprehension in his shoulders, her palms sweeping across them. He was probably excited, she figured. And a little nervous, too. This was a milestone for them, after all. She smiled up at him encouragingly. "We're going to have a great time," she said. His nod was gentle.

Dinner went by quickly, which was a blessing because it was terrible. ("I swear, I followed my mother's recipe.") The apple pie was a good substitute for her favorite, blueberry. There wasn't any nutmeg to add to the eggnog. And Arthur covered the top of his mug when she wanted to spike it. He appeared to like it, anyway, and was soon pouring himself a second serving. GCR was playing Christmas music non-stop instead of news, so she turned on the radio. She led him to the living room and admired the tree he'd gotten.

The fir was maybe four inches taller than he was, probably six feet. There were plenty of branches, but it was slim enough to fit into the rear corner of the room, by the windows. The sharp, fresh scent of pine was wonderful. "You picked a great one." As she got into her luggage and dug out the white mini-lights, Arthur searched for an extension cord. Once the bulbs were in place, she knelt before the tree and handed him one of the tins of ornaments she'd packed.

Arthur tackled the upper half while she took care of the bottom. Her gaze turned up to him and she grew fuzzy all over. Concentration was plain in his squint, his handling of the glass-blown, red bulbs cautious. His fingertips carefully closed the hooks over each bough. How long had it been since he'd last done this? She reached out, giving his leg a reassuring squeeze before going through her own box of baubles. A soft sound stuck in her throat as she discovered what was inside.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

The shellacked, round cookie was in surprisingly good shape, its ribbon firmly attached. "My sister made this for me when we were little. I'd forgotten about it." She cradled it in her palm, a peal of laughter bubbling up. "One year I got a toy oven. Set the smoke alarms off, scared my mother half to death." Sipping her drink, she shook her head. "Mabel - who's younger than me, remember - decided to show me how it was done. She was always better at that stuff."

The memory prompted Y/N to continue. She mentioned her parents taking them to a department store a few towns over to visit Santa. How she'd been completely boring and asked for a typewriter and doll, which she'd gotten. The milkshake she'd had at the restaurant on the top floor. She felt uncharacteristically wistful. "That was a lifetime ago."

Most of the tree was adorned when she noticed he'd stopped responding. It was as though he was frozen in place, his face turned towards the floor. Y/N stood, taking in the clenching of his fists at his sides, the quiver of his frame, the twitch of his cheek. "Arthur?" She reached out to take his hand.

His arm yanked back as if she'd hit him. Then he marched around the sofa, past the television, and went straight into the bathroom. The locks slid into place as soon as he closed the door.

She was stunned. And, if she was honest, disappointed. All she'd wanted was to share more of herself with him. Gingerly, she walked to the door. No light shone from beneath it. The picture of him sitting alone in the dark on Christmas Eve pained her. She knocked.

Laughter broke up the strain in his voice. "I need a few minutes." After a pause, a hushed plea. "Please don't go."

"I won't."

Her lips pursed. The last few times she'd visited, she'd made a note to check his usual spots for prescription bottles. There hadn't been any. And there'd been no indication he'd used any of the doctor appointments she'd paid for. They'd have to discuss it. But not now. New Years was next weekend. She'd mention it then, as well as her hopes they'd be living together soon, treating it as something positive.

Beyond his laughing, he hadn't yet gone into any level of detail about his afflictions, his diagnoses. Since his appearance on Murray Franklin, she'd read almost the entire "Loving Someone With" series to learn how to handle problems when they arose. It had advised kindness, calm, and providing regularity. Discussion of normal things, plans for the future. That was what she had been trying to do. Why had Arthur reacted so poorly?

Then it dawned on her: the experiences that were normal to her, to most people, hadn't ever been so for him. Her thoughts went to the terrible details in the Arkham file he'd brought over. The unspecified categories of abuse he'd suffered. His severe head injury and its permanent effects. The radiator...

She recalled his reaction to the journal she'd given him for his birthday. He'd tried, in vain, to hide how affected he'd been by it. And it was only a few weeks ago he'd meekly asked if she'd ever stop loving him, as if it was a chore for her instead of bliss. It was tough, knowing how hard he had to work to accept her kindnesses.

Rubbing her eyes, she concluded she'd been an idiot. Well-intentioned, but an idiot regardless. She'd so looked forward to making new memories with Arthur, to being able to spend the holiday with someone who could enjoy it, she'd overwhelmed him. Set him off.

He needed space and, so far, she'd always paid the respect of giving that to him. It wouldn't be easy tonight, however. Every fiber of her wanted to rush in there, hold him, and tell him to confide in her. To allow her to support him. But she needed to listen to her brain instead of her heart (which Arthur made hard to do, being the one who'd helped her unlock it). She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes would be a good compromise. She could give him that.

The music had become deafening. After turning it down, she made her way to the kitchen and put away the rest of the food. Every scrub of the dishcloth on the beige plates they'd used, every wipe as she dried the cutlery, expressed her concern. Ornaments still littered the living room floor. A few more were hung before she put their boxes in her suitcase. She worried her lip when she came across the presents she'd gotten him, wrapped in luscious greens and golds. He'd like them, she was certain. If he was up to receiving them. She placed them under the tree, adjusting the tags so he could clearly read "Arthur," written in her looping cursive.

The clink of the bathroom door being unlocked was barely audible. Not wanting him to think she'd been hovering the entire time, she waited before approaching. Then she stepped forward and slowly opened it.

The light from the hall spilled into the room, sufficient to see Arthur sitting on the pink, tiled end of the bathtub. She took in the slump of his shoulders, his arms slack and folded in his lap. He spoke and his miserable rasp split her heart. "I'm- I'm sorry. I'm ruining everything."

"You're not." She turned on the floor lamp in the corner, then sat down on the closed toilet. "It wasn't fair of me to babble on and on like that. I didn't think abou-"

"Don't." It was clear the harshness of his tone was directed at himself. His dark brows creased in the middle as he wiped his nose, embarrassment clear in every gesture. "I just... I wanna be able to enjoy this like everyone else."

The skin of his hands was pink, likely from wringing. And his nails had been freshly chewed. Her chest tightened. "May I touch you?" she asked. At his curt nod, she smoothed his sleeve up to stroke his forearm. The grimace he wore was tight enough to show his dimples.

She'd learned it was vital to speak to his virtues in these moments. That was an easy thing to do - he had many. The compliments she paid him were true, and reflected what he valued in others. "You're so caring, Arthur." Her fingertips drifted down his laugh line to his thin lips. "And good. And funny." She blinked away the tears that threatened, the news articles from his mother's file fresh in her mind. "And strong. Stronger than anyone should have to be."

A dry, hitched sob left him and he shook his head. "You don't need to tell me lies."

"I'm not. I never will." Her kiss brushed the shallow wrinkles on his trembling chin, and she took his hand between her own. "You don't have to talk about it. But I'm here if you want to." A long silence followed, interrupted only by their soft breathing. Eventually, he trailed lines down her thigh, to her knee, caressing her as if she were gossamer.

She considered how he could have gone through such brutality, yet be the gentlest person she'd ever known.

Releasing a long sigh, he leaned his forehead to hers. "I can't," he whispered, lifting one shoulder.

"It's all right." Her grasp slid up and down his sides comfortingly. "I love you. It's okay."

It was awhile before he stood, pulling her with him and against his chest. She nestled into him and soaked up his heat, carding her fingers through his loose curls. "I- I picked out a movie. I think it starts soon." He held her hand as he walked towards the living room.

The analog TV sounded with bells and strings as Y/N got a blanket from the bed. She scurried to him and saw the names Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire flash on the screen. Of course, she thought. He'd picked a romantic musical. After turning off the lamp, she situated herself next to Arthur and draped the cover over them. The opening credits were rolling, but she could feel him watching her instead of the film. Then his touch grazed her bare ankle. She shifted towards him, a smile spreading across her face at the softness of his features. "What?"

His gaze dropped. "I wish I knew how to say how much I love you. Show you somehow."

The lights from the tree were giving his skin a warm glow, and reflected beautifully in his green eyes. She tipped his chin up and kissed him deeply, until they both had to pull away for air. Pink dusted his cheeks and he grinned bashfully, crooked tooth on display. "I know, Arthur." They snuggled closer under the cover and he entwined their hands. "I know."

~~~~~

Since she'd returned to him after Murray, they'd spent an increasing number of nights together. Arthur usually let Y/N sleep as long as she needed. Insisting she wake up with him wouldn't have been fair. She worked hard and the extra hour or two was helpful. But he couldn't hold back Christmas morning.

He made a valiant attempt to pass the time. Really. He'd already shaven, smoked a couple of cigarettes, retrieved her presents, and plugged in the tree. He noticed she'd placed gifts under it, labelled "Arthur" and elegantly wrapped in paper nicer than what he'd been able to pick-up at the drug store. He glided his fingers over them. The corner of his mouth lifted. Written in her script, his name was beautiful.

Thankfully, he was in better sorts than the night before. Enthusiasm for her gripped him. He tip-toed to the bedroom and watched her sleeping form from the doorway. It was still dark - the sun wouldn't be up for another hour - but he could picture what she looked like. Her wet breathing and slight snore meant her pillow had a spot of drool near her mouth. There was a fifty-fifty chance her nightgown had twisted up just beneath her breasts. The blanket may have slipped below her waist, leaving her hip exposed. He knelt next to the bed and palmed the side of her neck, planting kisses to her face until she groaned.

"Your hair tickles," she mumbled. Her arm went around his back and brought him closer. "What time is it?"

"Early." Before standing, he gave her one last peck on the mouth. "But I couldn't wait any longer." He padded to the kitchen to start the french toast they'd decided on.

He was in the middle of cracking eggs when she sat across from him on the other side of the breakfast bar. "It's nice to have someone to celebrate with again," she said, leaning up and forward to peek in his bowl. "I'm happy it's you." He cocked his head at that. She'd had a family before, a sister and brother-in-law. Nieces and nephews. A father. He asked her to elaborate but she shrugged it off. "Just a few rough years. That's all. Don't waste your time on it."

Learning about her was one of the things he liked about having a girlfriend. As sappy as it sounded, even to himself, it made him feel like she was a part of him, and he a part of her. Dr. Sally said open communication was important. If he was going to be a good boyfriend, Y/N should be able to talk to him without fearing he couldn't handle it. He grasped her hand and borrowed her phrase from last night. "You can talk to me." Their gazes met as he ran the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm okay today."

A wry grin appeared. "Let's just say we've both experienced difficult family situations." She took his fork and finished beating the eggs for him as he turned on the stove. "This is a big step in putting that awfulness behind me."

The way she seemed to understand him, even if she was talking about herself, prompted him to clear his throat. "Me, too." He dipped the bread in the bowl, then placed it in the frying pan.

When they were finished eating (it'd been so much better than the casserole she'd made, and he'd never had real maple syrup before), Y/N poured them both more coffee and made her way to the living room. Arthur offered to turn on the news, aware she was still waiting for coverage on the Wayne Foundation case, but she waved dismissively. "I don't want to think about that today. God knows I already think about it too much."

They took turns opening gifts, sitting on the floor by the tree, close enough for him to feel the heat she was emanating. Y/N immediately opened her chocolate Santa and broke off a piece for him. The musk oil perfume he'd picked up for her at Helm's Pharmacy had been on sale for $1.79, and he was grateful he'd remembered to remove the price tag before wrapping it. She dabbed it on her wrist. It was different on her than it was in the bottle, a bit stronger than expected. But she was wearing something he'd given her, so it was lovely nonetheless. Her favorite of the three presents seemed to be the old, tapered, white vase he'd found. She needed it, he explained. That time he'd given her a rose, she'd stuck it in a drinking glass.

What he'd given her were simple trinkets, born out of a vague idea of what women were supposed to like. Despite her apparent delight and the kisses she'd bestowed on him after opening each one, they felt inadequate compared to what she gave him. There was a teal sweater, one she claimed would bring out (in her words) his "beautiful eyes." He pulled it on over his thermal shirt, tags and all. She'd gotten him a book on comedy writing. He wasn't sure how to take that - had she decided his jokes weren't very good? But then she told him she expected more material for his next stand-up show.

Picking up the last gift, he studied it with mock seriousness. Its shape and weight gave away it was a record, but he had no idea which one. They often enjoyed quiet evenings with his collection of older standards, but she preferred more modern songs. Maybe it was an attempt to introduce him to what she liked. He'd gladly listen to it, at least once. He peeled the pretty paper back and exhaled sharply. The LP was old, the cover worn. It was the soundtrack to Modern Times, a film he'd caught once or twice and loved the music of. Holding it to his chest, he murmured a quiet, "Thank you." Eagerly, he got up and put it on, letting the orchestra and his love for her wash over him, soothe his battered soul.

Y/N followed and splayed a hand on the small of his back. "Gotham Pops played this at the Wayne benefit last month." Giggling, she tousled his hair. "I spent the evening wishing you were next to me. It would have been nice to show you off, all dressed up and handsome." He stiffened for a second, wondering if he should tell her he had been there. If he should practice the honesty he'd been working on since Murray. Perhaps knowing he'd accompanied her, in his own way, would please her. But she interrupted his thoughts before he could speak. "The Christmas parade starts in an hour. We should go now if you still want to see it. Neither of us are very tall - we need a good spot." Her lips brushed his ear. "I brought an extra hat and mittens for you."

He spun to face her as he nodded, and she nuzzled at his nose and sighed. The wide smile she wore halted his breath. It would have been nice if this hadn't been his only real Christmas. If his first thirty-five years hadn't been a cruel joke, a tragedy. But he was glad to have this taste of happiness with her.

He hadn't longed for a paralegal from another part of the country, a woman who couldn't dance well and never guessed the punchlines of his jokes. But what he was about to say was true all the same. He cupped her face and kissed her firmly. "You're the one I always wanted," he whispered against her. "Merry Christmas, Y/N." The words felt unnatural - he was unsure when he had last said them.

The love in her look let him know he'd done all right. "You're the man I never knew I needed. And I do, Arthur." He closed his eyes at her embrace, laying his cheek against her temple as she cuddled into him. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Fleck." Her next sentence and the touch of her mouth to his jaw made him shiver. "Maybe next year we won't have to choose whose apartment will have the tree."

~~~~~

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#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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