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arrowflier · 3 years

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Ian growing his first tomatoes and being proud of himself really excited to share them with Mickey and cooking with them everyday. But what he doesn't know is that tomatoes don't agree with Mickey. They upset his stomach and make him feel sick. He loves seeing Ian so happy and proud of himself so he doesn't tell him and eats everything he makes him. Ian eventually realizes what's going on. A prompt if you'd like to write it

Content Warnings: food, vomit

The first time it happened, Mickey assumed it was a coincidence.

Ian had been so fucking excited for his first tomato crop; he'd spent ages looking up recipes, running ideas past anyone who would listen, and scrounging through old boxed from the house to look for weird cooking shit. He had beamed when the day of his first harvest finally came, carrying those little red fruits in his big hands so carefully that you'd be forgiven for thinking them infants, or puppies, or some other fragile living thing.

So after an hour of Ian washing, slicing, and cooking up his new pride and joy, there was no way in he'll Mickey was going to ruin his husband's happy smile by telling him that just the smell of dinner was making his stomach churn.

It was probably nothing, he told himself, choking down bite after bite, letting out agreeable little hums after each one just to add to the sparkle in Ian's eyes.

Maybe lunch wasn't sitting well; he should have known not to eat anything offered by the Alibi, even under new management (especially under new management). That had to be it. There was no way it had anything to do with the dish Ian had painstakingly made from ingredients so fresh they had still been on the vine just hours before.

So Mickey swallowed his bile with the last bite on his plate, asked for seconds, and ate that too. Then he made his excuses, ran down to the little restroom off the gym, and threw it all up where Ian wouldn't have to see. He ignored the visible seeds and flecks of red tomato skin as he flushed the evidence away.

Just a coincidence, that was all. Next time would go better.

The second time it happened, Mickey thought that maybe Ian was just a bad cook. Ian's courage had been bolstered by his "successful" first attempt, apparently, because this time he went all out. He'd even traded one of his precious tomatoes for some fresh herbs from the plot next to his in the community garden, just to make it special.

And special it was. A special he'll, more like, when Mickey nearly voided his bowels an hour later on their new sofa. He leapt up and made it to the bathroom just in time, and spent the next thirty minutes trying to quietly take care of things so Ian wouldn't hear.

Of course, Ian did hear, and he just had to ask about it. They were getting ready for bed, Mickey tugging on a too-large sleep shirt from a pile of Ian's laundry, when a hand landed lightly on his waist.

"Feeling better?" Ian asked softly, rubbing soothing circles into the stretched skin of Mickey's sore belly.

"Uh, yeah," Mickey hedged, not wanting to reveal his lingering discomfort. "It's nothing, really."

"You sure?" Ian asked, pressing closer against his back as his hand migrated to rest over Mickey's chest. "You can tell me if something made you sick, you know," he said. "I won't take it personally."

If he wasn't used to Ian hitting close to home while having absolutely no knowledge of what he was talking about, Mickey might have wondered then if his husband was catching on.

But it was an innocent enough question, after all.

"Nah, man," he said, pulling away to sit on the bed. "Probably picked up a bug on our rounds or something."

Ian looked unconvinced, biting his lip, and Mickey rushed to reassure him.

"I'm be right as rain tomorrow," he promised. "Just you watch."

Ian hesitated, but ultimately nodded, and joined him in bed. He curled just a little tighter around Mickey than normal, hand resting carefully on his stomach.

It wasn't a lie, Mickey figured as he waited for sleep to claim him. He would be fine by morning. And next time, he'd do the cooking himself, just in case, and then this couldn't happen again.

By the third time, just the next morning, Mickey finally had to admit what he dreaded all along: it really was the goddamned tomatoes.

He’d made the omelets himself, using normal ingredients they got from the store, all things he had eaten before. He’d mixed in some diced tomato, just for flavor, and because he knew Ian would like it.

And like it Ian did. His husband was chowing down like someone might take away his plate if he didn’t eat fast enough, barely stopping to sip at his coffee, while Mickey sat silently across from him.

The first bite of his eggs had already almost done him in, the taste of the tomato now forever associated with stomach cramps and bile and bloating. He knew there was no way for it to be effecting him already, but his stomach clenched when he tried to lift another bite to his lips, and he set down his fork with a clatter.

Ian stopped eating.

“Everything okay, Mickey?” he asked, concerned. “You’ve barely touched your breakfast.”

“What are you lookin’ at my breakfast for?” Mickey deflected. “Eyes on your own fuckin’ plate, you’ve got yours.”

Ian obediently ducked his head, but still managed to catch Mickey poking a chunk of tomato away from everything else on his plate.

“You don’t like the tomato?” he asked, ignoring Mickey’s exasperated sigh at his interference. “I think they really add something.”

“Love them,” Mickey answered with a forced, toothy smile. “Just saving the best for last.” He stabbed at the tomato with his fork, spearing it, and lifted it to his lips to make a point.

“Yum,” he said around it as he chewed and forced himself to swallow. “See? Delic--”

Then he was up, away from the table, and running to the kitchen sink as it came right back up.

“Mickey, what the fuck?” Ian yelled, his chair sliding back with a screech as he hurried to join Mickey at the counter.

“Sorry,” Mickey managed, head still down, as Ian rubbed his back. “Think something’s wrong with me; didn’t mean to waste it.”

Ian’s hand stilled.

“Waste it?” he asked. “Mickey, what are talking about?”

“The tomatoes, Ian,” Mickey sighed. “I know you’re fuckin’ proud of ‘em or whatever, but I just can’t keep ‘em down.”

“Can’t keep them...” Ian started, then stopped. His hand fell away, only to reappear on the back of Mickey’s neck, forcing his to lift his head and look at him.

“Mickey,” Ian said firmly. “How long has this been going on?”

Mickey didn’t answer. Ian shook him, just lightly, then winced when it set him retching again into the stainless steel sink.

“How long have my tomatoes been making you sick, Mickey?” he asked again, quieter, and Mickey finally gave in.

“Few days,” he muttered, and Ian let go of him completely.

“A few--Mickey, it’s only been a few days. And I’ve been putting them in everything.”

Ian sounded worried, almost distraught, and that was exactly what Mickey had been trying to avoid.

“No, it’s fine,” he insisted, pushing away from the sink. He forced himself to swallow past the burning bile in his throat. “I’m not some fuckin’ pussy-ass kid, Gallagher, I know how to work through a fuckin’ stomach ache.”

If anything, that only made Ian look more concerned.

“I know you do, Mick,” he said. “But why the hell did you think you had to? Terry’s gone, we’re doing good; you know you don’t need to do shit like that anymore.”

Oh.

“You’re not upset?” Mickey asked, just to clarify, and Ian rubbed a hand over his face.

“Of course I’m upset, Mickey,” he sighed. “You lied to me for days because what, you didn’t want to look weak?”

“No,” Mickey said. “Cause I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Ian took a deep breath.

“Mickey,” he said slowly. “I promise my feelings aren’t hurt just because you can’t stomach tomatoes. It really wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

Mickey shrugged. “I should be able to, though,” he said. “Ketchup, soup, fucking pasta--I eat all that no problem, and we just had extra sauce on our pizza last week. It’s just...”

He hesitated to say it out loud.

“Just my tomatoes,” Ian finished for him. ‘Right.”

Ian took a step forward, and took Mickey’s hand. He guided him back over to the table, sat him down--moving his plate away so he didn’t have to look at it--and joined him there.

“Mickey,” he started. “Maybe it’s not just that.” Mickey bit his lip, figuring that Ian cared more than he let on if he wanted to find some other excuse, but what his husband said next surprised him.

“I mean,” Ian continued, “it’s not like either of us had a lot of fresh ingredients around growing up.”

Well, he was right about that.

“And really fresh stuff, not processed, none of the preservative shit we’ve been eating our whole lives...well, it’s not your fault that your system doesn’t know what to do with it.”

“Still wish I could eat it,” Mickey grumbled, feeling a little better in spite of himself. “It makes you so happy, man, and I had to go and ruin it.”

Ian laughed.

“You didn’t ruin anything, you idiot,” he said fondly. “But next time I want to try something new, maybe we’ll take it a little slower, yeah?”

Mickey nodded.

“And maybe,” Ian added, “You’ll tell me there’s a problem before you puke all over our dishes.”

Mickey looked over to the sink, where sure enough, the majority of their dishes were piles and waiting to be washed, now needing it more than ever.

Oops.

“At least they were already dirty?” he said, and Ian smiled.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “At least there’s that.”

He leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to Mickey’s head. Then he grabbed up Mickey’s unfinished breakfast and a fork.

“Really, Gallagher?” Mickey asked. “You still wanna eat after that?”

“Why not?” Ian answered, mouth already full. “Besides, if you don’t like it,” he added, a stray piece of egg clinging to the side of his mouth, “then all the more for me.”

It was Mickey’s turn to grin, even as he watched the gruesome show that was Ian trying to eat.

Tomatoes or not, table manners or not, he really loved that man.

#daily speedwrite #super rambly #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #fanfic #tw: food #tw: vomit

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ptergwen · 4 years

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let’s just pretend

w/c: 3.5k

warnings: rom com references, drinking, and a little bit of angst

summary: you cope with your feelings for peter by getting drunk on halloween

a/n: ok i really really love this and i loved writing it too? it’s the first like original idea i’ve had in a while so maybe that’s why but yeah i hope y’all enjoy and that this puts you in a halloweenish mood :-)

there’s something about fall that makes you nostalgic. the same images pop into your head whenever you hear the word october. pumpkin patches, colorful leaves, and hot coffee. it reminds you of being a kid. only when you were a kid, all you could think about this time of year was what you were going to be for halloween.

you’d spend weeks getting your costume together and coordinating with all your friends. trick or treating was literally the only thing that mattered. if you wanted to get good candy, you had to have a good costume.

the high school version of candy is alcohol. everyone just goes to parties so they can drink the whole night. no one even dresses up usually. you personally would rather have chocolate than cheap beer. your whole friend group agrees on that.

that’s why you decided to throw your own party this year. anyone who misses the old halloween can come hang out. so far it’s only peter, mj, ned, betty, and the rest of the decathlon team coming. betty invited everyone for you. she also asked liz, but she’s going to flash’s party. he only gets so many people because his parents are never home and don’t care if he raids the liquor cabinet. whatever.

you’re out finding something to wear with peter and mj a few hours before it starts. ned and betty already picked their costumes. she’s going as an angel, and he’s going as the devil. you think they should switch. they’re out shopping for snacks while the three of you hit up spirit halloween.

mj groans every single second there’s silence, and peter keeps getting scared by the motion sensor decorations. he eventually ends up having to go somewhere in the store that doesn’t have any. so, it’s a lot.

“why don’t you be a vampire?” mj asks in her fake interested voice, taking a pair of fangs off the rack in front of her. you scoff. “i think i did that in sixth grade.” she puts them back with a huff. “witch?” she’s just suggesting every costume she sees so you can get out of here. her lack of enthusiasm makes you want to take longer.

“no.”

“zookeeper?”

“eh.”

“what about cat in the hat?”

“mj, what? no.”

“uh... school girl?”

“ok, that’s just offensive.”

“you’re right. why do they have that?” she eyes the costume suspiciously. you cover it up with a random cloak that fell onto the floor. you’re never going to find anything at this point. maybe it’s a sign you’re too old for this. just when you’re about to lose all hope, peter comes over.

he’s holding up the plaid yellow skirt and blazer cher wears in clueless. it’s one of the most iconic rom com outfits. you grab it with a gasp, peter giving you a knowing smile. “oh my god! wait, where did you find this?” “they have a section with movie stuff.” there’s a han solo costume in his other hand.

you throw an arm around his neck for a quick hug. peter squeezes you and chuckles when he pulls away. it gets a sigh out of mj.

“sure you don’t wanna be the guy she ends up with?” she elbows peter’s arm. the two of you share a disgusted look. “josh? ew, he’s her ex stepbrother,” you dismiss her. “they’re, like, related,” peter adds. mj rolls her eyes almost to the back of her head and starts to walk away. “someone needs to unplug both of your tv’s.” you and peter follow after her.

of course she would suggest a couple’s costume. she was probably trying to make you both get weird. you’re always being teased for spending so much time together. even your parents and may make little comments about it. you can’t help the fact that you have almost everything in common.

peter is the only person your age who doesn’t try so hard to be cool. when you’re with him, you can be the biggest nerd and wear fluffy pajamas and play with legos. it’s a judgement free friendship.

you’ll admit you’ve wanted it to become a judgement free relationship. there’s no way he doesn’t feel your heart beating against him when you cuddle during movie nights. he has to notice your goofy smile whenever he calls you a nickname.

but, it could all be platonic in peter’s mind. maybe he sees you as more of a sister. that would make josh the perfect costume to go with you as cher.

you shutter and try to push the idea out of your mind for the rest of your time at spirit halloween.

it’s almost time for the party to start when you get back to your house. your parents let betty and ned in to start setting up on their way out. they’re going for dinner so they aren’t around to embarrass you. you have until midnight, then there’s nothing you can do. that gives you four hours.

mj is changing into the coraline costume you made her get, which she actually doesn’t hate. betty is helping you do some last minute decorating. peter and ned are putting out snacks. it’s a really good system you have.

“love the the plaid, y/n. you look so fetch!” betty compliments in between throwing fake cobwebs over your couch. you snort and finish stringing up some lights. “wrong movie, but thanks.” “oh. oops,” she shrugs and gets back to cobwebbing. “peter found it for me.” all the lights are up, so you go to plug them in. betty giggles on your way over.

your living room has an orange glow to it now. dusting your hands off, you admire your work. the moment of admiration ends when you notice how betty is looking at you. “what?” “peter found it for you,” she repeats suggestively. “when he was getting his costume, yeah,” you say like it’s nothing because it is nothing.

“so, what i’m hearing is he wanted to see you in a skirt.” you furrow your eyebrows at her. “what? no, he just-“ she wiggles her own eyebrows at you. you’re going to start sweating if you talk about this any longer. too aware of yourself now, you pull down your skirt and trudge over to the stairs. “i’m gonna go check on mj.”

you’re in the middle of convincing her she looks great and to leave your room when everyone calls your name downstairs.

“what?” you shout back from behind the closed door. “you should get down here.” it’s only peter this time. mj widens her eyes at you, but you’re gone before she can say she isn’t wearing this again.

you make your way down the stairs. the three of them are huddled in front of the door. “is someone here?” you mouth, ned looking off to the side awkwardly. they all move out of the way so you can see who it is. it’s flash. you’re obviously surprised to see him at your house, especially since he’s supposed to be having his own party right now.

“um, what are you doing here?” you try not to sound mean. “didn’t you invite the whole decathlon team? i’m on it.” you’d forgotten about that. peter says he’s only an alternate. flash side steps past you to get inside. you didn’t say he could come in. he heads straight to the chip bowl on your living room coffee table. you’re left shaking your head in pure confusion.

“dude, kick him out,” ned whispers to you. you wave your hand dismissively and walk over. he’s kicking his legs up on the table when you get there. “dope outfit. you look good.” he winks and crunches on a tostito. peter is clenching his jaw, but no one sees. “why are you in my house, flash?” you push the bowl away from him. “oh, yeah. my parents came home from vegas early.”

mj finally gets downstairs, squinting at whatever is going on with you while she walks over to everyone else. “i thought we could combine parties.” flash eyes your friends in a way you don’t like. “all your guests are pretty much here, so don’t worry about space.”

you look back at peter to see what he thinks. he shakes his head no. betty is nodding her head so fast you’re pretty sure she’s going to get whiplash. ned agrees with whatever she thinks, and mj doesn’t care. majority rules. plus, you could use one of flash’s playlists to liven things up. how bad could it really be?

“text everyone my address.”

people are flooding your house in the next fifteen minutes. like, your entire grade might be here. flash hooks his phone up to your speakers and blasts his songs. people grab fistfuls of candy and dance around. you’re running low on soda, but one guy brought extra drinks. alcoholic drinks, which you’re uneasy about. that was a big reason why you wanted to have your own party in the first place.

you don’t want to be a lame host, so you let it slide. a girl is sitting on top of your kitchen counter making out with someone. people are yelling so loud you can’t make out a single conversation. this is all going on and yet somehow, the most surprising thing is that they came in costume. some are more casual, like cat ears and lifeguard hoodies. it still counts.

feeling a little bit lost in your own house, you search for peter. he’s sitting on the top stair just watching what’s going on. you get his attention by throwing a mini packet of sour patch kids at him. he catches it, grinning when he realizes you did that. “i love these.” “good. they were the only ones left.” you take a seat next to him and scratch at the material of his vest for emphasis.

“i can’t believe you said yes to him.” peter opens the sour patch kids. the first one is yellow, so he offers it to you. sharing food with him always works because you each seem to like what the other doesn’t. “neither can i, but i think betty would’ve actually hurt me if i didn’t,” you joke while chewing. he rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “please. she’s too nice.”

you lean your head on peter’s shoulder and grab another gummy. he pokes your arm in protest. “this bag is small. get your own.” you’re nuzzling your cheek against him. “i told you they’re gone.” he’s about to put an arm around you when someone screams downstairs. you quickly sit up.

“i’m gonna go see what the hell that was. i’ll find you later?” peter does his best to hide his disappointment. “yeah, of course. good luck.” you clench your teeth and run down the stairs. this is somehow flash’s fault.

it’s been an hour and a half, and peter is nowhere to be seen. the chaos was just that someone really liked the song that was playing. it didn’t take you long to figure that out. when you went to tell peter, he was gone. you’ve looked everywhere for him since, except the backyard.

a pretty big group of people is out here either playing catch or talking. someone also brought a case of beer outside. you spot mj huddled up by the fence with a bottle. it doesn’t necessarily surprise you. it’s weird to see, either way.

“have you seen peter?” you walk up to her. she uses the bottle to gesture somewhere. he’s in the middle of a conversation with liz. your entire body feels like it’s collapsing into itself. it didn’t cross your mind she would be coming even when the party moved to your house.

she’s nice and all. you don’t have any issues with her. not that she knows about, at least. peter had the biggest crush on her for about a month, then it fizzled out. that’s what he told you. unless, he said that to save face.

you’re speechless. mj figured you would be. she gives you a sympathetic smile and holds out her beer. “yep. drink up.” your instincts tell you to take it, so you do. she heads back inside and leaves you alone with your thoughts. that’s not good for you. the only to way to get rid of them is by chugging the rest of this bottle.

you’ve never had your own drink before, and technically you aren’t now. this is still the most alcohol you’ll ever have in your system. before you can change your mind, you take a generous swig. it’s bitter. you don’t hate it as much as you expected to, though.

your eyes land on liz touching peter’s shoulder. that inspires your next big gulp of beer. you finish off the rest, and it hits you fast. you’re understanding why this is such a popular vice. you don’t feel anything but how tipsy you are. light and floaty. you decide to stumble back into the kitchen and find out what other drinks people brought.

the bright color of your costume catches peter’s attention. he was wondering where you were. excusing himself from liz, he follows you in. you bump into betty on your way to the punch bowl someone filled. she’s holding a red solo cup with the mystery liquid. both of you buzzed, you laugh and grab her arm.

“sorry. s- sorry.” you’re squeezing behind her, her angel wings brushing against your face in the process. you have to weave through everyone to make it to the drink table. peter meets you there when you’re getting a cup. he’s shocked.

“y/n?” smiling lazily, you take a sip. “hey, peter. pete.” the sober voice in your head tells you to stop talking. he probably shouldn’t know you’re drunk. then again, your cup gives it away. “y/n, have you been drinking?” he sounds concerned. everything is funny to you right now. you giggle out a “yes.”

peter doesn’t want to be that person, but you’re not acting right. he reaches for your drink. you pull it away too abruptly, and some of it spills onto the floor. “you... you’re so...“ you start losing your balance. “woah.” peter wraps an arm around your waist to steady you. he takes the drink out of your hand and sets it on the table.

frowning, he throws your arm around his shoulders so he can help you get upstairs. “come on, y/n/n.” you don’t argue this time. you’re at the part of being drunk where it doesn’t feel good anymore. peter holds you close to his side and walks you out of the kitchen. he stops to talk to ned for a second.

“hey, man. y/n’s parents are gonna be home soon. could you get everyone out?” he says into his ear. “why can’t she do it?” peter moves out of the way so he’s not blocking you. ned sees. you’re completely faded. “oh, shit. is she okay?” he whisper yells. “i’m gonna take care of her.” “i’ll tell everyone to go.” peter presses his lips into a tight smile, then he’s taking you up to your room.

you flop down onto your bed face first. peter shuts the door behind you. “you okay?” he chuckles, you nodding with your face smushed into the comforter. he’d think it was cute if you weren’t piss drunk. gently nudging you, he moves you so you’re on your back.

“let’s get you out of this.” “ooh, betty was right. you do like me in a skirt,” you giggle and bat your eyelashes at him. he huffs. “no, i mean you have to put on pajamas.” you’re pouting now. “you don’t like me in a skirt?” after going through your drawers, he comes back over with a big t-shirt and fuzzy pants. “i never said that.”

you grin again and grab them from him. “ha.” “do you need help changing?” he sits at the edge of your bed. you’re still laying down. he’s not sure you can handle getting up. “no. don’t be creepy,” you say completely serious. peter has to remind himself you’re drunk. “you were the one who thought i wanted you naked, but ok.”

making peter close his eyes, you peel the costume off your body. you got pretty sweaty. you kick everything onto the floor and start putting on your pajamas. your head gets stuck in an arm hole by accident, so peter has to fix that. the rest is fine. he’s about to bring you into the bathroom to brush your teeth, but you face plant into his lap. you’re out.

the next morning, you wake up feeling like ass. your breath is hot and tastes disgusting. your head is pounding. you could throw up. you’re not even sure how you ended up in your bed. then, you notice peter sitting at your desk. he must have helped you in.

a vague memory of him tucking you under the covers while you whined comes back to you, along with a few others. one of them is of him and liz. the whole reason you did this to yourself.

“hey.” your voice comes out hoarse. “hi.” peter nods and points to your night table. there’s a fresh glass of water. you drink it all down as fast as humanely possible, a hand on your heart. it doesn’t phase him after what you did last night. you set the empty glass down and pat the spot next to you. peter sits by your side.

he’s still dressed as han solo, but his vest and belt are sprawled out on the floor. the boots are under your desk. he actually stayed all night for you.

“i think i’m hungover.” you rest your head against his arm. his body relaxes. “you didn’t drink that much. mj said she gave you half a beer,” he almost laughs, you groaning. “that means i’m a lightweight.” “for now.” your arm wrapping around his, you look up at him.

“sorry you had to deal with me. am i in trouble?” “nah, your parents don’t know. we cleaned everything up before they got home.” he lightly pats the top of your head with two fingers. you squeeze your eyes shut when he does it. “you did? thank you so much, wow.” peter nods and smiles for a second.

he lays his back against the pillow on his side. “let’s just pretend that never happened.” “you’re good at pretending,” you mumble to yourself. you’re not as quiet as you think because peter hears it. “um, what?” you feel too woozy to come up with a cover. letting out a breath, you take your head and hands off of him.

“i saw you talking with liz.” “she wanted to know if i could lead decathlon practice next week. she’s not gonna be in school,” he says slowly, not getting it. “why?” having to spell it out is making you frustrated. “didn’t you say you don’t like her anymore?” “yeah, i don’t.”

“so, why was she being all... touchy?” the jealousy is clear in your voice. peter shrugs. “that’s how liz is. i still don’t get why it matters.” you ease yourself to sit up and turn to face him. those three words you’ve been meaning to tell him are on the absolute tip of your tongue. they’re about to come out.

then...

“i like you, y/n.”

peter says them for you.

you’re so surprised you nearly vomit for real. or, it could be the possible hangover. almost a minute has gone by when you realize you’ve been sitting there with your mouth hanging open. you swallow your spit. “you... you do?” “a lot. i kept trying to tell you, but there was never a good time.” his voice is softer now.

“i realized after homecoming. i wished i went with you instead of...” he doesn’t have to finish the sentence. you nod, a small smile spreading across your face. peter’s eyes are so hopeful. “i like you, too. a lot.” your gaze trails down to his lips.

“i’d kiss you if my breath didn’t stink.” “i’ll let you owe me one.” he’s fully grinning now, and both of you laugh. they’re the kind of laughs you do because you’re so happy you don’t know what to say.

peter presses his lips to your temple, your eyes fluttering closed. “get some more sleep. i’m gonna ask you out when you wake up,” he mumbles against your hair. you grab his hand that’s resting on the comforter. “can you stay with me?” “of course.”

he lays down next to you. you pull back the covers so he can get under them. your head is resting on his chest, an arm around his torso. both of his hug your waist. you’re instantly comfortable cuddled up in his embrace. you drift off to sleep with a smile.

this feels like such a dream. it’s the exact type of situation you’d make up in your head. but, it’s real. peter is still holding you when you wake up. he’s not going anywhere.

#tom holland #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #peter parker smut #tom holland x reader

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harryhandstan · 4 years

Text

gotta get better

gif credit

This concept has been in my head for a while now and it took me like a month to write and edit and just get it all out! I had surgery two years ago today and it was one of the most emotional, stressful experiences of my life simply bc I’m just a big baby lol. This is just something to celebrate that day and the fact that I’m still so happy it’s all over! Fluffy af as usual cause that’s all I know how to write. :)

Thankful to @bfharry and @bopbopstyles for not only inspiring me with their amazing writing but pushing me towards finishing this and reaching (even going over) my personal 5k goal! I appreciate you both so much!!

I recently saw a post about tagging triggers properly so I’m gonna do it that way but if I do it wrong or it doesn’t work PLEASE let me know and I will fix it immediately (just want to be sure all my bases are covered)

// needles tw, pills tw (prescription), anxiety tw // (if I missed anything I should’ve tagged please please let me know!!) and I’m sure there are some medical inaccuracies bc that whole day is kind of a blur for me haha

as always likes/rbs/comments are welcome but absolutely not necessary :)

final word count: 7.1k

"Y'nervous, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Bout to chew your finger off. I know there can't be much of a nail left."

Your hand drops back to your lap. You hadn't even realized you were doing it. A bad habit of the nervous child you thought you'd long forgotten. He offers his left hand and you accept it, thumb swiping over the cross painted across his skin. He knows it's one of your favorites and you're thankful for the comfort. You don't know how many times he'd teased you about how you would eventually rub it off one day and he'd have to get it redone.

"S'a routine surgery, I bet they do them all day. You're gonna be fine."

You'd been over all this a thousand times before. Harry had to ban you from looking up the procedure online at one point. You became obsessive with worry. What if you're still awake when they cut into you and you can't talk? What if you feel everything and can't tell anyone? What if you don't wake up? He had shot down every one of your horrifying theories.

"How much longer before they take me back?"

"Nurse said it would be about 10 minutes when we checked in. Shouldn't be too much longer. Want me to check the board again?"

Checking in had only consisted of a nurse taking your name and giving you your bracelet for the day with an ID number. The number would help Harry stay updated on where you were throughout the whole process. The "board" was simply a tv mounted to the wall that frequently cycled through each patient's last name and ID number.

"No, no," You cling to his sleeve like a desperate child, "Don't leave again. She said they wouldn't update anything until I went back anyway."

Harry had left you only briefly when you first arrived. Hands in his pockets, wandering around like a lost child around the big, open expanse of the waiting room. He stayed where you could see him and the whole time you had anxiously chewed your bottom lip until he returned. You hated it, but you knew he was just as nervous as you. So you let him have that moment. To check his surroundings and release some of the nerves so he could come back to you, calm and cool as always.

When the nurse does call your name, you almost jump out of your skin. You freeze, unable to move. Harry stands and flashes the nurse a quick smile before turning back to you and offering his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't do this, H. I feel like I'm gonna throw up if I move."

"You're not, promise. Remember those breathing exercises we practiced? Do those. C'mon..deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out. Do it while we walk."

Slow deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out.

You remember how silly you felt the first time you did it. How it made you giggle at first. This is never going to work. But eventually it did. Anytime you got upset or started to overthink about this day, Harry made you stop whatever you were doing and sit down. Breathe.

It was a little difficult to do while walking. Your body wanted to pause your steps when your breath paused, but Harry tugged you along, you almost hiding behind him until you made it through a set of heavy wooden doors to a small space with a hospital bed and a curtain drawn in front of it.

The IV had had been your biggest dread, the fear overriding any logic that it was something you needed, instead of something the nurses decided to do simply to torture you.

Your face twists into a wince of pain when the needle goes into your vein, Harry standing over you, his face a mirror of your own as you squeeze his hand. When the nurse pulls away with a triumphant "all done!" you flash a look of surprise between your arm and Harry.

"Not that bad, eh? Think ya overreacted a bit about how bad that was gonna be?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to shoot him a nasty look for teasing you.

"Maybe a little." You pinch your index finger and thumb together, indicating a minimal amount.

"Tiny bit more, babe," Another nurse appears from around the curtain and he laughs before speaking to her, "it's all she's worried about all morning."

"Honestly that's everyone's least favorite part. The rest of the day should be aces if you can handle that!"

Harry settles himself into a chair while the nurse goes through a myriad of questions. Any other surgeries? Allergies to medications you know of? Do you smoke? Drink?

Harry snorts when you say no to drinking, but quickly clasps his hand over his mouth when the nurse's head snaps to look between you and him.

"The occasional drink is fine, no worries. Nothing this morning though, right?"

"No, ma'am."

Your eyes meet his, a mischievous grin still plastered across his face. He mumbles a quick "sorry" while you try to pull your concentration back towards the nurse and the remainder of her questions.

"Alright, time for the good stuff," she passes you a small clear cup with two white pills, "First one is just something to keep you calm and relaxed, second one is to prevent any pain after the procedure. They'll give you something to make you sleepy when you get to the OR, but this might make you a bit loopy for now."

"This should be fun." Harry claps his hand in front of him, rubbing them together quickly. He leans forward in his chair, as if ready for a show.

"Yeah? Is she a happy drunk?"

Harry had only ever experienced you high on any sort of prescription medication once, almost a year ago when you went on a girl's trip with your best friend and twisted your ankle in an attempt to make it back to her car after dinner out one night. You calling him from an unknown ER in the middle of the night had terrified him enough to start packing a bag to fly to you before your best friend could grab your phone and assure him you were fine and she would put you on a plane home to him in two days as planned. He had teased you endlessly when he picked you up from the airport and for the next few days afterwards as you limped around on a bruised, ACE bandage wrapped foot.

But after too many wine drunk nights to count, he had enough stories to humiliate you with and the thought of any one of them being told now had you sinking further into the hospital bed.

"You could say that. Last time she.." His voice trails off at the sight of your eyes, wide as saucers, begging him to stop.

The nurse grins, her face kind and sympathetic to your silent cry for help.

"We're a little behind schedule this morning so it may be about 20 minutes before they come transport you, okay?" You nod, the effects of the sedative already working its way through your system, "Keep an eye on her? Make sure she behaves?"

"Yeah, I got her. We'll be fine, thank you so much." He's closer now, standing next to you again, a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your shoulder. You manage a thumbs up and a sleepy "thank you" as an affirmation that you appreciate all she's done for you.

"You're more than welcome. You'll have a different set of nurses in recovery but if you need anything until they come get you, just let me know, alright?"

"We will, thanks." His thumb ghosts across the front of your collarbone, the lightest of touches to soothe you, his eyes still focused on the nurse.

"Good luck! You're gonna do just fine, I promise."

The second she's around the curtain, Harry nudges you lightly, "Scoot."

"Huh? What do you mean..Harry, there's not enough room for you in this bed." Your head feels too light to deal with his nonsense now.

"Yeah there is if you scoot. C'mon. Hurry before we get caught. M’supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember? Gotta make sure you don't fall outta the bed."

He's already wedged himself next to you, trying to make his tall frame fit into the limited space.

You move over as much as you can, the rail of the bed poking into your hip.

He tucks one arm behind your head, the other one thrown behind his own as a cushion.

"You feel more relaxed now, lovie?"

You scrunch down in the bed, just enough that you can tuck your head under his other arm, "A little. I don't feel sleepy enough though," Your eyes dart up, seeking the comfort of his face, "I'm scared, H."

"I know you are, baby," the hand behind your head shifts to cup around your arm, pulling you closer, "Just pretend you're home with me and we're taking a nice little nap together, yeah?"

"But you won't be there with me, not really."

"I'll be there when you wake up though. First thing you'll see when you open your eyes, promise." He runs a finger along the curve of your nose, "Close your eyes. Try to sleep, hmm?"

You shake your head, turning towards him to hide your face in his side, inhaling his scent.

"Want me to turn the light off? Would that help?"

"No," You toss the arm that isn't trapped between you two over him, holding tightly to his shirt, "Stay."

"Alright, then. We'll just wait," He tilts his head to rest closer to yours, "Have you thought about what you want to eat after?"

"Not really. M'too nervous to think about food."

"We'll think of something good. Whatever you want."

"You're gonna get us in trouble, better scoot back to your corner like a good boy." Your words come out unintentionally slurred and you weakly push yourself up and away from him as he slides off. He doesn't sit though, just stands near you, an anxious look flashing across his features.

"Hey, c'mere. Gonna be fine, routine surgery, remember?" You stretch your arms out to him, a plea to be near his warmth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. You tug lightly at the sleeve of his cardigan, a feeble attempt to pull him closer. He indulges you, his brow still creased with distress.

"Know ya gonna be fine, just hate you have to go through it at all. Wish I could take it from you without all this." He gestures to the IV he knows you despise so much.

"You have helped take it from me. All the sleepless nights you spent up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick. All the days after when I was too drained to get out of bed. You were there for as much of it as you could be. And you pushed me to go see the surgeon in the first place. You've helped me more than you give yourself credit for."

His fingers intertwine in yours, the pad of his thumb soothing over the front of your hand.

"Make sure you keep my phone with you, my mom will probably call you every 30 minutes for updates." A yawn stretches across your face, "She has your number too, bullied me into giving it to her last week when I called to tell her about the surgery."

He nods, patting his pocket to make sure both phones are still nestled there together.

Another yawn threatens to escape and you muffle it this time, more content to fight sleep to stare at Harry; his hair a perfect mess of curls under the harsh brightness of the hospital lighting. His face is more relaxed now, his eyes still focused on your fingers tangled together. He catches you, your eyes glazed over, too heavy and threatening to close.

"Darling, please close your eyes. I can see how tired you are," His fingertips sweep delicately over your nose again, as if he was lulling a baby to sleep, "You don't have to stay awake for me."

"Closing my eyes for just a second, alright? Not because you told me to though. I want to. Wake me up in 2 hours, don't wanna sleep too long."

Your eyes are already drifting closed, the last thing you hear is a chuckle; effortless, light as air, "I will, promise."

Soft kisses pressed across your face, "Sweet dreams, love."

His voice is the first you hear as you wake up in the dimly lit recovery room. Well, really it was more like a big cubicle, another space with a curtain drawn in front of it. Even with the floaty, dreamy feeling flowing through your system, you can still detect the worry in his voice.

"Harry?" It takes your mind a minute to catch up and process where you are and what had happened.

Oh yeah. Surgery day. No more annoying gallbladder. No more sleepless nights. Freedom to eat what you want and not be haunted by nausea and sickness from what you ate.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Suddenly a nurse in bright blue scrubs is there, way too animated and loud at the moment, "Pain scale 1-10?"

"I don't have any pain. Zero." You're aware of how high you sound and a giggle escapes through the haze. That earns you a smile from Harry, one that lights up his whole face and makes his dimples shine through.

"Awesome! Well then as soon as you're good and awake we're gonna get this IV out and go over some paperwork for both of you to sign. I want you to drink something for me too, so what would you like?"

You request a ginger ale and as soon as the nurse leaves to retrieve it for you, Harry scoots the chair he's sitting in as close to the bed as possible.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours," He absentmindedly fixes your hair, looping various curls back around to their respective places, "Took a little longer than expected, you had a small infection so they had to make sure it hadn't spread."

"How much longer?"

"Long enough you had us all slightly worried." His hand trails down your cheek to cup your chin gently, urging you to look at him, "You sure you're not in pain? Now's not the time to do that stubbornly brave thing you do where you pretend nothing's wrong."

"I feel fine, really. Just a little tired, ready to go home."

He studies your face, trying to find any trace of dishonesty. When he's satisfied you're being truthful, he stands and extracts your phone from his pocket.

"Already talked to ya mum, but your co-workers were all texting you, asking how you were. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself, didn't know how much detail you would want to give them."

"Did you give my mother all the details? Infection and everything?"

"Um, no. I knew better than to do that. Promised her you would call when I got you settled at home."

"You promised or she demanded?"

"Okay..she politely asked that you call her when we get home."

"That sounds more like her." You roll your eyes, pushing yourself so you're sitting more upright in the bed.

"She just worries about you." He adjusts the pillow behind you, fluffing and tucking it where you direct it, against your lower back.

"I know. I'll FaceTime her when we get home to prove I'm alive."

"It's been a while since we've seen them, maybe we should plan a visit?" He plops himself back in the chair, leaning back as far as he can go; hands behind his head, eyes closed. You'd both gotten very little sleep the night before, you were too anxious and he was too gracious to let you suffer alone.

"Oh please, I'm lucky I even got time off to do this. My boss would never allow another break so soon."

"Maybe for the holidays?"

"Maybe..but only if you can go with me, you know they love you more than me by now anyway."

"They do not," He peeks one eye open at you, "They love us both equally."

You shoot a quick text to your co-workers, using the group chat between the few of you to make it easier.

I'm out! Feeling okay for now but that might change later lol

The nurse is back, apologizing for taking so long, "We've been so behind all day, it's crazy busy. I had to wait for your doctor to sign off on your release." She hands you a can of ginger ale, white bendy straw already poised and ready for you.

"Just need you to sign here," She holds a clipboard and a pen out to you and you balance the can dangerously in one hand while you scribble something that resembles your signature. Close enough. She gestures for you to pass the clipboard to Harry, "His signature goes under yours, just says he's responsible for you for the next few hours until everything wears off."

"This means I'm the boss, right?" He leans over to grab the board, a wink thrown in your direction. He's enjoying himself way too much at the thought of being in control of you for the next few hours. Smug son of a bitch.

She takes the clipboard back and pulls off a yellow sheet of paper, "This is just your copy of what you signed, and also has post op instructions for your bandages. Your prescription's been sent to the pharmacy, and there's a brief summary of pain management information on the bottom there just in case you need it."

"Thank you." You transfer it right to Harry's waiting hand, knowing he'll be the one surveying every word, making sure you follow everything to the letter.

"I know you mentioned earlier having a little bit of a drive home, so probably once you get her some food and pick up her prescriptions, it'll be time for another round of meds. Okay?" She turns to you again, "I know it sounds silly, but one of the most important things after this particular surgery is lots of walking. Otherwise you'll be miserable. Rest for a while when you get home, then get up every 10 minutes or so until bedtime. Don't let her skip that part, alright? Very important."

"I heard you weren't a big fan of this thing," She nods towards the IV in your right forearm, "So this'll probably be the best part of this whole process for you. We'll get this out and then you can get changed and we'll get someone to wheel you down and out of here, alright? Don't look and you won't even know when it's gone."

"Hey, think about what you want to eat, huh? Your first freedom meal. Yay!" He slips his hand into your left, raising your connected hands victoriously. You didn't think it was possible for you to love him anymore until this moment. The way he could so easily erase your fear was one of his many gifts you adored him for, "What are we having, babe?"

You don't even hesitate before answering, "Pizza, from Milano's. It's my favorite, other than that one place in Italy you took me to. Please? Oh and one of their salads, with the little bread knots on the side!"

He glances at the nurse, awaiting a reprimand for your meal choice.

"As your nurse, I feel I should remind you that while you can have anything you feel like eating, we usually recommend something small and light at first. Broth or soup with some toast, maybe. The salad may be fine, but the pizza might be a little heavy. Taking it slow would be best. But everyone is different."

"So..just cheese then? Maybe some mushrooms?"

You let your head fall back against the pillow, a foggy haze settling over you, "Plain cheese, no mushrooms."

"Alright, sounds good. Why don't I go call it in and pull the car around? Meet you out front?" He leans closer, a quick peck to your cheek before pulling his hand loose from yours and turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," You attempt to tug at his wrist, but fail, your brain still set to slow-motion. He takes pity on you and returns to your side, "Let's eat there. It's in the mall so we can window shop after we eat."

"You sure? You still seem a bit tipsy, honey."

You don't feel tipsy. Just tired, and hungry. Very hungry. As if on cue, your stomach makes a remarkably loud noise; an objection at not being fed for the past 12 hours.

"Alright, alright, calm down. " You let out an embarrassed groan when you realize he's talking to your stomach, "We'll eat there."

He kisses you again, closer to your mouth, "Missed."

"I did, huh?" He chuckles, close enough to your face now your noses are almost touching, "Let's try again."

This time his lips meet yours and you know he missed on purpose the first time by how amused he looks when he pulls away.

"One more for luck?" You can't resist letting the back of your hand wander over his face, before resting the palm of your hand against his cheek.

"I think I can handle that," He smiles before landing another quick peck to your lips, "Be good for the nurse while I'm gone. I'll have the getaway car ready in 10, yeah?"

You're certain Harry would have fed you if you would have let him, right here in the mall food court in front of everyone. But you refuse, insisting even, on carrying your own tray to the table. He chuckles when you pull your phone out of your sweater pocket to take a picture of your food, quickly uploading it to Facebook.

He watches you closely as you take the first bite, even pulling his own phone out to sneak a photo of you when you temporarily close your eyes to appreciate the indulgence of being able to eat one of your favorite foods again; free from that anxious feeling of whether or not it would settle right with your body later. You open your eyes the very moment after he captured the image.

"Harry!"

"You just looked so happy! I couldn't help it. You know I'll never post it anyway. Snagged a few of you earlier in your little blue cap they made you wear too." He flips back through to show you. You try to snatch the phone away, but he's too quick to pull his hand back and stash his phone in his pocket.

"When??"

"After you fell asleep, right before they came to take you back."

He takes a bite from his own generous slice of pizza in front of him before gesturing to your tray, "How is it?"

"Amazing. Even better than before, if possible."

His smile is bright, loving the satisfaction of seeing you actually enjoy food again.

Your plan to walk around the mall was cut short, you could barely make it through one store without yawning. You cling to Harry most of the way back to the car, his arm securely wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You doze off on the drive home, and when your eyes flutter open you find him opening the passenger door, offering a hand to help lift you out of the car and up the stairs into the house. Your foot stumbles on the first step, failing to make contact and you almost fall back.

"Easy," He giggles, an arm thrown behind your back to catch you before encouraging softly, "Try again."

When he's confident you're stable enough on your feet, he lets go to unlock the door.

You're greeted by a bouquet of flowers, a colorful arrangement of roses and lilies from Harry's band mates. You immediately recognize Sarah's handwriting on the card and make a mental note to shoot everyone a thank you text later. You don't know if it's the medication still in your system, the exhaustion of the day, or the overwhelming amount of love that makes you teary eyed.

Harry stands behind you as you admire the flowers and the card, arms curving around to hug you, careful of the large bandage on your upper abdomen and the two smaller steri-strips on your right side.

"How did they know pink roses were my favorite?"

"They love you, peach." He rests his chin on your shoulder, "Besides, you've only mentioned growing up with a pink rose bush in your Nanna's garden about a hundred times."

"I always loved it. Still do."

Your mind travels back to your earliest memories spent there; summers when you practically lived at the small house on the hill. Helping pick tomatoes and peppers from the garden, too warm afternoons spent with a book in your lap under the shade of a peach tree, your grandfather's corny jokes and loving smile. Your Nanna's too generous portions of food contributing to the few extra curves you still carried with you to this day.

You don't even notice the tears at first. They slip down your cheeks and land on his arm. Once you realize, you try to quickly wipe them away, but Harry sees.

"Hey..c'mon, I think your high's wearing off a bit, bub. Pajamas, meds, nap. Sound good?" He turns you to face him, using the sleeve of his shirt to brush away any tears that still linger at the corner of your eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 3..why?"

"No nap. I'll never sleep tonight, and you know how grumpy I get when my sleep schedule is thrown off." Even with your declaration of not wanting a nap, you can't help but rub your eyes, a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. Any resolve Harry had to try to convince you to nap melts away. A smirk on his face, he knows you'll eventually crash later, most likely on his chest or in his arms. He's content to let you be stubborn for now.

"Okay, then. New plan. Pajamas, meds, movie. Better?"

"Better. You get everything ready and pick the movie while I change?"

"You don't wanna pick the movie?"

You wave him off, already shuffling towards the bedroom, "You're the boss today, remember?"

You take your time gathering what you need to get cozy for the rest of the day, selecting an oversized, well-worn tie dye t-shirt and leggings from your dresser. You even take a moment to dip into Harry's extensive sweatshirt collection, grabbing your favorite one. It's amazingly soft and still smells of him, a faint scent of his cologne and well..just Harry. You couldn't imagine anything more comforting.

In your pursuit to feel more lucid, you venture into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face. The cool water instantly refreshes you and pushes you closer to feeling like yourself again. Wanting your hair out of your face, you pluck a scrunchy from your shared collection of hair accessories. You quickly recognize that your arms still have that too heavy feeling of unconsciousness and after a few attempts to gather your curls into some sort of up-do, you give up and loop the accessory around your wrist to try again later.

Harry senses your frustration when you find him in the kitchen, two small green pill bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. He's already filled your favorite cup with ice water, and you gratefully take it and drink from it.

"What's wrong?" His brow creases with concern and you feel guilty for making him worry over something so silly.

"Nothing..just wanted my hair up out of my face but my arms wouldn't cooperate." You try to laugh it off to put him more at ease, "It's not a big deal."

You know it's only the weariness of the day still making you feel so emotional, clear-headed you would not be upset over something so small.

"Here. Let me try." He slides the scrunchy from your wrist and pulls you closer to him, moving behind you to gently work long fingers through your hair, gathering it all in a loose ponytail on top of your head before securing it around a few times with the scrunchy.

You let your shoulders drop with a deep sigh when he's done, it was such a simple thing, but it made you feel so much lighter. He spins you around to face him, a charming gleam of pride at his handiwork adorning his face, "Too tight?"

"No. Much better. Thank you, Harry. You take such good care of me always, but today..I don't know what I would've done without you. I made such a big fuss and probably made you miserable with all of my worrying." You're suddenly very aware that you are rambling, but when you catch a glimpse of his face, his smile is wide. So bright that the skin around his eyes is crinkling.

He leans towards you, lips stopping whatever words may have come next, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer in a soft, warm embrace. When he pulls away, his eyes bore right into yours, and your heart swells with more love than you could ever imagine having for one person. But he wasn't just any person. He was your person, your whole word staring back at you.

"I'm SO proud of you. You've been so strong today, always knew you had that strength in you, but seeing you take that leap of faith..doing something you knew you should despite your fear, that's all you, love. I can't take any credit for that. You've made me anything but miserable, trust me."

His face is still close enough to yours that you nudge forward, pressing your forehead to his, a silent appreciation of his affection.

"Any pain yet?" He pulls back, a thumb across your cheek, eyes still locked on yours.

"My head kind of hurts? And I still just feel kind of..drunk."

"You have always been a bit of a lightweight, babe. And a thief too, I see. S'that my sweatshirt?"

"Have not!" You swat playfully at his arm, "Maybe. Is that my hair clip in your hair?"

"Possibly." His eyes dart up to the swoop of curls on top of his head, a black plastic clip twisting it back and away from his face.

"Guess we're even then."

"S'pose we are." He tries to keep his eyes narrowed in a mock attempt of annoyance, but it quickly fades into laughter.

You decide against FaceTiming your family, hoping that hearing your voice will be enough. It seems to satisfy them at least for the rest of the day. You assure them that Harry is taking very good care of you and that everything went as smooth as could be expected.

He raises one eyebrow at you as you hang up, "As smooth as expected, huh? You aren't going to tell them the truth?"

"What's to tell? I had an infection and now it's gone. I'm fine, there's no sense in worrying them. We can give them the full story later."

He shrugs, fingers working to open one of the green pill bottles before passing one of the white pills to you, "For your headache, lovie. There's something here for nausea too if you need it. M'worried the pizza might've been too much. Maybe you should take one of these..just in case?"

"Harry, I promise I will tell you if I feel anything other than fine." Your hand runs from his shoulder down his bicep, squeezing gently, "Besides, I cannot take a whole one of those. If you think I'm a lightweight now..I'll sleep for the whole week if I take that."

He slips the bottle in his pocket, pulling you in to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll keep it close just in case, okay?"

"Sounds good," Your hand trails back up to his neck to work fingers through his hair, "Hey, thought we were watching a movie? What'd you pick?"

"Thought we could decide together. C'mon, let's get you comfy in bed."

"Ever the gentleman, always trying to get me in your bed."

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," He chuckles, a hand coming to rest on the small of your back, "Just thought you'd be more comfortable, you can prop up and stretch your feet out."

You let him tug you along for the second time today, thankful it's the luxury of your shared bed you get to settle into this time. He tucks you in softly, propping pillows behind your back and head.

"Comfy? Need anything else?"

"No, just need you to quit babying me so much and relax with me for a bit."

"Since when am I not allowed to baby you?"

You roll your eyes, "Never said you weren't allowed. Just want you to stop worrying so much, that's all."

"Good. Cause y'are my baby," No matter how many times you'd heard him say it before, it never failed to make you blush, "Do anything for you, y'know that, right?"

"I know," You look down at your hands, trying to slow your racing heart, "You never let me forget."

"Hey," He pokes your cheek, pulling your gaze back up to him, "I love you."

"I love you more, H."

He kisses your forehead, "Impossible. I love you most."

The reference to one of your favorite movies has you smiling at him, that dreamy feeling falling over you again, "Can we watch Tangled?"

"Sure, princess."

He sinks next to you, head propped up on your shoulder, navigating easily through Disney+ to find your requested movie.

Your eyes drift closed right about the time the lanterns are being released in the sky, a moment that normally leaves your face wet with tears, the soft vibrations of Harry humming along the perfect lullaby to push you further into your dream.

He wakes you later in the evening.

"Dinner's on the table if you want to join me."

"Time's it?" Your voice is still heavy with sleep.

"7. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you, thought your body could use the extra sleep today."

"Yeah. It was nice, thank you." You stretch your arms forward, reaching for his hands to help pull you up.

"How do you feel?"

"A little sore. More sober, for sure."

Dinner is simple; a bowl of plain broth, salad, and toast. Exactly what the nurse suggested earlier. There's even a warm mug of tea waiting for you.

"With honey for my honey," He's so proud of his cheesy expression of love you cannot help but smile.

You look at him curiously when he sits next to you, the same boring meal set out for himself.

"Harry..you can eat what you want, babe. Seriously you've done enough today, more than enough to be supportive. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you made yourself something different."

"Nah. S'fine. We're in this together, yeah?"

You raise your eyebrows at him playfully, "Did you have an organ snatched from your body today?"

"No, I didn't." He laughs, "I just meant food wise, love. It's vegetable broth, by the way, hope that's alright."

"It's perfect."

You nudge him lightly, an elbow to his side, shifting closer to ask for a kiss. He meets you the rest of the way, lips planted firmly on yours. When you don't pull away, he quickly adds another.

After dinner is done and you have another round of meds, the two of you end up in an awkward ball of cuddles on the couch. Harry flips through the channels on the tv before finding a show you both agree on.

But you're too restless, unable to find a position comfortable enough for you. You shift a few times, finally giving up and letting out a frustrated groan before tossing the blanket off the both of you and springing up and off the couch.

Harry doesn't panic, just grabs your hand before you can get too far away or lose your balance, keeping his voice low when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hurts. I just can't get comfortable, and I don't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right, angel? Explain."

"I don't feel like myself. I don't know how to explain it. Just feel off."

He sees you're on the verge of tears and ascends from his spot on the couch, arms quickly enveloping you before placing a finger under your chin to pull your face up to look at him.

"It's probably gonna take a day or so to adjust, baby. Yes it was a minor surgery but it was a major change to your body." He's bending now to look right into your eyes, searching them, "How can we fix it tonight, hmm? What do you need?"

Tears are free flowing, falling on the front of your t-shirt and down to the floor.

"Take your time. Breathe." A large hand smoothing warm circles firmly across your back; a balm for your restless spirit.

You pause, deep breath in before slowly letting it out, "I think I just need to move around for a bit."

"Let's go for a walk, eh? A quick one and then back to bed. Your mind needs more rest. How's that sound?" He taps your forehead softly.

"Okay, yeah." You nod your head, an approval of his plan.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

You nod again, scared your voice will break if you try to speak. He knew that those words held a lot of weight for you, he'd repeated them often throughout this whole process and to hear them now was a reminder of how safe you were. That with him, you would always be safe and loved.

Being dark outside meant you gracelessly padding through the house, up and down the hallway a few times and back to the living room. Harry stays close, encouraging you along with little claps and kisses to motivate you. When your stomach starts to feel uneasy, he urges you once again to take something for nausea. You agree to take a half a pill, knowing it'll help you sleep.

Despite the nap you had earlier and only being awake for a couple of hours, it doesn't take much convincing for you to settle back into bed.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He's already reclined next to you, book in hand, the soft light from the lamp illuminating one side of his face. You're smushed against him, drifting between that sweet space of almost asleep and wanting to stay awake to enjoy any spare moment you get with him. His hand working through your hair helps push you towards the former of the two.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden today," Your words are slurring together but you continue on, just needing to get your thoughts out before he can stop you, "I don't deserve you and I shouldn't have overreacted so much about something so simple."

"Hey, none of that now," He lays the book on the nightstand, careful to save his place for later before pulling you closer to him, "You were not, nor have you ever been a burden to me. Just because you needed a little extra help today does not mean you aren't deserving of me or my love. You will never have to earn that. It's yours, always has been, will be as long as you decide to keep me around."

"Thank you. For all of it. I'll always want you."

"Always? Y'might change your mind someday, angel."

"I won't. Promise."

"Yeah? Me either."

A kiss laid delicately to the top of your head has your eyes dangerously close to falling shut again before another thought navigates its way through your mind and out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"H..what am I gonna do with a full week off from work?"

"Let me take care of you?"

And that's exactly what he does.

Mornings spent sleeping in, late breakfasts made together and afternoon walks. Evenings consisting of the two of you preparing dinner together or ordering takeout from some of the forbidden places you couldn't eat from before. Mugs of herbal tea before early bedtimes, you sweetly falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading to you most nights.

But his favorite part was that the scent of lavender was no longer cursed for you. Some nights before your surgery, when you simply could not fall asleep the pain was so unbearable, you would fill the tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles to try to calm yourself enough to be able to drift off afterwards. It never worked, the heat always doing more harm than good. Harry would always be waiting for you, open arms and a soft towel to wrap you in.

So the smell became one you hated, memories of sleepless nights and nausea. But now you were free to use it again for what you always loved it for before it was cursed. In your body wash, lotion, even your laundry detergent; spreading the scent all over your shared space in as many ways as you could.

He even mentions it one night after dinner, when the two of you are pressed impossibly close together on the couch. His nose buried into your neck, inhaling deeply, pulling away to announce, "You smell like you again, love. Missed it so much." He burrows back in, placing kisses from your neck to your shoulder, ignoring your giggles and protests of how much it tickles.

A week later, the alarm wakes you sooner than you've become accustomed to, reminding you of your return to work. Harry's arm thrown over your waist pulls you closer as you try to leave the bed, a sleepy "Don't go." mumbled in your ear.

You do your best to peel yourself away from him, admitting silently to yourself how much harder it is for you to leave the warmth of your bed as it is for him to let you go.

2 years later, you have a scar you swear didn't heal right, and a man who loves you even more because of it.

#harry styles imagine #harry x reader #my writing #so happy this is finally done and being posted!#soooooo many times I almost just deleted it bc I didn't know how to feel about it #but anyway hope y'all enjoy!

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i-am-ironic · 4 years

Text

The time that Dick dragged Marinette and Damian to the police because damian was nice to someone.

The title is a bit of an over simplification but it got the most votes and i think its funny. This probably isn't what you were expecting but damian wasn't expecting it ether so here we go!

Part 2

*********************

Damian was not having a good day. It had started out fine. He had gone to Wayne Enterprises to look over some paperwork and was planning on introducing his long time girlfriend to his family later that day. As he was headed back home he saw a flower shop, it had been a while since he had gotten marinette anything after work so he decided to stop and get her a bouquet.

He picked out a beautiful set of flowers, with lilys and some yellow flower he didn't know the name of.

But, as he was walking down the sidewalk toward his car a woman stopped him and said, "would you mind holding this for me? Just for a second?"

Now usually he would say no but marinette had been telling him he needed to be nicer to people so he said, "yes, just hurry."

He soon learned he should not have said that.

The woman handed him a bundle. Right before sprinting back to the flower shop and around the corner.

Damian's first though was 'well crap. This is a bundle of dr*gs isn't it?'

He carefully stated to unrap the bundle so he wouldn't disrupt what ever was in there. He didn't want any of it on him and he didn't want to touch any of it.

Well it wasn't dr*gs.

When he removed the blanket from the top of the bundle he found a face. The eyes were closed and the little pink mouth was open. Soft black hair was poking out from the edge of the blanket.

This was a baby.

He was just handed a baby on the sidewalk.

The baby was asleep.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't process what just happened. So he did what any logical man would do. He walked to his car, and got in it. Then he realized he couldn't drive anywhere with the baby so he got out of the car and started walking back to his apartment.

He must have looked pretty strange walking down the street with flowers in one hand and a baby in the other. He was still wearing the suit from the office and he was a Wayne. As the youngest of the Wayne's and only blood son he was pretty recognizable by the public.

When he finally reached the apartment the first thing he said after walking in the door was, "Marinette I'm never going to be nice to anyone again."

"Why babe?" Marinette called from the kitchen where she was cooking something for dinner. "What's wrong? Oh you brought me flowers how kind!" She grabbed the flowers turning on her heal to go put them in some water.

"Mari, im sure what ever you are cooking will be great," he said, she knew that today was his day to cook but they would have to talk about her overworking herself later, "I need some help over here."

"Why? What happened........." she saw the baby but then put her head in her hand before saying, " Damian Wayne is that a baby?"

"It is and I don't know what to do, and we don't have milk or diapers, or clothes, or....... Marinette? Are you okay?"

"Just give me a minute, I wasn't expecting my boyfriend to come home with a baby today." She stood there for a second before shaking her head and looking back up at damian. "OK so we have a baby. I guess we should see if he or she needs to be changed before we go to the store."

"We don't have any diapers." Damien added helpfully.

Marinette took the baby and walked to the living room as she said, "okay so go to the kitchen and get a towel and while you are in there turn off the stove."

As damian looked for a towel he heard marinette yell from the other room, "its a girl!"

After the 'diaper' situation was taken care of the two of them just stared at each other and the baby between them. She had woken up. She had the biggest blue eyes ether of them had ever seen. She couldn't be more then a month or two old. But she wasn't crying. She just looked around.

"Okay, so," mari started, "how about you tell me how you acquired a baby girl, in the car to the store."

"Yeah, about that, um, you see I didn't have a car seat so I just kind of walked here from the flower shop."

"Of course you did. It's fine we can walk, ill hold the baby if you promise to carry all the stuff we buy."

"Deal." He could carry all the things they would need, plus it would give him a great excuse to show off.

"So.... are you going to tell me where you got this baby?"

"Well, pretty much i went to get you flowers and as I was leaving a lady asked me to hold something for her and I remembered how you told me to be nicer to people so I agreed and then she took off running and I saw the baby and brought her home."

"So a lady just handed you a baby and ran, dang. You are aware no one is going to believe you right?" Mari said still trying to process everything.

"Yes I'm aware. Anyway we can't keep calling her 'the baby' we have to give her a name."

"Any ideas?"

"Marry."

"Kate."

"Emma."

"We are not naming her emma. What about Adélie?"

"How about Martha?"

"After your grandmother? That would be a good middle name." She paused for a moment, "I know Gabrielle, Gabby for short."

"Gabrielle Martha Dupan-chang al Ghul Wayne, poor kid has such a long name." Damien laughed.

"We might not be able to keep her dames, then what?"

"First we are going to get clothes, diapers, clean blankets and some formula. Then we can go to the police and file a report for fear for the safety of a child. The fact that she was just handed to me on the street should be enough evidence, they should give us custody until everything goes through. In the mean time we can try to get approved to foster her and maybe even adopt."

"One step at a time."

By this point the two of them had reached the store. (Im imagining like a Walmart or Target type of store) They made a bee line for the baby section. Neither of them had any idea what to look for and they didn't want to call any more attention to themselves then they already had. After all this was Damian Wayne walking into a store with a girl no one knew, and a baby, who had a dish towel wrapped around her waist. Needless to say people were staring.

Marinette picked out three outfits, a pastel purple dress, a green onesie and a blue onesie. Then they got some bottles and pacifiers before heading over to the diaper section. Neither of them expected to see Dick Grayson-Wayne walk around the corner as they were trying to figure out how many diapers a baby really needed for a few days.

The shock on Dick's face was worth all the questions he was inevitably going to ask. First he looked at his brother, then marinette, then the baby products damian was holding, and finally the baby in marinette's arms. He closed his mouth that had been hanging open and nodded, walking over to the three of them.

"Im not going to ask about the dress," he said Indicating the baby clothes marinette had handed damian " or the girl, and frankly I'm too scared to ask about the baby, but are you still coming to dinner tonight?"

"We don't know yet." Obviously annoyed Damian looked between his brother and marinette, "we didn't expect to have a baby this morning, so the plan has changed."

"What do you mean you didn't expect to have a baby? If you're girlfriend is pregnant then you are going to have a baby! That's usually how that works. Honestly Damian!" Then he seemed to remember all the days of school Damian had missed because of Robin dutys, "oh no. Damian when you were in high school did you miss the class called-"

"Im going to stop you right there," Marinette finally cut in "um, you see this isn't, exactly,our baby."

"And to the police we go!" Dick said dragging them out of the store barely letting them pay for their stuff. When ever ether of them tried to speak he would shush them and say they should tell it to the judge.

Did he honestly think they had stolen a baby? Well, to be fair, that's pretty much what Bruce did to Jason soooo....... and he had just met marinette and didn't know what kind of person she was. But they were planning on going to the police after the store anyway so this actually worked out.

Once they arrived marinette went to the bathroom with Gabby to change her diaper and put on some of the clothes. Damian and Dick went to Commissioner Gordon so Damian could explain the situation.

Marinette walked in right as damian was finishing the story, " And Dick saw us in the picking out a bottle and he asked about the baby and when I told him she wasn't our he dragged us here."

"So what your telling me is that you want to keep the baby until and unless the parent or gardien comes forward?" Commissioner Gordon looked quite surprised, "Damien you are so young, you don't need a baby that isn't your responsibility, and what does your girlfriend think about all of this?"

"I agree with damian," the three men looked up at Marinette holding baby Gabrielle, they had been so caught up in their talk they hadn't noticed her walk in, "i know what foster care is like, one of my roommate was in the system and she barely mad it out alive, it's been years but she still has nightmares and calls me in the middle of the night. Ha," her laugh was humorless and cold, "we bonded over our trama. I wont let this sweet little girl go through that when I can stop it."

Dick had slight tears in his eyes he remembered life before Bruce adopted him. There weren't many good memories. "I think they should keep her. If anything goes wrong they have the whole family to help, and no one should have to wonder where they are going to sleep that night."

"If you all are that determined then i'll start the paperwork. But," he said stopping the smile that had started to form on the new parents faces, "you will both have to agree to give her up if we end up finding her legal gardien, before you officially adopt her. After you adopt her she is yours and no one can take her back."

Marinette and Damian hugged making sure not to squish Gabrielle. They went back to the store, while Dick told the rest of the family Damian and his girlfriend would be a little bit late, and they had a surprise for everyone.

Damian walked in front of marinette as they entered the house.

Alfred the butler was there to great them, "good evening Master Damian and you must be miss mar-" the shock on Alfred's face was evident as he stared at Damian's tiny girlfriend holding a baby's car seat. "Is-is that?"

"Alfred could you please tell my family to gather in the living room we will be up in my room until then so they won't see the 'surprise'." He put emphasis on the word 'surprise' gesturing at the car seat.

Alfred nodded and smiled mischievously. Damian lead marinette to his room were they left all the baby stuff. When you have a baby you have to travel with a ridiculous amount of stuff.

When Alfred came back to get them he started at the baby girl, "what is her name?" He asked softly so he wouldn't wake her.

"Gabrielle Martha dupan-chang al Ghul Wayne." Damian answered just as softly.

"How old is she?"

"We aren't sure, we when to the doctor earlier today after we finished at the store and he said she was about two months old."

Alfred looked quite confused but knew they would explain once they got to the living room with the rest of the family.

Damian walked in first to block marinette and the baby from his family's view. The room was packed, there was Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Stephanie, and Barbara, not to mention Selina Kyle Alfred and Duke. When they had said the WHOLE family wanted to meet Damien's girlfriend they ment the whole family. When Damien sat down and they saw Marinette and Gabrielle, and i am not exaggerating when I say, all hell broke lose.

In the chaos it was hard to hear what specific people were saying but someone said, "i knew it wasn't like you to want us to meet your girlfriend now it all makes sense!" And "Well Bruce, at least he knows about his kid." There was also lots of swearing probably by Jason. Tim chugged an entire pot of coffee. Only Bruce was silent. He started at the them and waited for the room to quiet down.

"Damien, would you like to explain yourself?"

"Well this is all marinette's fault if you think about it."

Marinette looked offended as she responded "it is not my fault! You were the one who took a random baby home!"

"YOU KIDDNAPED A BABY!!!" Jason cut in.

"I mean its kinda the opposite of kidnapping if you think about it."

"I did not kidnap Gabrielle, she was handed to me on the street and I didn't know what to do so I took her home."

"Oh my God!" At this point everyone was confused. "What do you mean she was handed to you on the street?"

"Well i was walking out of the flower shop and a lady came up to me and asked if I would hold something for her and I said yes, so she gave me something and took off running. I looked down and there was a baby. I took her home and then marinette and I went to the store to get her some stuff. That was when we saw Dick. When he found out Gabrielle wasn't our baby he took us to the police i explained everything to them and we are going to keep her until her guardians can be found. If they don't find anyone we are going to keep her."

"What a story." Tim said. "Well that clears that up let's eat."

They continued talking late into the night about all the things that would have to change. But all things considered it went pretty well.

When the little family got home marinette went through the blankets Gabrielle had been wrapped in and found a letter.

"Dear Mr. Wayne,

This is my daughter, I don't have the money to take care of her, please give her a good life I don't know what will happen if she is put in the foster care system and I don't want to think about it. If you decide to keep her I will sign over all parental rights to you, I just ask that you give her the life that I couldn't, and that you let me see her on holidays. My name is Amanda Jones you can find me if you want to or just let me be. tell her I love her but I couldn't keep her. I love her so much."

She would have to give this to the police in the morning. But for now she had to get some sleep before Gabrielle woke up.

***************

This took forever to write but here it is i hope everyone likes it and thank you to everyone who voted on the name for this. I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out but its not bad, and I don't think it's going to get any better.

(Part 2)

@wannajointhecrabcult

@corabeth11

@i-wanna-be-a-ninja

@animegirlweeb

@spyofthenightcourt

#batfam #damian wayne #damien #maridami #marinette cheng #marinette x damian #miraculous marinette #maribat #marinette x damian happy #daminette #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #bruce wayne

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themurphyzone · 3 years

Text

PatB Nova Ch 6

Ch 6: Eccentricity

AN: Loved some of the PatB shorts more than others (You know my eternal hatred for THAT one). But that’s a story for another day. I’m sticking to the 90s versions of these characters though. For now. I might have a gander at the reboot versions someday. You never know!

Ch 6 FFN Link

April 22, 2015! Narf! You’ll never guess what happened, Mickey Mouse. I met the Brain! Well, I’ve only known him for about four months, or less than two days, depending on how you wanna look at it, but if anything happened to him, I would make myself watch Shyamalan’s The Last Airbender!

Tomorrow, I’m going to the mall and buying a hat. Can’t root for Farfignetown (I have to ask her how she spells her name!) at the Derby without a super fancy hat!

Love,

Pinky.

PS: Tell Minnie I said hi!

o-o-o-o-o

Pinky stepped back to admire his handiwork, the tip of his blue glitter gel pen pressing under his chin as he leaned against it. He did his best to copy Brain’s messages, but he was probably gonna have to write only the first letters only in the future. He didn’t want to take up the entire calendar page again.

His ears twitched at a scraping sound behind him. The sparkly gel smeared against his fur as he turned around, leaving a blue streak across his chest. Egad, if he continued to cover himself in the stuff, he’d look just like one of the Blue Men!

Brain pushed a heavy textbook across the counter, finally stopping underneath a light panel on the ceiling. Then he flipped it open, climbed up, and began to read.

It wasn’t the same book he’d started reading after they’d shaken hands to seal their new friendship either.

“Whatcha reading, Brain?” Pinky asked, slinging the gel pen over his shoulder. “I thought you were reading about jeans! So, find anything good? I think I like the flare type best. Skinny jeans make me chafe.”

“I have no idea what you’re blathering about, Pinky,” Brain said, not looking up from the page he was on. His head shifted from side to side as he read on, and Pinky imagined a giant, fluffy marshmallow making the same movements.

His stomach growled, and a marshmallow dinner sounded heavenly. With cheese fondue and rainbow sprinkles and a light dollop of whipped cream on top…

Wait, no, no. The kitchen didn’t have Gruyere cheese! Processed American cheese wouldn’t provide that proper creamy texture at all.

What kind of host was he? Unable to serve proper cheese fondue to his alien guest?

Then Brain hopped off the book, growling to himself as he pushed up on the hard cover and the few pages he turned. The pages slid into place, but he wasn’t tall enough to get the cover to close the entire way.

“Do you need help, Brain?” Pinky asked. He dropped the gel pen and grasped the cover’s edge, but Brain smacked him sharply on the wrist, forcing Pinky to let go. Pinky flicked his wrist, and the sting quickly disappeared.

“Don’t patronize me! I can get it myself!” Brain snarled. He pushed on the cover again, and it rose a couple inches in the air, only to land against his fingertips. He growled and spread his feet, jumping as he pushed on the cover once more. This time, the cover slammed into the pages with a heavy thud. “Your sources of information are woefully lacking with your livable yet rudimentary conditions. Penumbra had a much better database, and it’s been dilapidated for a long time.”

Pinky had no idea what dilapidated was. Probably something to do with laps though.

“Oh, well if you need more reading material, I’ve got just the thing!” Pinky said, motioning for Brain to follow him over to a tiny side table where all the magazines were stacked. “Let’s see, we’ve got Vogue, National Geographic, Reader’s Digest…ah, here we are! This one’s my favorite out of all the Zoobooks! Lots of pretty horses to look at. Zort!”

Pinky thumbed through the magazine until he found his favorite page, which had gorgeous art of a white horse running on grassy hills. “This one’s my favorite,” he said as he pressed the magazine into Brain’s hands. Brain nearly went cross-eyed just trying to look at it, but he held out his hands and pushed the pages back until they weren’t so close to his face. “I named her Pharfignewton after Pharfignewton! Isn’t her mane just the flowiest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Including or excluding your mind in that comparison?” Brain asked. He closed the magazine and set it on top of the stack. “Your choice of reading material is peculiar, but I suppose brushing up on this planet’s ecology wouldn’t hurt.”

Pinky grinned. “If you think those are good, remind me to show you David Attenborough’s work sometime! His documentaries are amazing!”

Brain tilted his head, his antennae bobbing with the motion. “You’ve mentioned someone named Pharfignewton multiple times. An acquaintance of yours?”

“She’s not a quail, Brain. She’s a horse, of course!” Pinky laughed at his little rhyme. “Oh right, I’ve never showed you pictures of her, have I? Where are my manners? Anyway, I left them in the cage. It’s right this way! Or left this way. I can never tell which.”

Pinky ran back to the cage and squeezed through the bars, Brain trailing behind at a much slower pace. As Pinky slid his right leg through the bars, he realized just how dirty the cage was. There was a small puddle by the water bottle, and straw was scattered all over the place. Crumbs littered the floor around the food bowl, and his wheel had a stain shaped like a pomegranate.

It just wouldn’t do at all!

“Sorry for the mess!” Pinky called to Brain, who was watching him curiously from outside the cage. “I didn’t know I’d be having a visitor today!”

But Brain didn’t seem to care about the mess. Instead, he prodded the locked cage door.

“Nicholas and Mr. Button, you’ve gotta wake up and help me clean!” Pinky said, shaking them frantically from where they were tucked into the straw. “Narf, you two were up talking late again, weren’t you?”

They were too asleep to respond though.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you sleep for now, but tomorrow I’ll be going over proper cagesitting behavior with both of you,” Pinky sighed. He carefully rolled up the photo of Pharfignewton he kept near the straw bed, hugging it close to his body as he slipped through the bars again.

“Pinky, those are inanimate objects,” Brain said, bending a paper clip until it was completely straight. He poked one of the sharp ends and winced. “They won’t respond to you.”

“They’re real life objects, Brain. They’re not animated,” Pinky said. “Whatcha doing with that paper clip?”

Brain pressed his ear against the cage door, carefully maneuvering the paper clip into the lock. It slipped a quarter of the way in before Brain yanked it out again, his eyes darting around the room as if something would swoop down on them.

When nothing happened, he went back to inserting the paper clip. “Nothing to disable here. There’s no alarm system on the door,” Brain said, turning to Pinky. “I thought you were squeezing through the bars to avoid triggering it.”

“I’ve never had an alarm before. Do you think I should get one?” Pinky asked. “Just so nobody tries to burger my wheel or water bottle? Hmm, what would a burger with those ingredients even taste like? Not very appetizing, probably.”

Brain only stared at him, the paper clip almost slipping from his hand in surprise. “Don’t tell me the only reason you haven’t used the door is because you can’t unlock it.”

Pinky nodded. “Okay. I won’t tell you the only reason I haven’t used the door is because I cannot for the life of me figure out how to unlock it.”

Shaking his head in dismay, Brain reinserted the bent paper clip until it was halfway in, then turned it clockwise (or was it counterclockwise? Pinky always got them mixed up).

“There,” he said, letting the door swing open. “Now you can enter and exit as you please like a civilized mos.”

“Egad, that’s brilliant!” Pinky stepped inside the cage, then back out. In and out again, and again, and he almost started dancing the Hokey Pokey, which would’ve been a whole lot of fun, but Brain still hadn’t seen Pharfignewton’s photo!

Now that was a real tongue twister there!

“This is Pharfignewton, Brain! Isn’t she pretty?” Pinky asked, pressing the photo into Brain’s hands.

The photo had been taken two weeks ago, when her owner had hired a professional to photograph Pharfignewton as she sprinted around the field. Pharfignewton had given Pinky her personal favorite, one that showed her hooves flying through the air and her gorgeous mane streaming in the sunlight. She was having the time of her life, and she couldn’t have picked a better photo to give him.

“There’s certainly an uncanny resemblance,” Brain admitted. “And the size discrepancy between you and her is incredibly blatant. Not to mention the species difference.”

Pinky crossed his arms. “Oh, don’t be so intolerant, Brain. She’s big cause she’s a horse, and I’m small cause I’m a mouse. But we make it work.”

Pharfignewton would be gone for the next two months, possibly more when she achieved the Triple Crown. It would be lonely, but he could manage.

“You mentioned she was far away when I interrogated you.” Brain set the photo down, smoothing out a corner though it didn’t have any wrinkles.

“She’s still on the road to the Derby, I think. Can’t really get in touch with her though. Phones are kinda tricky with hooves, you know.” Pinky said. “She’s wanted the Triple Crown her entire life. So that’s why I gotta make a giant hat and root for her when she races!”

“I don’t understand how a hat factors into all this,” Brain said.

“Zort! I dunno,” Pinky shrugged. “You can’t have a Derby without horses, hats, and My Old Kentucky Home. Otherwise it wouldn’t be much of a Derby then, would it?”

Brain folded his arms. “I’m currently debating if I should take your words at face value or not. Your customs make no sense whatsoever.”

Pinky thought they made perfect sense, and cents, and all of the five senses really, but his stomach growled and that thought was soon forgotten. Brain never had Earth food before, had he?

Definitely a job for a genetically altered Earth mouse to show him the ropes!

But first, Pinky had to clean the gel off his fur. It was starting to clump into spikes, and that wouldn’t do at all.

o-o-o-o-o

Pinky rinsed himself in the sink, sticking out his tongue to lap up some of the cool water as it trickled out of the faucet. Thankfully, the gel hadn’t settled into his fur and was very easy to wash away. And flicking the water around the sink with his tail was loads of fun too!

Brain stayed on the outer rim, pulling on the stopper and handles by the sink out of curiosity. He edged closer to the stream of water, almost touching it with a gloved hand, but decided against it. But he wouldn’t stop staring at it either, like he’d never seen water in his life.

Maybe he hadn’t?

The moon was made of cheese and not water after all. Water would make the cheese all soggy and mushy and wash away the cheesy taste that made cheese so delicious.

“C’mon, Brain! Poit!” Pinky pushed his fingers together, trying to send a squirt of water up to Brain, though it missed his nose by a mile and landed on a small crumb on the slope of the sink instead. “The water’s just fine!”

“I’ll have to decline your offer, Pinky,” Brain said. “My information about water is rather lacking, and I’d rather not cover myself in a substance without knowing more.”

“I guess water would leave the moon cheese not very tasty to eat, huh?” Pinky asked. He braced himself and shot out of the tiny waterfall, and he was very glad for all the focus he’d put into leg exercises recently, because his running start was enough to get him over the rim on his first try. “Well, all you need to know is that water is wet, it splishy-splashes all over the place, and it’s fun to play Marco Polo in!”

Brain didn’t look convinced though. He removed one of his black gloves and touched a puddle, rubbing the water between his fingers curiously.

Pinky turned off the water, then dried himself off with a fluffy towel. He double checked his chest to make sure the gel was completely gone and patted down his fur.

“This way, Brain!” Pinky called, jumping off the counter and onto a spinny chair. The seat twirled around for a bit, making him slightly dizzy, but it was all in jolly good fun. Brain carefully climbed down, gripping the drawer handles and moving slowly. He slipped on the last handle and landed awkwardly on his right leg. He grimaced for a moment, his nose scrunching up rather adorably. “Blueberry bagels and cream cheese, here we come!”

“Your sustenance on Terra, I assume?” Brain asked. He followed Pinky through a corridor and into the kitchen, his large head turning every which way to take in all the sights of ACME Lab. Now that it was daytime, there were more colors than just shadowy blue. Pinky wondered if Brain would try to name the colors he saw. Pinky tried once, but there were just too many pretty colors streaming in from the window pane above.

“They aren’t consonants, Brain. They’re delicious and all, but they wouldn’t fit with the alphabet. A little bit of a mouthful, don’t you think? Poit!” Pinky climbed up the cherry-print towel hanging on the refrigerator door like he’d done a million times before. He braced himself against the fridge door, pressed his legs against the handle, and pushed with all his might, feeling that familiar strain of his stomach muscles.

The door opened with a satisfying pop. Breathing heavily, Pinky tumbled more than he climbed down the towel, landing on the cold floor of the refrigerator.

“S-surely there has to be a more e-efficient way to open a door than your method.” Brain’s teeth chattered together, his ears flattening to avoid the sudden chill. He took a few steps away from the open fridge, his arms folded in front of his chest. “Is it a-always this cold?”

“Oh, I haven’t even opened up the freezer! If you think this is cold, you’ll really feel like a mousesicle in there! But it’s worth it if you wanna get to the strawberry ice cream with the cute little mini spoons! Maybe some other time though. Right now, it’s important to get a daily serving of cheese!” Pinky exclaimed as he pushed two small tubs of cream cheese from a middle shelf. They each landed on the floor with a thud, and Pinky jumped down and retrieved them, closing the fridge door behind him with his foot.

Brain sighed in relief as soon as the door was closed, his arms dropping to his sides.

“They keep the blueberry bagels by the bagel warmer,” Pinky said as he led Brain out of the kitchen and into a room that had been marked with a yellow and black caution sign. The bagels were so delicious they even had to warn everyone to take caution! “Oh, now that’s a tongue twister. Blueberry bagels by the bagel warmer. Boobelly beige by the baguette warmer...oh, that’s a toughie. I’ll work on it.”

The bagel warmer was an oddly shaped toaster, with lots of wires and bulbs sticking out along the sides and top. It even had a conveyor belt running through it, but Pinky thought it made this toaster really unique among toasters. Why, he’d even been toasted in this toaster himself! Though it wasn’t as much fun as crispy pieces of bread made it seem. He just remembered a lot of smoke and electricity. And there’d been a lot of narf inside too.

Pinky set the tubs of cream cheese on the floor, then climbed up to the conveyor belt, which was propped on metallic cylinders.

“This is so much easier with two mice!” Pinky crowed. He peered down at Brain, who curiously poked at a red wire on the floor. “I don’t mind eating bagels by themselves, but there’s something about toasty bagels that just warms the heart!”

“If they’re truly that delectable, I suppose there’s no harm in trying it,” Brain replied.

“Did your file thingies say anything about Earth food?” Pinky asked. Because Brain sure didn’t seem to know much about tasty things.

Brain shook his head. “The Selenians didn’t bother with information about the lifestyles or cuisine of Terrans. It was irrelevant to their cause.”

Oh. Pinky tried to imagine being an alien who didn’t know anything about cheese, but came up blank. He’d eaten cheese and food pellets his entire life. He couldn’t imagine a world without them.

“Pinky, are you aware that machine is also apparently a gene splicer?” Brain asked, pointing to the letters along the side.

ACME GENE SPLICER AND BAGEL WARMER, it said.

“So it does. But the only things that go in are bagels and lab mice. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone try to splice a pair of jeans. Oh, that reminds me!” Pinky snapped his fingers. How could he have forgotten something so very important? The silly machine was on the gene splicer setting! Pinky pressed a conveniently labeled button that said ‘press here for bagel warmer setting’. How nice of the scientists to label their stuff!

He was so glad he discovered that before sending the bagels through. The gene splicer setting would’ve made the bagels extra crispy, and while Pinky didn’t mind, extra crispy bagels were a taste one had to get used to first. Nope, it was better to start Brain off lightly!

“Can you please get two blueberry bagels from the bag, Brain?” Pinky pointed to a bottom cabinet where the bagels were kept, grinning at the new tongue twister he’d come with. Egad, he was good at this! “They’re the tan circles with a hole and blue specks in them! Kinda like a donut, except without the frosting and sprinkles. Zort, Brain! You’ve never eaten donuts, have you? Oh, I am definitely making a list of foods you need to try!”

Pinky hopped onto a tall table and neatly tore a paper towel off its roll, then laid it flat on the conveyor belt. Following Pinky’s instructions, Brain retrieved two bagels from the cabinet and passed them up to Pinky. Brain still seemed rather confused about the gene splicer and the bagel warmer being one and the same. Pinky carefully separated each bagel so that he had four half-bagels with the inside lying face-up and arranged them on the paper towel so they would all be nice and toasty.

Then Pinky realized he’d forgotten another thing. Namely, that he didn’t know how to turn the bagel warmer on.

He scratched his head.

That could be a real issue.

“Pinky, do you actually know how to work this machine?” Brain’s voice sounded oddly strained. Pinky turned around. Brain was hanging onto the side of the conveyor belt, his legs wrapped around one of the metal cylinders. He’d tried to climb up himself, but his arms were too short to get a proper grip, and if he leaned over anymore, he’d fall right on his chubby head.

Pinky reached over, grasping Brain’s wrists and trying to haul him up, only for Brain to be resistant to help. He wouldn’t budge, his wrists feeling oddly tense under Pinky’s hands. His pink eyes were wide and apprehensive, pointed ears flattening against his head.

“Brain?” Pinky said. “I’m just gonna haul you up. Could you relax a bit please? It’ll be much easier.”

Brain didn’t move for a second, searching Pinky’s eyes warily. Pinky just gave him an encouraging smile. Brain looked away, his brow furrowing, but some of the tension left his wrists.

Pinky pulled him onto the railing of the conveyor belt, Brain’s feet scrabbling in the air briefly before settling firmly on the metal.

“Thanks,” Brain muttered. He walked over to the various buttons and levers, examining each one curiously.

“You’re welcome, Brain!” Pinky brought one hand to his forehead in a salute, only to remember that Brain was an honest-to-goodness alien, and probably didn’t know that particular gesture. So Pinky tried to make the Vulcan salute instead, but it was kinda tricky with only four fingers instead of five.

“This is very intriguing,” Brain breathed, pressing his face against a small closed window that offered a look into the gears and wires within the bagel warmer. “Yes, pure lithium power source, proton accelerators, and automatic anti-inertia capabilities? The use of nanoplasmic charges leaves a lot to be desired of course, but to have the rest of these things in one machine at your fingertips…”

Pinky didn’t understand anything Brain just said, but the alien’s fingers were twitching in excitement, his nose smushed against the glass. It was the first genuine smile Pinky had seen from the alien since they first met, and Pinky thought it looked really good on him. Even nicer than the jumpsuit, which was already really fashionable. “If you figure out how to turn it on, that would be really great!” Pinky grinned. Brain pulled down on a nearby lever, and the conveyor belt began to move. “Egad, brilliant!”

“The lever was labeled, Pinky.” Brain waved him off, pointing to the word ‘on’ stenciled next to him. But his head tilted up and his chest puffed out too. He seemed to like that word a lot. “Wait, you figured out the machine was on the wrong setting, but you can’t turn it on?”

Pinky shrugged. “It’s not really my type, Brain.”

“Never mind,” Brain sighed, the tips of his ears turning as red as his nose. He turned back to the machine window. “I want to observe this process.”

“Me too!” Pinky exclaimed, and he hopped over to the window, smushing his nose against it just as the bagels were swept into the machine. Blue electricity sparked and jumped all around the metal structures inside, and the glass warmed beneath Pinky’s hands.

It was a beautiful sight, and Pinky licked his lips as the bagels crisped from the heat.

Beside him, Brain watched the electricity intently, murmuring a bunch of smart words Pinky didn’t understand, but definitely enjoying the show too.

Within several minutes, the bagels gained an extremely nice golden brown crisp, and the conveyor belt moved them out of the bagel warmer. Brain pulled the lever up and the conveyor belt stopped moving, the thrum of the machine beneath their feet slowly fading away.

They weaved around long, multicolored wires as they made their way to the other side, where the bagels awaited them.

“Troz! Looks positively dee-lish!” Pinky exclaimed, poking at one of the bagels. Firm and flaky, just how they were supposed to be. His mouth watered in anticipation.

“The scent alone is quite appealing,” Brain agreed, taking several sniffs of the bagels. “I’ve never smelled anything like this before.”

Pinky grinned at him. “Oh, just you wait, Brain! The real magic is just starting!”

Sliding down the cylinders, Pinky retrieved the two cream cheese tubs they’d left on the floor and passed them up to Brain one at a time. His lower leg strength had improved a lot in the past few months, and it was easy for him to hang on while he passed the tubs up.

“Show-off,” Brain grumbled as he took hold of the second tub.

Pinky just laughed as he fetched two plastic knives from a drawer and carted them back to Brain and the bagels.

“Here you go! Bon appetit!” Pinky said. He gave one of the plastic knives to Brain, who gingerly ran his finger across the toothed edge as he examined the flat, see-through handle. “Oh, be careful with those, Brain. You don’t wanna cut yourself.”

“Not to worry, Pinky,” Brain said. “We have knives on New Selene. But I’ve never seen one with this particular material before. And much duller too.”

Pinky peeled away the cover of a cream cheese tub, drooling over the gorgeous smooth white surface inside. Brain copied him with the other tub, pulling off the cover completely. The alien took off his gloves and sniffed the cream cheese a few times, swiping one fingertip through the cream cheese. Then he tasted it.

Brain’s eyes widened immediately, his antennae perking up. He licked cream cheese off his fingertip four more times before he realized Pinky was watching him. Brain ducked his head and fiddled with his sleeves.

“That was…even better than I anticipated,” Brain admitted, his voice full of wonder.

“Aw, you don’t have to be embarrassed if you like it, Brain. I’m glad you think so, cause blueberry bagels and cream cheese is my favorite. Well, so are food pellets. And marshmallows, especially the puffy kind. And smiley face lollipops and…poit! I have a lot of favorites, it’s so hard to choose just one! Zounds, mac n’cheese too! You really need to try mac’n cheese, Brain! That one’s definitely going on the list. Anyway, if you think the cream cheese alone is good, try this!”

Pinky dipped the knife into the cream cheese. Once he got a good coating, he spread it across the surface of the bagel, took the largest chomp of the combined food he could manage, then swallowed. It went down a little rough, but it was delicious all the same.

“Scrumptious!” Pinky exclaimed. “It’s like a party in your mouth!”

Brain copied his actions again, and while he preferred to rip off chunks of the bagel and slather cream cheese onto smaller pieces, his enjoyment of the food wasn’t any less than Pinky’s. He made some funny ‘mmm’ noises in the back of his throat, his eyes closed in bliss as he worked his way through the first half-bagel.

Pinky started on his second half, licking cream cheese off his lips. This was a nice way to spend the evening.

“Brain, you’re welcome to share my cage if you’d like,” Pinky offered. “Mi cage es tu cage, you know.”

“Are you sure, Pinky?” Brain swallowed, thumping his fist against his throat to make the bagel go down. “I know we’re in a mutual partnership, but I wouldn’t want to impose in your living space.”

“You’re not imposing,” Pinky said. “Besides, plenty of unmarried people share living spaces these days.”

Brain was silent. He continued spreading cream cheese across a small portion of bagel, even though it was completely slathered at this point.

“Snowball and I were in neighboring cages. Aisam had to be housed alone because of their inclination towards territorial aggression. We had separate quarters for the journey to Terra as well.” Brain nibbled on a corner of his bagel. “Point being, I’ve never shared a cage before.”

“Sharing is caring,” Pinky smiled, finishing the last of his bagel. “Besides, it’s one more new experience for both of us. Isn’t that just dandy? I just hope Mr. Button and Nicholas didn’t leave too much a mess.”

“Very well. But we’re moving that sponge bed I slept on last night into your cage. It was much less aggravating for my back than the usual fare,” Brain said. “So…thanks for that, Pinky.”

“You’re welcome, Brain,” Pinky replied, rubbing circles into his belly, his hunger satisfied.

Beside him, Brain seemed satisfied too. And there was nothing better in all the world than sharing blueberry bagels and cream cheese with a new alien friend.

AN: OK this one’s more of a breather chapter since the last 5 were like wham bam nonstop stuff for the characters. Sorry it took so long to get this one out. Next chapter will have Pinky finally getting his hat and Brain’s first mall excursion!

#pinky and the brain #patb nova #patb fanfiction

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adelheidvonschicksal · 4 years

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Baby Makes Three | Midoriya x F!Reader

Midoriya with a pregnant reader (a/b/o optional) - fluff

Sitting on the bed with Midoriya, you both stare at the home pregnancy test as he tries to understand the decoding system listed on the box. Your excitement had spurred you to take the test before reading the instructions, thinking it would be as simple as it would on television. You look to Midoriya, a hopeful smile plastered on your face. In your mind, everything would work out perfectly, your life always seemed to work out perfectly ever since Midoriya came into it. You two met at work, dated, and a year later took the steps to belong to each other eternally. Now, the only desire you had left was to be blessed with a baby nine months from now. It didn’t matter if they were a boy or a girl, it didn’t matter what they looked like, and it didn’t matter if they were born with a quirk like you or born with none like Midoriya either, as long as they were healthy and happy they’d be perfect. But that hope falls when he purses his lips with a barely audible groan.

“It’s negative.” The look of disappointment on your face is something you can’t hide. You thought that being young and relatively healthy would produce results quickly. “Don’t worry. The doctor said these things don’t usually happen on the first try,” he encourages.

Realizing he’s right, you nod in agreement. The spark of hope starts to flicker in you once again, spurring your actions as you push him back down into the bed with an unexpected burst of energy. Your hands lie on either side of his face, his eyes wide and freckles disappearing behind the red blush on his face. “You’re right. We can always have fun trying again,” you tease and lean down to press a passionate kiss on his lips to stop the weak stammer from them.

Two weeks later, you attempt to take another home test, hoping that this time would be the beginning of your new tale. It’s a surprise when the results are the same: negative.

The disappointment comes on hard and fast. You’re no stranger to its crippling grasps. You had been denied many things growing up as a teenager, always a last priority in your family behind your siblings and always having to put everyone else’s needs first, Midoriya being one of the few people and friends you made who cared to make you few like your own individual – to finally make you a priority. In return, you took care of him, spent every other day healing his wounds, protecting him from anyone who would want to harm him, and made sure he always had home to return to. After all those years taking care of others, you realized you liked the feeling it gave you when your beloved younger siblings would grace you with their laughter, treating you as their own mother, and when you were able to take someone’s burdens away. But now, they were grown and had their own lives, and you had yours. With Midoriya frequently out in the field more, you craved a child of your own to care for again. Always the pleaser, Midoriya tried diligently to give you what you wanted despite no results as the months dragged on.

Once again, you find yourself reliving the same scene – a sort of twisted déjà vu – as you and Midoriya read over your results. The negative doesn’t come as a surprise to your mind, as you had grown used to it over and over, but it does become the final nail in your heart as the vision of having your own family slips further and further from your desperate grasp.

You place the test down with a defeated sigh, carrying with it the last of your strength to continue. “I think we should stop trying,” you tell him. In your mind, you already know what Midoriya wants to say when he sympathetically squeezes your hand. That this just means trying again, but you couldn’t take any more disappointment. “It’s okay…really…It’s probably a sign that we’re meant not to have children. You’re working more, and I don’t think I’d be a good mom anyway,” you say, looking for every excuse in between to find some positive light in a tragic situation.

“That’s not true,” he argues. Cupping your chin, he raises your face to look into your eyes, “You’d be a wonderful mom. No one loves kids as much as you, and you always take the time to look out for others without worry for yourself.”

“Then, why hasn’t it happened yet?” you ask, your anguish overflowing and escaping you threw the glossy tears. Midoriya furrows his brow, holding back his own feelings in exchange to help you with yours as he leans in and gently kisses a stray tear away from your cheeks.

“It’ll happen. Trust me,” he promises, moving down to place butterfly kisses along the lovely swoop of your neck.

“Izuku, I don’t want to try anymore.”

“I’m not trying for a baby. I-I just want to make love to my wife,” he explains, hiding his flushing face against the nape of your neck, making your skin warm with the gentle trail of his tongue. The airy moan escapes from your parted lips as he teasingly nips your skin, following all the way up to nibble your earlobe. “Take your dress off.”

Over the course of the next few weeks, you gave up on the idea of having a baby if only for the time being to reset your motivation. Reaching the bathroom, you begin to clean out the shelves of any empty shampoo bottles and soaps, accidentally knocking over a leftover pregnancy test from the top shelf. You should’ve stored it away for later, but curiosity had won out despite your physical life becoming more spaced over the last few weeks.

You open the box, hoping you’d have enough in you to properly take the test. After following the instructions, you waited on the seat for the results to eventually tell you what you already know.

Your hand starts to shake when the results show up: a perfectly formed plus sign centered on the electronic screen. In your excitement, you jump up, haphazardly pull your leggings back up as you race at the bathroom.

“Izuku! I need you to go to the store!” you scream, earning a yelp from the other room.

After Deku comes back from the store, you can finally take a second test just to be sure. You both look over the results, another positive on a completely different brand. “We’re going to have a lot of work to do,” Deku states, smiling at your cheerful face as you hug onto his side and kiss his cheek.

“It’ll be worth it,” you reason.

Midoriya was correct though. As your pregnancy drew on into the months, you both saw more and more work needing to be done between classes and doctors visits, with the fun stuff such as outlining your progress, shopping for baby clothes, and throwing baby showers being fewer in between until the last trimester of your pregnancy.

Being on leave though gave you time to yourself, too much time as Deku continued back on his career. To fill the time, you start work on the baby’s room to at least get the painting out of the way. You had a small step stool to use to reach high places and painted the room a brilliant sky blue, your thought to paint clouds and rainbows for a bright start to your child’s life. Otherwise, Deku would end up decorating the walls with heroes, and you refuse to let him do that to a second room in the house.

You’re halfway complete when he comes home, nearly having a heart attack seeing you even a foot off of flat ground.

“(Name), what are you doing? Get down!” Midoriya demands, reaching out to grab your waist and pull you down, “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you say, turning to go back to your painting and completing another fluffy cloud. “Besides the baby is due any day now, and we aren’t even got close to being done,” you say, noting that the only thing that was about finished was the crib.

Midoriya grabs on you again, hoisting you down against your will while you groan in protest. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll get the room ready on time.”

“But, I’m home all day. I need something to do or I’ll go crazy,” you explain as he shoos you out the room.

“All you should focus on is getting rest, not breathing in fumes. I’ll finish the room this weekend.”

“But—”

“No, buts,” he says, shooing you out the door, and you can already sense that his meticulousness was going to kick in any day now.

True to his word, Midoriya began to work on the baby’s room as soon as the weekend came along, dedicating hours to completing the job before your scheduled due date in two weeks. Although, you felt like a beach ball that was going to pop with the slightest poke, even more, when you’re not able to contribute as much as you hoped even if it’s better to let your husband do what he wants when he gets into his moods… At least to a degree.

“Izuku, dinner’s been ready for an hour. Come eat already,” you complain, standing at the door with your arms crossed, ready to smack him if he decided to skip out on another meal you made after you spent thirty minutes on sore feet.

“I’m almost finished. Just start without me.”

You sigh, planting your hand against your face. “Do you want me to bring it to you?”

“No, not in here. I just replaced the carpet.”

Blinking, you look down, realizing that he did replace your once plain cream floor with new carpet. “…Why? There was nothing wrong with our old carpet.”

“The other carpet had paint on it. So, I thought we might as well replace it so that way the baby can have a clean environment and this material is better for when he starts crawling—” he rambles on, and you purse your lips and hum suspiciously, taking another step in before being stopped by the crinkle of magazine paper under your feet.

Curious, you pick up the magazine and begin to flip through the pages, locating the advice of baby experts…or rather ads.

Our carpets are a hybrid carpet known for low VOCs than most synthetic carpets. Additionally, get your carpet installed before your baby starts using the room; if you can get it installed before your baby comes home, that's even better.

You scrunch your face. What did VOC’s even mean? And was that worth the extra $15 dollars a square foot? You flipped through the other “literature” in the stack: Childrearing for Dummies, Sleep Training, When Crying is Something More, and Caring or Spoiling?

“Izuku, where did you get these?” you demand.

“I stopped by the bookstore on the way home.”

“You don’t need to listen to all this,” you say, ripping up the pages of the weaker sources. His eyes widen in horror as you let the shavings sprinkle to the floor like confetti. He races up to you, trying to save his research material, but you hold them further out of reach.

“Stop! I need those!”

“No, you don’t! It’s a bunch of garbage,” you say, turning away and continuing to pull them apart as he frantically reaches over your shoulder.

“At least let me keep the surveys.”

“Nope!” you state, preparing to rip another page when the trickling of water stopped you both in your tracks. Glancing down at the source, you watch as the liquid ripples down your legs, puddles at the floor, and makes your toes squish in the resulting chaos. “Oops,” you exclaim, thinking that this happened much earlier than you were expecting, while Midoriya jumps away after his initial shock.

“Okay, okay, we prepared for this,” he says, but you already see the panic on his face and hum in response as he frantically bolts around the house searching for keys and grabbing your bag. You waddle yourself to the door, grabbing onto the furniture for support as you watch him frantically open the door.

“Izuku, aren’t you forgetting something?” you call out, forcing him to stop. He gasps as he realizes he’s indeed missing the most important part of the plan.

“(Name), I’m so sorry,” he yells and runs up to you, swooping his arm under yours to help you through the door.

Arriving at the hospital, the brunt of the situation finally settles on you as the contractions come closer and closer together. You’re barely able to remember your breathing exercises given all the chaos around you as you’re wheeled back to your delivery room with Midoriya on your side, holding your hand.

“It’ll be all right,” he keeps repeating, but you think he’s twice as worried as you are – always the overthinker especially about things that could go wrong. You just hoped he wouldn’t pass out on you in the delivery room.

“It’s a boy!”

You smile, having finally been delivered a happy baby, or perhaps that was the painkillers still pumping through your veins as they handed you your child. You were so proud of having a healthy baby even though his crying said otherwise. You’d be upset too being thrown into a new world.

You were even prouder of his dad, who only got lightheaded once when your son first started to crown. Now, your son was clean and wrapped in a cozy blanket, his (h/c) hair thick and full for a newborn while speckles of freckles cover his face. “He looks just like his dad.”

Smiling, you place the baby in his arms, gasping when he starts to tear up at the sight of the tiny baby in his arms. “Izuku, what’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing,” he says, sniffling. “I’m just really happy everything turned out okay.”

You giggle at him, thinking you should’ve been the one tearing up at the moment, but it did make for a good first picture as the two of you spend time comforting your new bundle of joy.

Just like you, (s/n) eventually got tired, retiring to rest in your shared hospital room after hours of watching the world around him and feeding on your milk. Knowing the hard part was yet to come, you succumb to sleep while you can as the sun began to go down on your child’s now birthday.

Your peaceful sleep is interrupted by a shrill cry, the first of many that you’d have to deal with in the oncoming months; but to your surprise, it stops almost as quickly as it had started. “You have to be quiet. Your mommy’s trying to sleep.” You open your eyes, spying Midoriya already up and holding onto your son, rubbing his back and cradling the baby to his broad chest. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” he whispers, humming. Quietly, you chuckle to yourself, watching as your two boys fall asleep in the visitor’s chair, one yawning lightly as the other peacefully falls back asleep to the rhythmic rising and falling of his father’s chest; and at that moment, you couldn’t be happier you did this with him.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #repost later

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polyamorousmisanthrope · 3 years

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📷I took five minutes to vacuum my closet the other day. It was part of my routine cleaning, no big deal. It was just a quick thing to check off on my cleaning list. I removed some boxes of stuff in the bottom, a few pairs of slippers, and vacuumed. I replaced the stuff and went on with my---

No. I didn't.

No, I looked at the bottom of the closet in a state of shock and burst out laughing.

I have spent a large portion of my life trying to get organized. When I was a child, "cleaning my room" really did mean tossing everything I could think of where to put it in a closet so that it looked tidy when Mom poked her head in. I was the child with the cubby under the desk in grade school so stuffed with papers and junk that it was simply impossible to add or find anything.

This level of disorganization bothered and embarrassed me. It really hurt and made me feel like a failure.

As a teenager, my backpack also became a mess of papers, random items, books, and paraphernalia (no, not that kind. In many ways, I was hopelessly square)

As an adult, it wasn't much better. My desk was full of bills to be paid, papers I didn't want to face, things that were vaguely sentimental but not enough to display anywhere. My closet?

That was still the place where I hid stuff I didn't have a place for but wanted the room at least to appear a little tidy.

How long from a stuffed closet to a tidy closet?

It took about thirty years.

I wasted a lot of that time, though. I addressed it in cycles. "Starting now, I'm finally going to get organized!" I'd spend several hours a day over a few weeks cleaning, organizing, and playing possessions Tetris with my home. After a month or so, know what? The house would look great!

Then, inevitably, the house would no longer look great. I'd clean the kitchen well enough to prevent food poisoning, but more than that? Not so much.

Ever done that? C'mon, it's okay. We all have.

Being tidy over time is all about consistent action.

You can, indeed, get the house clean with heroic effort, just as you can work really hard to train for an athletic event.

The problem comes in when you do something intense for a short period. As I mentioned in my last post, heroic effort is unsustainable.

Several of my favorite housekeeping systems (Flylady and Unfuck Your Habitat) talk about starting very small – shining your sink or making your bed. They are so right!

It's not about getting tidied or organized quickly. It's about developing consistent habits. For a lot of people, that's enough.

But for some…

Executive dysfunction can interfere with consistency.

If you have organizational or distraction issues, habits may not be enough. Autism, ADHD, and a host of other neurodivergent issues centered around executive dysfunction make it hard to do things that seem pretty obvious to the neurotypical person. What? You need to wash the dishes after a meal? No kidding. Go do it!

As I was writing this article, I broke for dinner. Guess what is in my sink right now?

I thought about it, got up, scrubbed the pan a little, realized it needed to soak some more, and sat back down here to write. Sure, sure, I'll get to it after I finish this, no biggie. But if my sink was full of dishes other than that pan, if I had laundry on my sofa, a desk drawer full of unaddressed bills, and my phone beeping that I needed to get up and get my car to the garage to get the brakes done, would I be getting back to that pan in any reasonable amount of time?

*Hollow laugh*

People with executive dysfunction issues can find their problems painful.

Maybe some people laugh and think it's cute to be disorganized. It never felt cute to me. It hurt because I had a hard time doing what I wanted to do. I was utterly desperate to get my life under control. Completely and utterly desperate from the time I was nine years old. That's a heavy load.

Jokes about executive dysfunction aren't cute.

I know the whole "squirrel!" joke about distractibility is mean to make people feel better and okay with themselves. I never wanted to be okay with chaos. I wanted the chaos to stop. It hurt. It interfered with accomplishing what I wanted to. It was exhausting. It used up time I wanted to spend on other things. I wanted a clean canvas so that when I jumped from obsession to obsession to obsession, I could feel like I was using that time intelligently rather than as a distraction from things that were bothering me.

Late fees, court cases, and lost jobs aren't cute, either.

There's an ADHD vlogger that I really like named Jessica McCabe. She's brilliant and adorable, and being a little bit of the manic pixie thing is part of her brand. It gets people to listen to broad issues of executive dysfunction. People will accept and listen to that stuff sometimes and find it palatable if someone is small and young and cute. (She's a LOT older than her looks or mannerisms would indicate, by the way).

So, the brilliant part. Quite sure McCabe knows what she's doing with that because sometimes she drops the adorable thing. The pain of being disorganized or having a hard time directing attention is very, very clear. If she weren't so cute, it would be unlikely as many people would listen to the important things she is saying. There's more to her than cute by a long shot. (And don't get me started on the sexism of it).

But that whole "cute" thing about disorganization. It's not so cute when unpaid bills land you in court. That has happened to me. With money in the BANK, that has happened to me! (Or without money. *shrugs* That, too). It's not cute when you have to buy a car at interest rates that are close to what you'd pay on a credit card. Yeah, that's happened, too. That we're in good financial shape now is a miracle.

There is a cultural narrative of *giggle* *giggle* "I'm so distractable!" to try to ameliorate the pain of being disorganized. Know what? It's not funny. It hurts.

Proscriptive solutions won't work.

I use a Bullet Journal just about with the out-of-the-box method that Ryder Carrol posted in that first video he did about it. I tried it, and it clicked.

Know what wouldn't have clicked? Someone making me do it when I was fifteen.

This is where you, if you have problems with executive dysfunction, might wonder if I can provide an answer for you. Know what? I can't.

I can say, "You need a Bullet Journal." I mean, I'll think it. I wouldn't say it. Know why? It won't necessarily work for you.

What I will say is that you need to find methods that work for you.

"Okay, smartybrat," I hear you cry, "if you can't offer a solution, what do I do?"

Create systems that support you

This is going to look different depending on how you think. Does a beepy reminder go bing! and prompt you to do stuff? Do you like to have a menu of tasks that you choose from depending on how easily they grab your attention in the moment?

What primes you to take action?

What plans have you followed through on (c'mon, you do have some if you're alive past 20), and what about them made you feel good?

My husband doesn't use a Bullet Journal. He plans his day using a calendar app. If there's an interrupt to a task, he'll move it to another free time. When you first try this, I strongly encourage you to multiply your estimation of task time by at least four until you get good at estimating how long something will take. If you have executive dysfunction issues you're struggling with, I'd bet at least a nickel that you're not good at estimating how long things take yet.

What stops you from taking action? Can you remove the interrupts?

A simple example would be to take the dirty clothes hamper's lid off if that's enough to discourage you from tossing your clothes in the hamper. Still, I'm not talking about "Tips 'n Tricks" here. I hate tips 'n tricks! They're like taking a Tylenol when you cut off your leg. You need to extrapolate that to life systems to support how you want to live.

Your system is useless until you define "good enough."

I could skip the next two or three times I need to vacuum my closet, and I wouldn't care. If I get to it every year or so, it's absolutely good enough. "Good enough" means I address my paperwork file once a week and clear it out. I don't have to do it every day unless I feel like it. "Good enough" is walking for five minutes on the hour around my living room until I get my 10,000 steps in. I don't have to walk for three miles unless I want to. "Good enough" is spreading up the bed and tossing the shams at the head. I don't have to bounce a quarter off the damn thing unless I get a wild hare to do that sometimes. Don't give yourself an image of perfection you have to attain, or you'll do nothing.

It's okay for "good enough" to change

Remember how it took thirty years to get to vacuuming a closet? There was a time when that chore wasn't on the "good enough" list, and ya know what? That's fine. Have your "good enough" be slightly, but only slightly, ahead of what you're currently doing if you want to make improvements. Incremental improvements over time, and I mean decades, are pretty dramatic when you look back.

Good enough can stay good enough

My exercise parameters have me getting in an average of 10,000 steps a day as measured over a month. That is never going to change. If the Spirit moves me, I'll do more. But I'm not going to keep raising the bar over and over and over. This is it. I'm good. I'm maintaining.

It takes decades to get your life in order. What small thing will you do today?

#executive dysfunction #adhd

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Thirty Nine

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 1st, 2001

Remy was trying to stifle giggles and failing miserably at it. He had come to check on how Emile was doing with his final tutoring session of the day, and arrived at the scene of Emile being pinned down by six kids while two or three more ran circles around his body, chanting something or another. Remy wasn’t entirely sure that Emile wasn’t being used in a human sacrifice to some eldritch being. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

One of the kids’ heads popped up. “Mister Remy! Is dinner ready?”

“Just about,” Remy confirmed. “So you might want to give Mister Emile a break, sound good?”

The kids all left the room in an instant, and Emile sat up, groaning. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Any time, my dear partner in all things illegal,” Remy said with a smile. "Anything for you."

July 18th, 2001

Remy knew that he had to do something special. Emile had to work three night shifts in a row, restocking and working the floor and being wherever he was needed at that point in time. On one hand, it was nice that they would have a little extra cash from all the long hours, but on the other, Emile was constantly dead on his feet, when he wasn’t flat-out sleeping the entire day in his room.

Now, Emile had slept for ten hours, and Remy had everything planned out for a domestic day in. He had taken the liberty to get what they needed for pancake batter for breakfast, and he had all the She-Ra episodes Emile had compiled set up for a mini-marathon, plus a couple other animated movies Remy knew Emile had a soft spot for. Then, he had stuff for a simple lunch. Sandwiches, mostly, but it was still nice. And that evening, they had plans to help at the shelter, so dinner was taken care of for them.

Remy crept into Emile’s room, where Emile was still passed out on the bed. Remy shook Emile’s shoulder. Emile grumbled and buried his head in the pillow. “No, if you don’t let me get away with napping for more than an hour, I won’t let you sleep for more than ten hours in a row unless something super drastic happens,” Remy laughed.

“Remy, lemme sleep,” Emile grumbled.

“But if you sleep, you miss out on a domestic morning in with me!” Remy said with an exaggerated pout. “And I was so looking forward to making pancakes with you.”

Emile removed his face from the pillows. “Pancakes?”

Jackpot. “Pancakes, mio amore,” Remy confirmed. “Made just the way you like, provided you help me.”

Emile sat up with a stretch. “Do we have blueberries to toss in?”

“That we do, I splurged a little on our last shopping trip,” Remy confirmed.

“Okay, I’m up, I’m up,” Emile said, getting out of bed. “Let’s cook us some pancakes.”

Remy grinned and ushered Emile out of his bedroom with a bow. “The most handsome men go first,” he said with a grin.

“Oh, then why are you insisting that I go first?” Emile retorted.

“Because I am not handsome, I am drop-dead gorgeous and what I say goes,” Remy teased. “You. Out. Kitchen. Pancakes.”

“All right, all right!” Emile laughed.

They went to the kitchen and Emile sighed happily. “I’m really happy that we can do something special on a day that is just...kind of...there.”

“Well, we both appreciate the little moments,” Remy reasoned. “So I figured, why not, you know? Let’s make a special morning after you’ve been running yourself into the ground.”

“In other words, give me a reason to not sleep the entire day and then some?” Emile asked, arching an eyebrow.

“More like a thank you for the extra cash we’ll have from you picking up shifts,” Remy said. “I can’t thank you enough for giving us enough money that we could buy blueberries of all things.”

Emile laughed. “Well, I’m happy I could help,” he said. “I actually have a trust fund from my late grandmother, but according to her will, I don’t have access to it until I’m twenty one. Maybe at that point we can get blueberries and strawberries, though.”

“That would be great,” Remy said with a grin. “We could get actual fruit once a month without worrying about our bank accounts. Is it lame that I find that exciting?”

“No, I think it’s pretty cool, too,” Emile said. “Having fruit once a month, being able to go to places other than pizzarias for dates, it would be fun.”

Remy nodded and got everything that they needed for the pancake mix onto the counters. “You know, there’s a manager position opening in the next few months at the local shop. The current manager is being moved to a secondary location which needs more help.”

“Think you’ll apply for the position?” Emile asked.

“I was gonna try, but I’m not expecting much to come out of it,” Remy admitted. “After all, I haven’t even been working with them for a year, yet.”

“You’ve told me you have better work ethic than most of your coworkers, or at least you care more than they do. Don’t most people at the local chain just...skate by?” Emile asked.

Remy shrugged. “They generally favor people who work there for a long time, even if they don’t actually work that hard. I’m lucky that Marcy saw that I was pulling most of the weight at work and decided to give me a small raise. And I hate to say it, but I think I have better co-workers at Starbucks. August is great, and so’s Brian, and while the manager there sucks, each of us can keep the others’ spirits up pretty easily. I don’t know which chain I’d stick with if I only had to work one job.”

Emile hummed in thought as he measured out water. Remy turned to him. “What?” he asked.

“Meh, it’s probably nothing,” Emile said. “But I was wondering, I mean, you love cooking and experimenting with all kinds of food and stuff...would you ever want to branch out from being a barista, and try being a chef of some sort? Go to culinary school, or whatever?”

“Not really,” Remy laughed. “I love cooking, Emile, don’t get me wrong, but being a barista is somehow relaxing after a while. I’m good at it, and I know what I’m doing. I talked to Marcy recently about how the shop was doing and was able to follow most of what she was saying about the business side of things. I don’t think I’d want to move out of coffee shops. But I wouldn’t object to being a manager instead of a barista.”

“What about an owner?” Emile asked.

Remy laughed. “Emile, that would never happen in a million years. I don’t have the money to start up my own shop.”

“Hey, if I can do mental exercises about what it would be like to be a dad, then you can do some about being a shop owner. Would you like it, do you think?”

Remy considered. It would be a lot of pressure, and everything would rest on his shoulders, but that wasn’t a bad thing. And he knew enough about business to run a small shop. Maybe not a chain, but he didn’t have to run a chain if one shop theoretically sustained them both. “Probably,” he eventually settled on. “I’d get to make my own recipes, be my own boss, I could kick customers out if they weren’t being kind to either the workers or myself. It would be a lot of work, but it would be worth it, you know? Theoretically.”

“Yeah, theoretically I think it would be great,” Emile said. “Sounds like something you could do out of spite, too. They don’t move you up the food chain? Quit and start your own shop, that outdoes theirs and makes them have to leave town.”

Remy laughed. “Of course, because I could totally have the money and the means to do that.”

“Hey, like I said, it’s just a ‘what if’ situation,” Emile shrugged.

Remy shook his head. He really didn’t understand Emile sometimes.

They made the pancakes together, enjoying each others company and poking fun at each other as they worked, and then ate. Remy told Emile about his plans for a cartoon marathon and Emile looked like he was about to cry happy tears. “What’s the big deal?” Remy asked. “I let you watch cartoon marathons all the time.”

“Yeah, but you don’t do it with me, and you don’t encourage it,” Emile pointed out. “And considering that you started out being convinced that cartoons were entirely childish and I should have grown out of my love for them, this is a big step in my opinion. You might have come around slowly, but I haven’t seen that progress, so when you casually show support it’s like a shock to the system. A good shock, but a shock nonetheless.”

Remy sat there for a moment, stunned. He had forgotten that Emile didn’t see all his progress, all his talks with Kim, everything that went into his therapy sessions. He only saw the end product. He didn’t want to show Emile that whole thought process, though. That was a conversation Remy didn’t feel up to right now. So he said, “I guess you have a point,” instead.

They watched cartoons until it was four in the evening, and then they headed out towards the shelter. Remy generally helped cook food and serve it for dinner, while Emile helped entertain the small children, so they didn’t always work side-by-side, but they got to talk on the way over, and the way back, and of course, they got to have dinner too before they left.

Today, though, the walk to the shelter was done in companionable silence. They just walked side by side, a little too close to be just friendly, hands brushed against each other, but neither of them reached for the other. When they got to the shelter, they walked in and immediately Emile was swarmed by a dozen tiny humans all vying for his attention at once. Remy laughed and pecked Emile’s cheek as he went to the kitchen.

Cooking was entertaining enough. Remy had become the unofficial head chef on accident after revealing how good a cook he was when he wanted to put in the effort. He had to keep the others on track, sometimes, but everyone there worked their best and he got to have a few laughs with them every time they worked together.

They rang the bell to start dinner and people lined up as usual, Remy serving them as usual, and when everyone had food, the volunteers came into the back grabbing the remains of the dinner, heading out to eat at the tables as well. Remy sat next to Emile and they both worked on sandwiches. “The kids were very excited to see you kiss me,” Emile said casually.

“I kiss you all the time,” Remy said, frowning.

“Yeah, but apparently they didn’t realize you were my boyfriend, and some of them hadn’t realized that boys can like boys and girls can like girls. So what usually involved me being a monster with the kids grabbing on my legs and me roaring like Godzilla became an actual discussion about romance, and love, and all that good stuff,” Emile explained.

“Huh,” was all Remy said. The mental image of Emile being a giant monster for the kids made him giggle, though, almost as much as the time he found Emile lying on the floor, laughing as half a dozen of the gremlins were keeping him pinned down.

“Yeah. Kids are incredibly accepting, believe it or not. Provided you tell them something is okay, they’ll generally believe you. And the older ones might ask questions, but generally it’s nothing too invasive. And it’s fun to get to play with them in the off-months when they don’t have school. Sure, tutoring is useful, but it’s nice to play with them, too, you know what I mean?”

“Not really, but I appreciate your enthusiasm and enjoyment of it,” Remy said with a shrug.

Emile grinned and Bernie looked at the two of them. “I’m pleased that the both of you help here regularly. It’s nice to have people I can count on, and you two make a good team. I’m sure that if you ever had kids, you both would be excellent fathers.”

Remy made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t know, Bernie. Helping kids for a couple hours a day is one thing. Dealing with them virtually twenty four-seven is another. I’m not entirely sure that I could handle that.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it alone,” Emile offered. “But I agree. I don’t see kids being part of our future. Raising them seems like a daunting task. Obviously, I’d do it if needed, but it would definitely take a lot.”

“We do make a good team, though,” Remy said with a grin.

Emile ducked his head and smiled. “We do,” he agreed.

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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doyoufancyathought · 3 years

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Through The Utility Closet Part 3: Get Tested

Y/N had never been a fan of hospitals. In fact, she had gone above and beyond in her efforts to avoid going to them. She thought she could probably count all of her hospital visits on her fingers. Thankfully, she was a fairly healthy individual, so it wasn't hard for her to stay out of the Emergency room. They were too sterile, too clean, and everyone was always bustling and grumping around, and poking and prodding all the time. Y/N knew that the hospital wasn't supposed to be an enjoyable place to spend time, but she definitely was of the opinion that steps could be made to make it at least comfortable. Or hospitable, if you'll excuse the joke.

Still, she was in a new dimension, apparently, and so exceptions must be made when it comes to personal dislikes against institutions. She wanted to get home, after all, and this was a necessary step. In order for these scientists to send her back home, they must figure out where exactly she is from, otherwise they could end up sending her to a completely wrong place or time or what have you, and that would just be a disaster.

Once she was up on the exam table, Y/N did her best to appear friendly to the business-like nurse. She was quick and efficient as she hooked Y/N up to at least different machines, and tied a rubber band around her upper arm. For a moment, Y/N was worried that these strangers might be shooting her full of drugs, but then she remembered that this was simply routine for drawing blood. She hoped that medical procedures weren't too different in this world from her own.

Y/N was relieved when the nurse brought in a tray of empty vials and begin to explain what she was doing.

"I'm going to draw some blood so we can do some tests. I'll also need a hair sample, and I'm going to do a saliva swab as well, just so we can take a look at your DNA. How's that sound?"

"Invasive."

The nurse smiled. "I promise you'll barely feel a thing. The swab will be oral, same as checking for strep."

The nurse did her tests, and then let a few scientists in lab coats in. They pulled up chairs in front of the exam table and introduced themselves, although Y/N forgot their names as soon as she heard them.

"Okay, so I guess the first question is for you to introduce yourself and where you're from."

"My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I'm from (hometown) in (country). I was working at one of my jobs when I fell through an inter dimensional portal and ended up here."

"Good start. Can you tell me about the planetary system from your home world?"

"I guess so." Y/N thought about it for a second, trying to remember those astronomy lessons from many years ago. "Earth is the third planet from the Sun, which is the centre of the system. Then there's Mercury, Mars, Earth, Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus, Pluto, and I think I'm missing some. I can't remember the order, sorry, I've never been good at planets."

"That's all right. Can you tell me how many days in a year?"

"365."

"And how old are you?"

"22."

"And how old do people usually live to be?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe anywhere from 70 to 90 years?" Should have paid for attention in stats class.

"How big are spiders in your world?"

"Some of them are super tiny, like you can barely see them. And then some of them are huge, like a dinner plate."

"I see. And how big are chickens?"

"What?"

"How big are chicken? I know it's a weird question, but some worlds have gigantic chickens that actually prey on humans."

"Thats, um, disturbing. But my chickens are normal size? Like small enough to fit in an oven."

"Ok, well that's good. "

There where more questions like this, some about history and some about geography and flora and fauna. When they were all done, the scientists discussed for a minute by themselves.

"Okay, well, from what we can tell, your world is incredibly similar to our own, with the major differences likely being social development. You say you don't have the Avengers in your world?"

"No, we don't have any superheroes or superpowers at all. I wish, though."

"Yeah, that makes sense. How much do you know about inter-dimensional portals?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Ok, well that's fair, it's a tough subject. So pretty much, each dimension has kind of bridges to reach out to other dimensions. When two bridges line up, there's a chance for people or things to cross over."

"Okay, that makes sense I guess."

"A lot of the time, these bridges go unnoticed. Some dimensions are connected permanently, some are connected cyclicly, and some are connected for less than a second at a time, which makes them extra hard to track. You with me so far?"

Y/N nodded.

"Don't worry if you don't get it. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that we might have a hard time tracking down your world."

"Okay, but how long do you think it'll take? How long does it normally take?"

The scientists shifted uncomfortably. "Well that's the thing. There is an infinite amount of universes you could be from, and it'll take a while to narrow it down to just the most likely. From there, we would have to figure out what kind of bridges they all have, and figure out how to predict it, and then figure out a way to send you back."

"Oh, that does sound complicated. So like a month?"

They glanced at each other. "We've never done this before, and we've never sent anyone back through a bridge."

"Two months?"

"Maybe a year."

"What?"

"I said, maybe a year?"

"I'm going to be here for a year."

"Maybe, like I said we've never done this before so we can't really give you an idea of how long it will take."

"Oh my God."

"We're very sorry. We'll give you some space."

The scientists left, and the nurse from before came back in and started unhooking Y/N from the monitors.

"We've run all the tests we need to, dear. Do you have any questions?"

"I have so many questions, I don't even know where to begin."

"That's understandable. We'll have your results back in a few hours, and that'll help the scientists get a head start on where you're from. I've got your clothes here, if you step through that door you'll be able to change in privacy."

Y/N nodded and jumped off of the table, gathering her clothes in her rooms and she quickly walked across the cold floor to the changing room. She pulled on her work clothes, which consisted of jeans and a black t-shirt, but opted to leave the apron and baseball cap off. There was no need to wear them here. Y/N put her shoes back on, simple canvas slip-ons, and reflected on what she had just learned. Here are the facts.

1. She had magically teleported through a door.

2. She was now stuck in a world that apparently had superheroes.

3. The superheroes had no idea how to get her back, or how long it would take to figure it out.

4. She was stuck.

Now, a normal person might cry when they considered this situation. But, Y/N was not a normal person. She had the fun meal-deal of anxiety and depression, and at this moment, she thanked her ill little brain for causing her to overthink every little scenario so she would be prepared for the worst to happen. Of course, none of those thoughts covered time and dimension travel, but they had covered a sudden zombie apocalypse, so it was just a matter of adjusting the survival strategy. Find shelter, find friends, and fight to live.

So far, Y/N had maybe found friends. The Avengers seemed like a friendly bunch, if oddly beautiful, and Sam had offered his basement as shelter. Now, all she had to do was figure out the day to day stuff. Get a job, live a life, and get back to her world.

So she stepped out of the changing room back into the hallway, and say the Avengers gathered around. They all turned to her as the door closed behind her.

"And what did you find out from the scientists, Y/N?" Vision asked.

"Well, they tried explaining how inter-dimensional portals work. That went way over my head. But basically, I'm gonna be stuck here for a while until they can figure out where I'm from and figure out how to get me back. So, I guess I'm going to need to find a job or something pretty quick."

Tony shook his head and stepped to the front of the group. "That won't be necessary. I'm loaded, and I'll make sure you're set up to not need anything."

"Why?"

"Because I want to? You just flew through outer space into a whole new world, and you're worried about getting a job? Come on, live a little! You look like you work too hard. What work do you do?"

"At which job?"

"Well how many do you have?"

"Three."

"Holy moly."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Y/N shrugged. "I get bored."

"So you work?"

"Beats sitting around on my ass."

"Fair point. Well anyways, enjoy the vacation for now, and in the future if you still want a job, we'll have to figure out the proper documents. For now, enjoy your vacation! I'm loaded, and this is the perfect opportunity to share, okay?"

"If you really want to, I mean, I don't mind working."

"Clearly, you have three jobs. Psycho. But no, I don't mind. In fact, I would be offended if you didn't accept my offer."

"Okay, well, then, thanks!"

"No problem. I already gave Sam a credit card for you, so you can go shopping on your way to his house. You do know how to work a credit card, right?"

Y/N grinned. "Yes, Tony, I know how to work a credit card. My world apparently isn't that different from this one, just a few small differences I guess."

"Good. Alright, well, roll out, team."

The Avengers dissipated until it was just Sam, Steve, and James standing around with Y/N.

"So you're still coming with us, right?" Sam asked.

Y/N shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. If you don't mind, of course."

"Not at all. It'll be nice having a girl in the house, for once."

The group of four started walking down the long hallway.

"So do you just collect strays, Sam?" Y/N asked, curious of why he was so eager to offer his spare room to a total stranger.

Before he could answer, Steve cut in. "Yeah, I mean, why else did you think we lived with him?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe you were in a band, or really good gym buddies, or maybe even a throuple."

Sam choked on a laugh, but Bucky and Steve looked confused. "What's a throuple?" James asked.

"It's like a couple, but instead of it being two people, it's three." Y/N explained.

"And you thought?" Steve almost looked offended.

"Look, sorry, I don't know what's normal for you here, and I didn't want to assume it was all platonic!"

Sam was dying laughing. "You thought -" he had to lean on a wall to keep standing upright. "Man, we're just good friends, and these two have absolutely no credit, so it's hard for them to find places to stay."

"Ah. I guess being a superhero might not pay well."

"Well, I mean there are other reasons too, but yeah let's go with that." Steve didn't exactly want to jump this poor girl with the fact that he was also over 100 years old and had been frozen for a while. She had enough to worry about.

Y/N didn't pursue the other reasons, because they had finally exited the building and she was looking around, comparing this new world to her own. It was dark out, because it was night. She looked down the street and saw a McDonalds sign, which made her smile. At least she could have her chicky nugs if things got too tough. Turns out this world was just like hers, just with a bit of a different history. A lot more violence, hence the need for superheroes.

They got into the car, and Sam drove them to a mall, where they spent an hour and a half hopping around to different stores to get stuff. Y/N got used to spending someone else's money, and she definitely took advantage of the three guys following her around who offered, nay, insisted on carrying her bags. However, she insisted on going into the drugstore alone so she could collect toiletries.

She grabbed a cart (and honestly who uses a cart in a drugstore unless you have serious money to spend) and spent about 45 minutes going up and down most of the aisles to find what she needed. Luckily, the products were exactly the same as she was used to, so it was only a matter of finding exactly what she needed.

When Y/N finally walked out, she spotted her new companions sitting down on one of those middle-of-the-mall benches that are intended for senior citizens and mothers with rowdy children and men waiting for women to finish their shopping.

"Got everything you need?" Sam asked as he stood up and stretched.

"Yup."

"Alright, let's head home. You feel like pizza for dinner?"

"What's pizza?" Y/N deadpanned, and the three guys looked shocked.

"You don't know what pizza is?" Steve asked.

"Nope, never heard that word before in my life."

"Seriously?"

"Why would I joke about it?"

"You've never had pizza before." James reiterated.

"Nope. What is it?"

"No, you gotta experience it." Sam smiled and started walking back the way they had come.

Steve and James were perfect gentleman, and oddly strong as well, but Y/N again did not complain when they grabbed her bags from the drugstore. She opened doors for them as they went out to the parking lot.

Once they were back in the car, Sam got on his phone and ordered pizza that would be delivered right as they got home, provided traffic cooperated. Y/N spent the drive looking out the window at all the lights and people she saw, and didn't pay much attention to the conversation the guys were having. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary, except for the whole superhero thing.

Once they got to Sam's house, a tidy little bungalow in a quiet neighbourhood, they unloaded the car and headed inside. Steve and James ran downstairs to put Y/N's bags in her room, while Sam gave her a tour.

As they were walking down a hallway, Y/N stopped to look at family pictures hanging on the wall.

"Is this your family?" She asked.

"Yeah, that's my sister and her two boys. They've grown a lot since that picture was taken though."

"They look like lots of fun."

"They're a handful, that's for sure."

"And these are your parents?"

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "They passed a few years ago, that's the last picture we ever took of them both together."

"Oh I'm so sorry." Sam shook his head as Y/N reached out to touch his arm. "They have really kind eyes." She said, her gaze returning to the picture.

"They were the kindest people I've ever known." Sam said, and just then, the doorbell rang. "Sounds like the pizzas here."

Y/N could hear the two boys thundering back up the stairs as she followed Sam to the front door. She expected that he would need help carrying all the food in.

She was right. The delivery driver had to go back to his car to get a second load of pizza. Y/N brought the first load into the kitchen and got a few plates down from the cupboard.

"Oh, good, you found the plates!" Sam said as he walked into the kitchen a few minutes later.

"Yeah, lucky guess."

They set the table in silence as Steve and James washed up, and then they sat down for dinner.

Sam decided he wanted to know more about Y/N. "So, Y/N, tell us a little bit about yourself."

"Ok, well," Y/N hated this questions, because how do you boil yourself down to just a few facts? She just wished people would ask direct questions, because she could answer questions if they were clear. She hated vagueness. "I'm 22, I still live, or lived, with my parents. I like dogs. My favourite colour is yellow. I have three jobs, as a nanny, in retail, and also at a Bubble Tea shop in my hometown. What else do you want to know?"

"Well that's a lot. Why do you have three jobs?" Steve asked.

Y/N shrugged, having to explain her workaholic tendencies twice in a day. "I get bored. And I like working, keeps life interesting."

"I'll bet. What do you do for fun?"

"I read a lot. And I like to go to the lake. And crochet."

"What kind of books do you read?" Steve asked.

"It depends. Sometimes fantasy, sometimes mystery. I read a lot of those cheap drugstore romances."

"Wait, you crochet?" Sam asked. "What are you, a grandma?"

"Like a crazy, chaotic grandma, kinda. I drink a lot of tea and wear a lot of sweaters, sorry for being comfy!"

They went back and forth for a few minutes. "How do you like the pizza?" Sam asked.

"Well," Y/N waggled her head back and forth, debating how to break the ruse. "Not the best I've ever had, but it's close."

"Wait, you've had pizza before?"

"Yes."

"You said before though-"

"And you believed me?Rookie move, gentlemen."

"Why would you trick us?" They weren't mad, just a little confused. And amused. James hadn't really said much since they sat down for dinner, but he grinned and chuckled at the confused looks on his friends faces.

Y/N shrugged. "Gotta keep you guys on your toes, yaknow?" They all laughed. "But hey, tell me more about you guys. You're super soldiers? What does that even mean?"

Sam and Steve took turns explaining who they were, and how the Avengers came to be. They didn't touch too much on James, who excused himself fairly into the evening. He was a little shy and quiet around newcomers, apparently, but Y/N wasn't bothered. She had bigger things to worry about than someone being shy around her.

When the talking turned to yawns, Sam offered to show Y/N to her room. He took her down the stairs into the basement, which opened up into a spacious rec room. There was a massive TV and a pool table. Down a short hallway were the two previously spare rooms, both of which were now occupied by strays that Sam had picked up. The only bathroom was unfortunately across the basement, but Y/N didn't foresee any problems with that.

Sam explained how every room had it's own colours for sheets and towels and stuff, and Y/N was very impressed with how domestically organized he was turning out to be.

Sam went back upstairs, and Y/N took a few minutes to settle in. She would unpack and run her new clothes through the laundry tomorrow, but for now all she wanted was a hot shower and a good long nights sleep.

She went into the bathroom, and saw that James had already made space for her stuff in the shower caddy, on the towel rack, and in the medicine cabinet above the sink. With a smile on her face, she put her few new belongings in those empty spaces, then drug herself through the shower and fell into her bed, exhausted.

Before her eyes closed, Y/N considered what had happened to her today. In a new dimension, living with three strange yet wonderful men, something that would be sure to give her mother a heart attack. And yet, she was excited for the morning to come. Part of her hoped that when she opened her eyes again, she would wake up in her home world, and she would be surrounded by people she knew and recognized. That's what a normal person would hope for in this situation, right?

But as I've told you before, Y/N is no normal person, and the other part of her was wishing that when she woke up, she would still be here, in Sam's house. She wanted to opportunity to explore, so see what else was out there. Maybe she'd discover a new life, a new chance to be the person she had wished to be but never got the chance. Whatever happened, she knew that tomorrow would be full questions, and hopefully a few answers. She hoped, anyways.

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angst-king · 3 years

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Misery loves Company pt 2

Ito had become worried as her son had slept all day, it was six thirty now, she was making dinner. All day she’d been having a bad feeling about Eijirou, that what he was going through wouldn’t end well but. She shook this off and reminded herself that Eijirou was tough and that he’d be okay even with this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Even though she knew Eijirou wouldn’t have much of an appetite, he needed to eat something, and soup was better than nothing. Putting some soup into a food thermos which could hold the perfect amount of food she knew Eijirou could stomach, she grabs a spoon and heads up to the teen’s room.

Coming up to his room, she could hear the muffled sound of coughing, thick wet coughing. Knocking on the door, she peers in and is confused as she sees Eijirou on the floor shaking and coughing next to his bed. “Eijirou? Sweetie, are you okay?” She asked as she set down the thermos and spoon onto the nightstand. “M-mom, h-help” Was all his raspy strained vocal cords could get out as he gasped and sputtered. She rushed down to the floor beside him and asked. “What's wrong baby? Why are you on the floor?” She pulled Eijirou close to her and he continued to shake. “S-so much p-pain momma, i-i can’t breathe-” He coughed hard and Ito grabbed the bucket just in time for him to vomit. When he’s able to talk about it he whimpers and grunts. “I-it feels like someone’s sitting on my chest, poking me with a taser and yanking on my bones, while I'm in the freezer section of the store.” This made Ito nervous, she quickly reached to feel Eijirou’s forehead and pulled it away just as fast. He’s burning up! It's like over the hours he’s just gotten worse! His coughing is getting longer and more frequent, and he’s in so much pain that he can hardly move on his own. He looks pale, very pale. Her alarm bells are ringing louder and louder as Eijirou is clinging to her with a weak grip. She can hear him struggling to breath, she can hear his wheezing and congested breaths, he’s panting. What she didn’t know was that while Eijirou was sleeping, he’d had a seizure, which was a reason for why he was so shaky, he also was cold. Well that was the bad fever talking but he felt cold nonetheless. Snatching the thermometer and uncasing it, she asked Eijirou to open his mouth. He's too weak to keep it in his mouth on his own so she has to hold it steady under the boy’s tongue for him. “ 39.4” Her eyes widened as his temperature went up two degrees! She needed to get him to the hospital, she knew he wouldn’t like it but she had to, this wasn’t something they could just let him sleep through.

“Eijirou sweetie, we need to go to the ER. I know you don’t like it but we have to.” She says moving with urgency and purpose, she picks him up and sets him on the bed and grabs what she needs. She knew they were gonna strip him of his pajamas and shoes there so she didn’t even bother to grab him shoes or socks. She grabbed his medical bag, the list of his medications and records, she went into her room and grabbed her phone, purse and keys. She put on shoes before coming back to carry Eijirou who wordlessly agreed to going to the ER. He only nodded when she said they were going to the hospital. His limbs loosely dangling, she did her best to not jostle him around as she took him to the car. Buckling him up she puts his medical bag in the back seat, her purse on the floor of the passenger seat and turns on the house alarm.

She’s impatient as the garage door takes its time opening itself up and she makes it a quick task to get out and close the door without staying in the driveway a second longer. She’s on the road, she’s not speeding but she’d definitely be using the speeding limit range to the fullest. Eijirou is coughing up a storm, luckily there are trash bags for instances like these. Ito was trying to keep calm, trying to keep her adrenaline from making decisions for her. It didn’t help that mid car ride Eijirou had another seizure, she knew how to handle those seeing as there wasn’t much she could do she kept an eye on him as she drove.

When she pulled into the ER parking lot, she swiftly found a spot and parked. Unlocking the car doors she gets out, grabs her purse and Eijirou’s bag from the back before getting Eijirou out of the car. “Come on hun, lets go'' She says trying to hide her worry in her voice even though Eijirou is half conscious. Shutting the door with her foot she is almost running with the boy in her arms. Dashing into the ER the doors open and she calls out “HELP I need help please!” A nurse comes over, all eyes are on them but Ito doesn’t care. “What’s wrong ma’am?” The nurse asked hustling over to her, Ito explained to her “My son has Cystic fibrosis, CIDP, and epilepsy and he’s been having a bit of a flare up for a week and he just got so much worse today. His fever is 102, he’s coughing more than usual, he can’t move there much on his own, and he says it feels like someone is sitting on his chest and pulling on his bones. He’s had two seizures today, and he’s barely alert. The nurse nods and calls for another nurse to grab a gurney. “Okay ma’am, what’s your son’s name and how old is he?” “His name is Kirishima Eijirou, and he’s14.” “Okay- set him on the gurney, we’ll take him to a bay room, follow us.” The gurney arrives and Ito places the boy on that, he’s a bit curled up still coughing and shaking hard. The other nurse takes the lead and pushes Eijirou to the bay area. Ito isn’t far behind the nurse she’d met with as they go down the hallways. The nurses grab a doctor and things get moving. Giving the doctor the run down after he introduces himself to Ito as Dr Shidori, the nurses are hooking Eijirou up to multiple wires, lines, and machines. While this is going on Ito is asked multiple questions about EIjirou like. “How long has he been having a flare up for?” “When did he start going down hill?” “has he eaten or consumed anything during his flare ups” “what medications and treatments is he on?” “Is he allergic to anything?” Ito didn’t have trouble answering their quickly asked questions as the staff moved like a well oiled machine.

Ito felt two different feelings tugging at her, wanting to stay with her son, and needing to leave him. She wanted to stay not knowing whether he’d live or, staying to keep her son calm and to let him know she hadn’t abandoned him but. She felt so out of place though with the rush of people around her, in a way feeling useless, able to do much of anything but stand there and watch and answer questions or give permission. She didn’t really know what to do about this, there were so many emotions running through her, anxiety, hope, hopelessness, sadness. Finally her answer was given to her when the room began to slow down and the doctor began to explain things. They allowed her to sit in the chair next to Eijirou's bedside. “Alright Mrs Kirishima, we’ve got some time to talk.” The doctor started, Ito nodded, brushing back her hair behind her ears. “First things first, Eijirou needs to be hospitalized, from what you’ve told me this isn’t the first time he would be hospitalized. The flare up he is having is proving that one, his stomach isn’t absorbing his food and that means he’s very vitamin, minerals and elementally deficient, which means his immune system is weak also. I’m sure you understand this right?” He asked before continuing, Ito nodded once more so the doctor kept going. “We can not do the same type of monitoring as an inpatient long stay hospital can. You know why and you know that places that you’ve taken Eijirou to before will be able to observe him, do better testing and care for him….Another reason I mention this is because cold and flu season is starting a little earlier than what I’ve expected and it would be safer for him to be admitted they get him all better before hand or see what needs to be done so we’re not just releasing him back out to get tens times worse to the point where it could be too late. We can do some of his breathing treatments and stuff here, but it won't be as efficient. I will have a nurse call in to the local children’s hospital, and they will get things sorted out from there.” Taking in a deep breath, Ito sighed “okay, when do you think he will be transferred?” “I will have a nurse call and will get right back to you with that answer” Ito could understand why the doctor didn’t have an answer for her on the spot and could appreciate his honesty. “Now about Eijirou, his body isn’t receiving or taking on the medications he’s being given and he’s not taking on food either but we will give him supplementary food seeing as first of all he might not have the energy to eat, second it will boost up his sugar wich he needs but for right now he’s getting everything through IVs. We’ve given him fever reducer, epileptic medication, we didn’t have the type that he is on right now but we have one that works for the majority of young patients his age. He’s also getting potassium which is another reason for his trembling, his muscles were so tense from lack of potassium. We gave him a mix of midazolam and vitamin D as well. We’re just here to monitor his condition and give him as much help as possible till he’s transferred.” Ito sighed for what felt like the millionth time, she hated having to have her son be hospitalized in a long stay facility but she knew it was gonna be good for him.

All she could do was nod, when the doctor left them be for the night in the ICU. She contemplated making a phone call, it was about ten pm now, much later and Ito was restless. She didn’t know if she should call Emily or not? The other definitely deserved to know but she didn’t know whether she should call her now. Maybe she should call when she’s got more information so she doesn’t have to call Emily twice? Why wait though? Eijirou just had a medical emergency, he could die tonight! Ito knew she wouldn’t be sleeping any easier if she didn’t at least try to call Emily. Grabbing her phone, she called her wife. She didn’t hope to hard for her wife to pick up. Knowing most of the time it was a varying range of hit or miss, and it was mainly miss.

A little shocked the woman had picked up, she smiles hearing Emily’s voice. “Hi babe, d’you call to say goodnight?” “u-um no actually, we need to talk….it's about Eijirou.” Ito’s voice trails and Emily can hear in her voice this isn’t good news at all. “O-okay, well I’m here, what’s wrong with Eijirou?” The military woman sighs, Ito explains to Emily that their son is getting sicker and is going to be admitted to a long stay hospital for a while to see if they can get him better. When Ito was done Emily spoke softly,“i-I’m sorry you have to go through this with him a-alone babe. I-I wish I could be there I really really do.” you could hear sympathy but also regret. There were many days and nights where Emily contemplated her career path. Why would she join the army when she had a chronically ill son at home!?! Why didn’t she stay to help? Why put all of this on poor Ito who took the job of being a parent and business woman just to go back to her home country and join the military?!

It seemed selfish but this was her dream. Emily from a young age wanted to carry on the legacy of going into the military for her family. She had the dedication and spirit for it and when opportunity struck she took it but. She contemplated her choices. It was a year after Eijirou was born when she started to really contemplate going into the military and was given the chance. Ito and her talked it over numerous nights and Ito supported her the entire way there when the decision was made. Emily knew she’d be leaving her wife and son behind eventually but they didn’t know what she’d be leaving Ito to deal with as Ejirou’s sickness didn’t show up completely until he was six. Emily had left a year before then and when Eijirou was first diagnosed with CF and epilepsy it broke her heart, especially since he would be hospitalized for a long stay for the first time. She knew that for both Ito and Eijirou that being hospitalized and not being able to see the other as frequently as they would’ve before can be a bit traumatic. Still Ito always reassured Emily that she didn’t have to give up on being in the military for them, that they were fine.

Ito could hear the regret in her wife’s voice and spoke gently. “Emi, you have nothing to be sorry for. I know that you always feel bad for leaving me with Eijirou but. We made this decision together, and I don’t ever want you to feel bad about this. This was inevitable once we found out Eijirou was chronically ill and sure things would be a bit easier if you were here but, we’re doing great. I know that you wish you could be here in person to support us but, we feel your support all the way from North america...We love you so much Emi, you’ll be able to facetime him, and who knows, maybe you might be able to see him in person.” “Th-thanks Ito, i-i….I just hope he gets better, or I’ll at least be able to see him soon...I miss you both so much.” her voice cracking at the end Ito could tell her lover was crying. It hurt her to hear the other so upset, and she could understand why the woman felt this way. “Hey babe, I’ll update you when I get more information okay….I love you” “Okay love, I love you too.” They hang up, Ito puts her phone into her purse and gets herself comfortable in the hospital so she could try and get some sleep.

In the morning a nurse came in to check on Eijirou as well as inform Ito about the long stay at the hospital. They discussed the hospital, about how long Eijirou would stay there and who they’d talk to about treatment plans. Truthfully Eijirou’s stay duration would depend on how his body responds to treatment and Ito knew this, this wasn’t new information so luckily the discussion wasn’t very long, Eijirou would be admitted in by tomorrow morning. The day was rather boring, calling her work to tell her about her son being hospitalized as a way of keeping them informed and ready for any random call off days. Since she had the time, she headed home and backed a two week stay bag of clothes and things she knew he could take with him to the hospital.

Conversations with doctors, filling out papers and making sure everyone was on the same page, Eijirou was soon transferred to Tokyo’s children's long stay hospital.

#chronically ill Kirishima #chronically ill BNHA au #no quirks #polyamourus pride

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 13 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n:guess who’s realised she never submitted this to AQ? it’s ya boi. if u haven’t been able to read this yet then here it is, and look out for the final chapter coming soon! thank u to everyone who’s ever sent this fic some love, it means the world to me!!

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

6th December 2020

Vanessa’s in the wine aisle of Marks and Spencers when she sees her again.

Her hair’s been dyed- she already knew that, she’s seen pictures of it on her Insta feed- and the demure tones of the honey-brown balayage are a contrast to the blonde ombré she’d had when they’d been together, but it suits her. She’s in sweatpants and a cropped jumper, because of course she is, and Vanessa recognises the matching pink set emblazoned with the Playboy logo from Missguided adverts on bus shelters. She’s wearing some form of chunky white trainers and Vanessa isn’t proud of the fact that she feels a little flame of satisfaction light up in her gut when she sees that they’re splattered with mud, contrasting with her clean outfit and perfect makeup.

Vanessa turns back to the green bottles in front of her, staring at them for so long and with such intensity that she thinks she might rip the fabric of reality in two. She consciously blocks out her peripheral vision so that all she can see is the label of one bottle of white which she reads over and over again. A light, dry white with citrus notes and lively green fruit flavours. Grown in the spectacular setting of the sun ripened vineyards of central Spain. Goes with fish, chicken and salads.

She doesn’t, in any way, shape or form, know how to play this situation, because this is the first time she’s seen Kameron in person since they decided to call it quits. One one hand she could just keep staring at the wine bottle, attempt to blend into the shelves via osmosis and completely avoid her ex, but on the other hand…Vanessa doesn’t really know what the other hand is, because she doesn’t know what a conversation between the two of them would look like. There’s a part of her that wants to find out.

And suddenly, with a cry that Vanessa recognises as hers, the decision is made for her.

“Vanjie?”

Slowly, timidly, Vanessa turns around to meet her eyes. Soft, brown eyes that Vanessa had once looked into and seen her whole world and future.

God, it’s fucking crazy how she used to be so in love with her and now she feels completely apathetic.

“Kam! Hey,” Vanessa smiles tightly, waving awkwardly with the hand she’s not holding her shopping basket with. “How are you?”

“I’m fine! Well, actually, not amazing. I tried to make this really fancy, complex coq au vin for dinner last night but I don’t know what the hell I did wrong because it tasted like fucking ass. So I’m here getting ingredients again because Mama didn’t raise a quitter. It’ll probably still taste like garbage though, you know what I’m like,” Kameron reels off, which makes Vanessa smile in spite of herself. Kam was never the best at cooking and it was usually Vanessa who made the dinners when they were together, but there were still a couple of times when she’d tried at something and had failed spectacularly. Kameron seems to pick up on what she’d said as a little look of discomfort flashes in her eyes before she follows her sentence up with, “How’re you? God, it’s been ages.”

“It has,” Vanessa shrugged a little. So much has changed since they’ve last spoken that Vanessa isn’t really sure where to start. “I’m good. Things are pretty great, really. Obviously had a good run on the show for my first year competing, so hopefully I’ll get a partner next year too an’ win it next time.”

“I know, you did so well! I was really shocked you didn’t make the semis at least,” Kameron frowns, and the flattery does admittedly soften Vanessa up a little. Kameron’s face lights up as she adds, “God, your girl was so amazing though too! Brooke Lynn Hytes, right? She was super talented. Now I know how good a dancer she is I can’t help but feel like she’s sort of wasted as a presenter.”

“Yeah, she’s incredible,” Vanessa nods emphatically, unable to help the heat she feels spreading to her cheeks whenever she gets to talk about Brooke with somebody. Kameron’s expression changes a little as she clocks Vanessa’s blush, and a cheeky glint appears in her eye. Vanessa frowns. “Hey. Behave.”

“I didn’t say a word!” Kameron laughs, and as she trails off there’s a smile on her face that’s affectionate and helps Vanessa warm up to her ex even more. “Listen, what’re your plans? I’d honestly love to catch up. It’s been too long.”

Vanessa tilts her head in thought. The conversation isn’t going too badly, and her only plans are going round to Brooke’s later on to watch the semi-final results and have dinner (hence the reason she’s gone to M&S to get wine and not the Tesco Metro round the corner from her). So Vanessa surprises herself when she shrugs, giving Kameron a little nod. “Okay, yeah. Lemme get this wine and then we can get coffee.”

The way Kameron’s face lights up makes Vanessa think that her decision was the correct one.

They’re sat at a little table at the window of a nondescript coffee shop roughly ten minutes later, Kameron stirring the hell out of a vanilla latte that’s sat in front of her and creating a tiny whirlpool in the coffee that puts Vanessa in mind of a Pirates of the Carribean movie. Kameron’s talking about the flat she’s in just now- she bought it after she rented for a while when she moved out of Vanessa’s place- and how furniture is so expensive.

“I mean I could just go to IKEA and just furnish the entire thing for, like, two grand, but I actually want some really nice stuff, you know? Like it’s a big girl professional flat, not a uni rental,” she screws her face up as she finally takes a sip. Vanessa bristles a little opposite her- she knows Kam doesn’t mean it, but Vanessa wants to remind her that most of her furniture is from IKEA, because they’d gone and bought it all together when they first moved in. Kameron doesn’t seem affected, though, and keeps talking. “What about you? You still living out at Finsbury Park?”

Vanessa nods. “I’m still in the same flat, I never moved.”

A look of shock passes over Kameron’s face and Vanessa can read her like a book- the fact she’s still in that flat where they made so many memories together is obviously surprising. Vanessa can’t help but laugh. “Kameron, chill. You don’t roam the fuckin’ halls like a ghost, I don’t burst into tears whenever I go into a room. It’s a decent flat at a decent price, I wanted to keep it.”

“Right. Sorry. Ego check,” Kameron smiles sheepishly, and Vanessa feels bad for poking fun at her. Kameron perks up after a second, laughs a little. “I like how you said ‘halls’ plural. Like it’s a stately home and not a fucking matchbox with an intercom system.”

Vanessa’s taking a sip of her own hot chocolate and she almost chokes on it in a laugh, Kameron howling and slapping the table in response. Vanessa’s forgotten that Kam used to make her laugh, still can. She always used to see it like some sort of secret privilege she had access to, the quiet girl’s funny side rare and only popping out on special occasions. That hasn’t changed over the years.

“How’s work, anyway?” Vanessa asks her as she composes herself. Kameron shrugs easily.

“Pretty good. I did a Dua Lipa music video the other week, that should be coming out in a month or so.”

“Is she actually as bad a dancer as that video made her out to be?”

Kameron smirks. “She had a shit choreographer; she’s actually alright. Not pop girl standard, but you know. My agent’s trying to get me on the Blackpink tour next, so I should hear back from that soon.”

Vanessa’s glad that work hasn’t dried up for Kameron- the backing dancer industry is treating her well.

“Anyway,” Kameron bats her lashes, looking at Vanessa coyly from behind her glass. “Tell me more about this dance partner of yours, miss.”

Vanessa feels herself blush, a bashful laugh escaping her lips before she can stop it. It’s weird- after they first broke up Vanessa always used to think she’d love the chance to rub her ex’s face in a new relationship, but it feels ever so slightly odd now she’s actually about to talk about Brooke in front of her. “Honestly, we’re just seeing each other and keeping things casual. Y’know, while the series is still goin’. We’re not even official or public.”

“Yet,” Kameron smiles cheekily at her, and Vanessa can’t suppress the smile she returns to her.

“Okay, yet. But it’s going really well. I really like her. She’s sweet, an’ she’s caring, an’ she’s the best listener.”

“And she won’t be a fucking idiot and cheat on you.”

“No, I don’t think she will,” Vanessa shrugs, the fact that Kameron’s brought the situation up casting a small grey cloud over the conversation. It’s clunky and awkward, a puzzle piece jammed in a place it shouldn’t be. It’s been brought up now though, so Vanessa grimaces and adds, “But then I never thought you would, either.”

Kameron’s face screws up in regret, and before Vanessa knows it she’s rested a hand on top of hers and is giving her a tentative smile. “I know I said it about twenty million times when we were together but I’m honestly so sorry, Vanessa. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Kam, you gotta stop beatin’ yourself up about it,” Vanessa cuts in and says swiftly. Her own words shock her; they’ve come from virtually nowhere, and she’s amazed at the raw sympathy she’s just shown her. “You were drunk, it was a kiss. Strictly is…it’s a weird show. You saw him more hours in the day than you saw me. Kisses between partners happen all the time, it just…sucks that it happened between you two.”

Kameron nods quietly, and Vanessa puts her other hand on top of hers. “I forgive you. Give yourself a break.”

Kameron squeezes her hand, shoots her a soft smile. “Thanks, Vanjie.”

They let go of each other’s hands and each take a sip of their own drink, the silence between them somewhat symbolic like someone wiping words off a whiteboard. Vanessa watches as Kameron swallows a gulp of her coffee and grins. “Hey, do me a solid and put in a good word with Asia O’Hara for me, okay? I really want to slide into her DMs but I need some context first.”

“Your face can be the context, fuckin’ look in a mirror,” Vanessa snorts, and the two of them laugh together.

It’s nice. This huge, big, massive event she’s built up in her head for all these months is happening- she’s bumped into Kameron and she’s speaking to her. She doesn’t need to build it up anymore, or wonder about how it would play out because she’s living it, it’s playing out and she never has to see Kameron for the first time since they broke up ever again. A wall crumbles down in her mind without warning and once the dust settles she realises that she feels somewhat lighter.

Vanessa has been carrying this burden around with her for all this time without even having known it.

The pair of them eventually finish up- hug goodbye outside the coffee shop and tell each other how nice this all had been and then go their separate ways. They don’t promise to keep in touch, but Vanessa knows they’ll probably like each others’ Instagram posts or occasionally tweet each other support or that kind of thing now. Little things that remind them they’re still on good terms.

As Vanessa heads to the tube, her mind drifts to Brooke and how excited she is to see her. The week has been long and Brooke’s been busy, but true to her word she’s messaged Vanessa whenever she’s had a spare moment, updating her on her day and asking her about her own. On Tuesday she’d invited Vanessa round to her flat on Sunday night as she has a day off on Monday and they can spend the night together. She’s not just abandoned her or left her hanging, and if there’s about to be a gap between her messages she always pre-warns her. Brooke’s treating her well. Almost like a girlfriend. Exactly like a girlfriend.

Vanessa still doesn’t know what they really are. She’s so far told herself that that’s alright, but now they’re out of the competition that answer isn’t really satisfying her any more. She wants to call Brooke hers, she wants to be with her properly. As Brooke’s apartment building comes into view, Vanessa wonders if she’ll bring it up tonight.

As she buzzes Brooke’s intercom, though, Brooke’s tone throws everything into a tailspin.

“Hello?”

Vanessa frowns. Brooke sounds ever-so-slightly icy and fed up. She wonders if she’s imagined it. “Uh, hey! It’s Vanessa.”

“Hey. Come up.”

As the door buzzes open and Vanessa steps into the building, she waves away the thoughts in her head. She’s probably overthinking things, and as she steps into the elevator and lets herself be carried up to Brooke’s 12th floor apartment Vanessa tries to calm her nerves. It’s the first time she’s been to Brooke’s flat- in fact it’s the first time either of them have been at either of their flats- so she’s a little anxious. It’s another layer of the relationship they’re adding on, and the thought of things getting a little more serious makes Vanessa’s heart flutter.

So her head is thrown into a tailspin when the elevator doors open onto a landing and she’s met with three doors- two closed, and the other (Brooke’s, a little gold 111 set into the smooth grey exterior) is ever so slightly ajar. Vanessa narrows her eyes, tentatively stepping out of the lift, crossing the hall, and pushing the door open a little.

“Brooke Lynn?”

Brooke’s voice replies, still something to it that Vanessa can’t quite work out. “I’m in here.”

Frowning, Vanessa steps through the doorway and into Brooke’s flat. The whole situation is so strange that she can barely take in everything she sees; a long, narrow hallway lined with high heels that leads down to what looks like a sunken living room with a cream sofa and a floor-to-ceiling view of London. There’s a room to the right halfway down the hall, though, and it seems to be where Brooke’s voice came from, so Vanessa closes the front door and hears the click of the lock behind her as she follows it. Maybe she’s in the middle of something. Maybe she’s just busy and she wants Vanessa’s company while she finishes whatever it is she’s doing.

And then, as Vanessa turns into the room, the situation becomes immediately apparent.

Brooke’s bedroom is dark- the blinds are drawn and the only light comes from a few candles that are sitting on the tidy grey dressing-table under the window and the soft pink salt lamp that sits on the bedside table. The large bed pushed up against the wall takes up most of the room, and its sheets are white and perfectly ironed and crease-free.

They serve as a perfect backdrop to the sight that’s currently greeting Vanessa- Brooke, in a matching set of black Calvin Klein underwear, curled up against the pillows and scrolling her phone. The dark material makes Brooke’s pale skin pop, and the sight of her toned thighs and stomach forces Vanessa to squeeze her thighs together in spite of herself. Brooke looks up as she enters the room and smiles smugly, clearly happy to get the reaction Vanessa’s given her.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, her voice light and sing-song and making the entire situation worse because the fact she’s so perfectly put-together while Vanessa is slowly becoming a melting, gooey mess in front of her is, for some reason, only making her want to rip Brooke’s clothes off even more than she already does. “Come sit.”

She gently pats the space on the bed next to her and Vanessa almost knocks herself out kicking her trainers off and letting her jacket fall to the floor as she scrambles up onto the bed. She feels herself blush as Brooke gives a soft laugh (presumably in response to just how eager she is) then decides she doesn’t really care how she’s coming across as Brooke leans in and closes the gap between them, kisses her with soft Chapstick lips that Vanessa feels as if she’s addicted to. Vanessa expects the kiss to be more than it is- flames of seductive fire that make one thing lead to another all too quickly- but instead it feels as if Brooke is deliberately holding back, teasing her a little. It’s not helping Vanessa’s desperation at all, and just as she brings a hand up to rest on Brooke’s hip, Brooke breaks the kiss.

“So,” Brooke begins cryptically, as she reaches for her phone where she’d discarded it against the sheets. “I was just scrolling Instagram, you know, as you do. And, uh, I felt a little bit confused.”

Vanessa frowns in tandem with Brooke, who finally appears to reach the post she’s been looking for. Brooke’s voice keeps its light tone as she continues. “Because apparently, according to these photos…it looks like you had a cute little reunion date with your ex today?”

Vanessa’s heart drops as Brooke turns her phone to show her the long-lens photograph posted by The Sun’s Instagram account. It’s her and Kameron at the coffee shop window, taken at the exact moment that Kameron had reached out and taken her hand and Vanessa had shot her a forgiving smile and taken hers in return, probably the most affection they’ve shown each other in a whole year.

But Jesus Christ, has it been taken out of context and then some.

She’s panicking, and she can feel her mouth opening and closing rapidly as she attempts to explain herself. The one saving grace about the whole situation is that Brooke appears to be…calm? Relaxed? She’s not flown off the handle, anyway, which Vanessa wouldn’t exactly have expected, and there’s also the fact she’s in a matching underwear set so clearly can’t be that mad at her. So Vanessa finally finds her voice, tells Brooke everything- how she’d only bumped into Kameron in the shop, and how it was just a coffee and nothing more, and how she’d actually finally received closure for everything that had happened between the two of them.

As she speaks, part of Vanessa wants to bring up the fact that she and Brooke aren’t even together together, so why Brooke’s so pressed about all of this Vanessa doesn’t know.

Unless Brooke wants them to be more than what they already are. And Vanessa has fucked it.

Shit.

“It’s just all a massive misunderstandin’, honestly,” Vanessa finishes, and she’s relaxing a little more now that Brooke’s body language is warmer. “I maybe should’ve texted you but I was gonna tell you tonight anyway, I promise. I wouldn’t…I just wouldn’t mess you about like that, Brooke.”

Brooke slowly lets a bashful smile creep across her face as she nods softly. “Okay.”

And, just because she can, Vanessa pulls her in for another kiss. This time there’s a little more heat to it which makes Vanessa’s stomach flutter in anticipation, but she still feels as if Brooke’s holding back. It’s only then that Vanessa remembers how Brooke had told her she liked being in control, how much Brooke got off on hearing her beg for what she wanted the first time they’d slept together, and it all falls into place.

Oh.

Before Vanessa can say anything, Brooke’s trailing her hand from its position cupping Vanessa’s jaw down her body to rest on her waist, and Vanessa’s mouth goes ever-so-slightly dry. Brooke’s face is still close as she speaks again. “See I thought that would be the case, because I know you’d never do anything to hurt me.”

Vanessa responds by mirroring Brooke’s touches, resting her own hand against her exposed thigh and delighting as she watches something darken behind Brooke’s eyes. Her tone changes a little as she continues. “But it did get me thinking…what if you did forget how good you had it one day?”

“Won’t happen,” Vanessa shakes her head, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth as Brooke pushes up the hem of her oversized white t-shirt, rests the palm of her hand against the bare skin at her waist. Vanessa squeezes her legs together again and she watches as Brooke flicks her gaze down, suppresses a smirk badly.

“It won’t?” Brooke pouts mockingly, and Vanessa loves it. “Well, just in case…I thought I’d show you what you’d miss if you ever did think you could do better than me.”

“Fuck,” Vanessa verbalises what she’s thinking in a hiss, as Brooke tugs at the bottom of her top and removes it quickly without Vanessa having to do anything other than raise her hands above her head.

Brooke dips her down so that her head’s resting against the pillows and presses kisses to Vanessa’s jaw, neck, collarbone, right down to the lace of her bra. Vanessa’s pulse is racing and she finds herself already spreading her legs, unable to help the way she needs Brooke to touch her.

“God, you’re so needy,” Brooke tuts disapprovingly into her skin, briefly reaching her hands under Vanessa’s back in an attempt to unhook her bra. Vanessa’s stomach tenses as she lifts herself off the mattress to help her, and soon the bra that she spent entirely too long picking out this morning is thrown halfway across the room onto the dark wood of Brooke’s bedroom floor.

“Says the girl that’s trying to get my boobs out in the first two minutes of foreplay- ah!” Vanessa cuts herself off as Brooke sucks a hickey into her collarbone. If she wanted to get Vanessa to shut up she’s succeeded, and so Vanessa instead focuses her attention on trailing her nails up and down Brooke’s back, delighting in the way the other girl shivers gently at the contact.

Brooke brings her lips up to meet Vanessa’s and she licks gently into her mouth as she strokes her thumb over one of her nipples, the contact making Vanessa flinch against the bed in the best kind of way. Vanessa trails a hand up Brooke’s back and pushes her fingers into her hair, and when Brooke breaks away her stomach flips at the way it’s all messed up and imperfect. Paired with Brooke’s blown pupils and plush lips, it’s a sight that makes Vanessa buck gently into the air almost without realising.

“Jesus. It really doesn’t take much, does it?” Brooke laughs gently as she loops a finger under the waistband of her leggings, and Vanessa shakes her head and pouts self-indulgently.

“Brooke…” she begins, then trails off when she doesn’t actually realise what she wants to say. She’s very happy to let her be in charge if this is what happens as a result, and when Brooke moves to straddle her it renders her twice as speechless as she was before.

“If this is you now, I’m almost scared for how you’re going to react when you see what I’m planning on doing to you,” Brooke says softly, the fake concern to her voice sending shockwaves rippling through Vanessa’s body. Before she can respond Vanessa gasps as Brooke pulls off her leggings, leaving her in the red thong she’d agonised over and the white ankle socks she’d put entirely less thought into. Brooke is left kneeling between Vanessa’s spread legs; dark heavy-lidded eyes, mouth hanging ever-so-slightly open. When she speaks, her voice is ragged.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” she says, and maybe it’s the simplicity of it but Brooke’s words make Vanessa feel completely naked despite what she’s still wearing.

“You’re beautiful,” Vanessa breathes out in an instant reply.

Brooke pouts and trails one of her short acrylics up Vanessa’s inner thigh, ripping a whine from her. “You sure Kameron isn’t more beautiful?”

“Jesus,” Vanessa throws her head back against the pillow and lets out a breathy laugh. “I didn’t have you down as the jealous type at all.”

When she tilts her head up Brooke’s got an unimpressed eyebrow raised at her. “You’re already in trouble, this isn’t helping your case.”

Vanessa can’t resist the urge to tease her and so she sticks her tongue out in response. “Oh what, you gonna punish me? You gonna tie me to the bed an’ spank me?”

Brooke’s gaze darkens. There’s a pause as she crawls up the bed, hovers over Vanessa with her face close. Vanessa keeps her own eyes sparkling as she stays still, challenging her to see if she’ll crack even though she wants to grab her jaw and kiss her with the same intensity they’d shown each other earlier.

“Brooke Lynn’s jeal-ous,” she sing-songs right in her face, and when Brooke pulls back she’s wearing a dark expression. Vanessa brings her hands up to rest on Brooke’s waist, traces the outline of her waistband.

And when Brooke leans over to the top drawer of her bedside table, Vanessa’s eyes widen as she instantly realises what she means.

She produces a wireless pink wand vibrator, and Vanessa’s body hotwires.

“Fuck.”

“Mm-hm,” Brooke murmurs, lips quirking in a smile. “You’re going to get punished for the stunt you decided to pull today.”

“Oh no, I hate orgasms! What a terrible punishment,” Vanessa smiles back at her, sarcastic and indulgent.

“Who says you’re going to be allowed to have any?” Brooke frowns.

Vanessa instantly realises her mistake.

“Wait…but-”

“Yeah. I’d suggest you better start being extra nice to me,” Brooke interrupts her, resting the wand down on the bed beside one of Vanessa’s thighs and hooking her fingers around the waistband of her underwear to tug it off. While this is happening Vanessa shuffles against the sheets in anticipation, something curling tightly in the pit of her stomach and the throbbing between her legs becoming impossible to ignore. She wants so badly to be touched, wants Brooke to feel how wet she is and for her eyes to go all wide when she realises she’s the one that’s got her this worked up, but instead of her fingers or her tongue she’s using that stupid fucking vibrator and she’s not even going to be allowed to come.

Fuck.

“Please, Brooke Lynn,” Vanessa pouts, letting a hand trail up Brooke’s thigh from where she’s positioned herself between her legs.

Brooke gives a short laugh. “You think you’re begging me now, wait until I get started.”

“Promise I’ll be good for you,” Vanessa insists, the end of her sentence almost getting cut off with a gasp as Brooke presses the wand against her. It’s not even switched on yet but it’s something that Vanessa can grind against, and she bucks her hips gently against the head.

“If you want me to turn it on you better keep those hips still,” Brooke says quickly, and Vanessa groans in resignation, lies still like she’s been asked.

She’s rewarded with a soft hum and a gentle buzz against her slit, and she can’t help the moan of satisfaction she gives in response as Brooke holds the wand there for a few moments, letting Vanessa get used to it. After so much build-up it feels like heaven, and the feeling leaves Vanessa wondering how long she’s going to last.

Brooke starts to swipe the wand up and down against her; lazy, slow motions that leave Vanessa squirming against the mattress every time she feels the vibrations brush against her clit. It’s not helping that Vanessa can see Brooke’s own chest rising and falling increasingly quickly, her pink, flushed cheeks, her hair all unkempt from Vanessa running her fingers through it.

“This good, babe?” Brooke asks, her tone ragged and her voice hoarse. When she snaps her gaze up to meet Vanessa’s eyes her pupils are blown and black and it sends an arrow through Vanessa’s heart that instantly shatters it as if it’s a piñata full of confetti.

“Mm,” is all Vanessa can manage, along with a rapid nod against the pillow.

“Not quite hearing a yes or a no there,” Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I should just turn it off-”

“No, no, no, no! It’s good, it’s good, fuck, yes, please don’t stop,” Vanessa instantly reels off as if it’s a frantic prayer. Brooke’s probably the closest thing to religion she’s experienced in months.

“You sure? You sure Kameron wouldn’t do it better?” Brooke says teasingly, wiggling the vibrator against her clit as if to make a point and sending Vanessa into the stratosphere.

“No, I promise, I promise, babe, please, please, please,” she whines. She can hear herself pleading and she hopes it’ll help Brooke come round to the idea of letting her orgasm because if Brooke ups the setting on her wand then there’s no way she’s going to be able to exercise any form of restraint.

Brooke switches back to slowly sliding the vibrator against her, and Vanessa can feel Brooke’s grip on her thigh tighten.

“Fuck, I can see how wet you are from here.”

Vanessa feels herself throb, her body responding to Brooke’s words before she can. She fists both her her hands into the sheets, can’t see her knuckles but knows they’ve gone white. “You wanna taste me so bad.”

“So much,” Brooke pouts, nodding slowly. “But…you need to lie there and take your punishment.”

“Fuck. I miss when you were too shy to talk during sex,” Vanessa huffs, grumpy, and she’s immediately stopped from saying any more as the wand buzzes that little bit more intensely against her. Brooke brings it back up to her clit, rubs it in slow, small circles that drive Vanessa wild and render her almost incapable of thought.

“Sounds like you’re the one who can’t talk during sex,” Brooke deadpans, squeezing Vanessa’s thigh to punctuate her point.

She can feel how slick the wand is against her, only illustrating how wet she is. The hum of the vibrator and the gasps Vanessa can hear herself making are heightening her senses; it’s too much and not enough all at once. Both Brooke’s teasing and the sensation of the wand vibrating against her is making Vanessa’s inevitable orgasm build inside her, and it’s only a matter of time before she hits boiling point.

“Brooke- ah!- please…don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last…”

“Oh, no way,” Brooke says darkly, and in an instant the vibrator is off and Vanessa’s back is arching off the bed in frustration as she cries out in disappointment. “You don’t get to come yet, babe, not after the sass you just gave me.”

Vanessa instantly regrets opening her stupid mouth and teasing Brooke more than anything she’s ever regretted before in her life. She whines, reaches her hips up into the air as if she’s going to generate friction from nowhere, and Brooke’s pouting in mock-sympathy. Vanessa knows she could just spring up from her position against the bed, grab Brooke’s face and kiss her and pin her down and take the control back, but there’s part of her that knows how unbelievably satisfying it’s going to be when she does get to come if she’s this worked up already.

Brooke’s watching her with heavy-lidded eyes as she traces up her leg then fans her fingers out over her inner thigh and rubs her thumb against her clit. The contact makes Vanessa’s eyes almost roll into the back of her head; the wand has heightened her sensitivity and she’s by now so slick and wet from all of Brooke’s teasing that with every little rub of her thumb Vanessa can feel the fire between her thighs become completely out of control.

“God, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this to you every fucking day since Blackpool,” Brooke bites her lip, and Vanessa bucks against her thumb helplessly. “We’d be having to rehearse but all I wanted to do was just to make you beg for it again and again, fuck.”

“Should’ve told me.”

“Mm. I almost texted you about it. One of the nights I was lying in bed fucking myself with my fingers and remembering how good yours felt…remembering how you felt like fucking heaven underneath me…I could’ve sent you so many pictures that night…”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ you need to stop talking or I’m gonna come,” Vanessa squeezes her eyes shut. Brooke’s still teasing her clit and Vanessa knows she’s deliberately applying just not quite enough pressure. She’s so on edge and it feels like the most incredible form of torture.

“You want the wand back, sweetie?”

“Please, fuck, yes,” Vanessa begs, almost wanting to sob. When Brooke’s thumb gets replaced by the vibrating head of the wand she feels lightheaded, lets out a cry that she instantly knows Brooke’s neighbours will hear but she doesn’t care. Brooke’s teasing her badly, holding the wand against her, taking it away for a second, then replacing it, and Vanessa feels so sorry for herself that she starts pleading with her.

“Keep it on me, please,” she gasps out, and when she looks up at Brooke she’s smiling at her wickedly.

“Like this?”

Brooke ups the intensity the moment she makes contact and Vanessa can practically feel herself give a little gush against the wand. Her breath is coming in shallow gasps now, and she’s only just registering the fact that Brooke’s got her hand that isn’t holding the wand down under the waistband of her own underwear, playing with herself. There’s a light sheen of sweat against her chest that’s making her glow like an angel and the way her chest is rising and falling is mirroring Vanessa’s.

Vanessa now realises why people yell out declarations of love right in the middle of their orgasm.

“Why don’t you tell me how much you like it?” Brooke murmurs. Vanessa can see her bucking against her fingers and the sight makes her press herself down against the wand, the way the vibrations roll over her clit in waves making her want to scream.

“So much…so fucking much…”

“Anyone else gonna fuck you like me?”

“No, baby, no-one else, just you, fuck, only you,” Vanessa whimpers. She looks up at Brooke and the sight of her eyes closed in ecstasy, grinding against her fingers and her nipples hard through the fabric of her bra is enough to tip Vanessa on a very gradual decline over the edge. “Fuck, can I come, please?”

“Yes, babe, you can come.”

When Vanessa feels her clit sieze up then pulse frantically against the vibrations of the wand, she shouts out into the bedroom, the pace of her fuck, fuck, fuck in sync with the waves of her orgasm flooding through her body. Brooke holds the wand against her until she’s sure she’s finished and Vanessa can only lie against the mattress, completely worn out and exhausted, as she watches Brooke take the wand and hold it between her own legs, the thin material of her underwear dark between her legs as Vanessa realises just how wet Brooke must be as well.

And even though Vanessa’s too worn out to help her out in the way she wants to, it doesn’t stop her from sliding a lazy hand up her thigh. She takes a couple of shallow breaths before pouting up at Brooke.

“Aww. Did watching me get you too worked up, baby?”

“Mm-hm,” Brooke hums in reply, running her tongue over her bottom lip as she squeezes her eyes shut. It gives her an idea.

“Not used my mouth on you yet. Bet you wish I was doin’ it now.”

“Fuck, Vanessa, keep talking.”

“You don’t get to boss me around any more, princess. Keep talking what?”

Brooke’s face contorts into a frown as she ruts against the wand, eyes still closed. “Keep talking please.”

“Good girl,” Vanessa purrs, and she almost feels as if she could go for round two as she hears the way Brooke gasps in delight at the praise. “You want me to tell you how much I want to put my tongue between your legs and taste you and watch you come apart under me?”

“Ah…”

“Maybe you don’t want that, though. Maybe you want to sit on my face instead. Ride my tongue and shut me up so I can’t talk back to you and drip all over my face all dirty while I just lie there and take it like a good girl.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Brooke hisses out. Vanessa’s surprising herself with what’s coming out of her mouth and how absolutely filthy it all is but she’s going with it because she knows Brooke’s close.

“Tell me how much you want it.”

“Fuck, want it so much.”

“You’re so close, aren’t you?”

“Vanessa…fuck, please…”

Vanessa regains enough strength to sit up and cup Brooke’s face with her hands, meeting her lips with her own and teasing her with a slow, deep kiss. Vanessa flicks her tongue inside her mouth and when she rubs it over Brooke’s she cries out against her lips, her moans almost-but-not-quite swallowed by Vanessa’s kiss as she comes.

Brooke breaks away as she falls against the mattress and Vanessa follows her, lying down beside her and gently switching the wand off. They lay there in silence, Brooke’s gasps and the buzzing in Vanessa’s ears the only things she can still focus on until Brooke reaches out a hand to curl around one of Vanessa’s. Vanessa throws a leg over Brooke, pulls her closer so that Vanessa can rest her head against her chest and feel her frantic heartbeat.

“Fuck me,” Brooke whispers breathlessly, and Vanessa lets out a chuckle.

“What, again? Thought you’d at least want a break first.”

“Shut up,” Brooke giggles. There’s a pause as she presses her lips to Vanessa’s head, mouths something Vanessa can’t hear or see. Then she mutters again, a little louder. “You’re so amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Vanessa replies childishly, though the way Brooke’s chest judders against her in a laugh Vanessa assumes she doesn’t mind. She flinches a little as Brooke’s stomach gives a loud rumble. “Oh yeah. Forgot you were meant to be making dinner.”

“Hey, I have made dinner thank you very much! It’s in the slow cooker. Cuban beef and rice if that’s okay?” Brooke asks, and Vanessa doesn’t miss the little nervous tone in her voice. It’s adorable.

“Sure it is.”

Brooke lends Vanessa some pyjamas to shove on in lieu of the outfit she’d arrived in, and Vanessa’s heart swells a little at the implication that she’s going to be staying over. She’s not sure if she’ll try and breach the subject of what they are tonight- the evening is already so perfect and Vanessa doesn’t want to ruin anything, especially not when they’re curled up on the sofa with bowls of warm food in their laps and laughing guiltily at the way Jan is sobbing because she and Jackie have become the latest ones to leave the competition after a tense dance-off with Crystal and Gigi.

“It’ll be a close final, though. Like that’s everyone been in the bottom now,” Vanessa contemplates, tilting her head in thought from her position at the other side of the sofa. Brooke nods, then snorts again.

“God. I feel for Jan, but she just has such a memeable crying face. Like Kim K,” Brooke snorts again, as some ridiculous BBC One gameshow that seems to be based around celebrities strapped into a wheel starts in the background.

“Jan’ll be fine. She’ll recover, she’s a big girl. She’s got Jackie anyway,” Vanessa shrugs. Brooke hums in response, and then there’s a palpable silence that fills the room, almost like Brooke is about to say something. Vanessa waits.

“So today got me thinking,” Brooke finally says, reaching out and curling her fingers around Vanessa’s. Her eyes are in her lap and she’s not meeting her gaze. Vanessa is, in every sense, on the edge of her seat.

“Uh-huh?”

“When I saw those pictures of you and Kameron,” Brooke continues, the reminder making Vanessa’s heart drop. “I got so envious…and then I thought, well…what’s the only way I can make sure Vanessa’s just mine?”

Brooke finally looks at her, and every fibre of Vanessa’s being lifts in hope. “So, uh, I was wondering…if you would want to be my girlfriend.”

And when Vanessa blinks, she can see fireworks explode behind her eyes. She’s unable to help the huge, dumb smile that breaks out on her face as she blushes shyly, gives a nod.

“‘Course I would, baby.”

The smile that bursts onto Brooke’s face mirrors her own, and Vanessa can’t help but lean in and pepper Brooke’s face with kisses, wrap her arms around her in a cuddle.

“Officially yours, now,” Vanessa smiles excitedly, as she rests her head against Brooke’s chest. She can’t see Brooke’s face, but she knows she’s smiling too.

And suddenly, a little sentence appears in Vanessa’s head, three very small and simple words that she’s not thought about in a long time but just make sense in that moment. She looks up at Brooke, meets her gaze and feels her heart thump.

Maybe she can save that for another day.

#rpdr fanfiction #ortega #bet you look good on the dancefloor #strictly au #lesbian au #branjie #past kamjie #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #kameron michaels #smut

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years

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Seeing Double (Part 2)

Summary: After the Winchesters show up at Jensen’s apartment, they discover getting the boys home may not be possible...

Part 1

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Alpha!Jensen (platonic, brotherly relationship)

Word Count: 6,200ish

Warnings: language

________

“Ow,” said Dean, Danneel pulling back into a corner of the kitchen, hiding behind a cup of coffee and Jensen. “Why’d she pinch me?”

“I was really hoping I was going crazy,” she said, resting her head against Jensen’s back with a sigh. “Maybe there’s a gas leak…”

“They’re real,” said Jensen, running his hands over his face, shaking his head at Sam. “At least Sam’s babysitting the kids so we can sort this out.”

“Uh huh,” she said, setting her coffee down and going back to Dean, leaning into his face.

“Hey, you look like that dick angel that screwed us over. Sister Jo,” frowned Dean, squinting at her.

“Excuse me?” she said with a scoff, Jensen grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back.

“She acts too. If you see somebody that looks like Ruby, don’t go stabbing her either,” said Jensen, sighing loudly. “You guys are great and everything but can you like...not be here?”

“Ah. So when you come to our universe you expect a little hospitality but when we get here-“

“Point made,” said Jensen, glancing around the apartment. “What do we do with them?”

“Well I’m supposed to fly home with the kids today,” said Danneel. “You have to be at work in like an hour.”

“Hey, Sammy and I are big boys. We don’t need a babysitter,” said Dean.

“Oh, yes you do,” said Jensen, grabbing Dean’s jacket collar, getting a nasty glare in return. “You guys are...you’re different, remember?”

“Oh. You’re worried-“

“There is no ‘Dean’s whiny juice’ here,” said Jensen. “I know everything now so-“

“Could someone explain what you’re talking about?” asked Danneel.

“In a minute,” said Dean, shifting in his seat. “I gotta use your bathroom.”

“Down the hall,” said Jensen. Dean got up from his seat, Sam wandering over. “Thanks for taking the brunt of the three musketeers this morning.”

“They’re cute. I could kind of hear what you were talking about and I should tell you-“

“What happened?” said Dean, storming out of the bathroom. “What...I can’t...there’s not...I am an Alpha!”

“Different universe,” said Sam with a shrug. “I’m not happy either but I sort of like it.”

“Again, someone clue me in please.”

“Okay,” said Danneel, nodding her head after a moment. “Okay. I’m not okay but okay.”

“Can they just hide in the apartment until we figure something out?” asked Jensen.

“Fine,” she said. “Don’t break anything and I swear if you two bring any freaky stuff in here-“

“Yes mam,” said Sam.

“If you two are gonna be here, at least help De out with packing up the kids for their flight,” said Jensen. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Going to work, actor boy?” teased Dean. “We’ll hold down the fort for you.”

“Just do what she tells you and you’ll be fine.”

“Rough morning?” said Jared, patting Jensen’s back in the lunch line. “You look like you’re having a day.”

“That’s a word for it,” grumbled Jensen, Jared chuckling. “What?”

“We should go out tonight for dinner. Neither one of us have early call times tomorrow,” said Jared.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Jensen.

“Fine. I’ll come over and we’ll order something,” said Jared.

“I’d rather...fuck. If De knows then Gen is gonna know soon and you might as well hear it from me,” said Jensen.

“Hear what?” asked Jared.

“Well…”

“No way,” said Jared, poking Sam in the chest that night.

“Why’s he poking me?” asked Sam, Jared doing it again.

“Because he’s excited. Jared,” said Jensen, Jared pulling his hand back. “I don’t know what to do with these guys.”

“Just let us head on over to the bunker, we do the spell and then we’re back where we belong,” said Dean.

“The bunker doesn’t exist, just like magic doesn’t exist,” said Jensen. Dean scoffed, waving him off. “Well you’re not an Alpha here so it’s not a far stretch to say magic doesn't either.”

“I am an Alpha, whether I got the equipment or not,” said Dean, glaring at Jensen.

“Well this is my house, Alpha,” said Jensen, Dean taking a big whiff of the air. “And?”

“You don’t smell like anything,” said Dean, putting his hand on his head as he walked away. “Sammy-”

“Hey, at least we won’t get ruts here,” said Sam.

“I want to go home,” said Dean, looking around. “Our home. You understand that, Jenny.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass you call me Jenny again, Deanie,” said Jensen with a smile.

“Maybe we let them try to get back and do their spell. It doesn’t hurt to try,” said Jared. Jensen shrugged, Sam seeming to have an easier time with this than his brother. “Hey, uh, why don’t we order some pizzas and have some beers? Jens and I don’t have work until 11.”

“Whatever,” said Dean, slumping over to a corner of Jensen’s couch, Sam giving them both a smile and look that said he was sorry.

“Hey dude,” said Jensen after Jared had gone home and Sam was passed out in the guest room, snoring away. Dean hummed from the couch, mindlessly watching something on TV. “You doing okay?”

“No,” said Dean quietly. “You know how fucked up I am, Jensen. Like, possibly even better than Sam. The Alpha thing, I know it’s not a big deal or it shouldn’t be but it feels like I lost a part of me. At least as an Alpha, I had a pack and was pack leader to Sam and that meant something, you know? I was important to him.”

“You’re still important, Dean,” said Jensen, taking a seat nearby. “Your brother loves you. Trust me. Jared ain’t even related to me and he loves me. He’s my brother.”

“Yeah but you’re normal. You can make friends and have a wife and kids. If we’re stuck here, I’m sure Sammy will find a sweet girl and it’ll all be fine. I’m...I’m screwed up. I wouldn’t put that on anyone but at least with hunting, I was doing some good. Now I got nothing,” said Dean.

“You could get a job that helps people,” said Jensen, Dean rolling his eyes. “Dude, if you’re stuck, I got your back. The whole family does.”

“Okay, enough with the nice guy schtick, alright?” he said.

“I had to go through crap and you guys took care of me. Now it’s my turn,” said Jensen. “And I am nice, asshole.”

“You are the weirdest friend I’ve ever had,” said Dean.

“I certainly hope so as your fucking twin from another universe I win the weirdest fucking friend award,” said Jensen. Dean chuckled, rubbing his hand against his head. “I thought I talked to you about this self-deprecating stuff back in your universe.”

“You did. I just don’t listen well,” said Dean with a shrug.

“You got that right. You ate my ice cream. I was looking forward to eating that like all freaking day,” said Jensen.

“Yeah but dude, it was triple fudge,” said Dean. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Well lucky for you, I got a secret stash in the-”

“Box of frozen veggies? Yeah, I use that trick on Sam at home. Sorry bud,” said Dean, Jensen staring at him slack jawed.

“I hate you and respect you at the same time,” said Jensen.

“Just being a good house guest,” said Dean with a smirk. “You probably need some shut eye, you look pretty wrecked.”

“Yeah, long day,” said Jensen, running his hands over his face. “Long few days. I need to head home this weekend, just relax.”

“Kansas?” asked Dean.

“Texas,” he said.

“Eh, good enough. At least you didn’t say LA,” said Dean.

“Goodnight, asshole,” said Jensen, ruffling Dean’s head as he walked past.

“You too, Jensen.”

Friday Afternoon

Jensen only had a half day at work, standing in his apartment with his bag to fly home for the weekend around lunchtime. Jared got a flight out the night before and he and Sam had become best buds. Sam was easily adjusting to the situation far better than Dean. Sam didn’t seem to care so much about no longer being an Alpha and had already taken to cleaning Jensen’s apartment more than once, cooking dinner for him when he got home, trying to be helpful like Jensen had when he was at their place.

Jensen could see Dean wasn’t doing well though, Sam exchanging glances with Jensen every so often, not quite sure what to do about it. All he did was sit in Jensen’s apartment, watch TV and drink Jensen’s alcohol.

“Hey uh, guys?” said Jensen, both brothers spinning around on the couch. “I’m going to head out for the weekend. Call if you need anything, okay?”

“We’re not children, Jenny,” said Dean, spinning back around.

“I’m still older than you, Deanie,” said Jensen, lightly smacking Dean’s arm as he walked over. “You guys got any plans?”

“Besides the fact we’re trapped in this universe forever? No, no plans,” said Dean.

“Sam, you do that thing I asked you to do?” asked Jensen. Sam smiled and nodded. “Good. Get your asses up then. We’re going to Texas.”

“What?” said Dean.

“Jensen thought it’d be a good idea if I made up some fake ID’s for us, just in case. Shockingly easy to hack into systems in this universe,” said Sam.

“I don’t need to know that,” said Jensen as he shut his eyes, flashing them open. “Well, give Dean his new passport and license. I got extra plane tickets. Whatever you guys need, we’ll grab in Texas.”

“Here,” said Sam, fishing a new wallet and a little book out of his pocket, handing it to Dean.

“Dean Ackles. Seriously?” said Dean.

“I’m sorry. I have a potentially recognizable face, so does Jared. You guys have to be fake twins to us here,” said Jensen.

“Sammy and I can’t even be brothers?” said Dean, scrunching up his face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I think I’m getting you out of this apartment, back in a country you know, a part of the country you know,” said Dean.

“Oh? And what do we say when you guys both suddenly have identical twins,” said Dean.

“That you’re very private people. Hey, I got other siblings, so does Jare. We keep stuff outside of wives and kids pretty tight vested. It’s easy enough to pull off,” said Jensen. “Once you get in the states...it’ll be good for you. I swear.”

“At least I don’t have to be Sam Padaleski,” mumbled Dean.

“Padalacki,” said Sam.

“Pada...whatever,” said Jensen, rolling his eyes. “Just keep your mouth shut through security and for the love of god, do not do anything that gets us in trouble. Only Jared and I know about this right now. I don’t need my parents finding out they had another ‘son’ from airport security.”

Jensen saw the guys relax a bit once they were in Texas. It was somewhat familiar, both of them amazed at where Jensen lived, Jensen gripping the steering wheel tight every time one made a comment about “rich” people. Jensen arguably owned enough flannel to be a Winchester himself.

“Hi daddy,” said JJ when Jensen got out of his truck, Jensen scooping her up in a hug.

“Hi honey,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “What are you doing outside all by yourself?”

“Mommy said I could,” said JJ, pointing through the window to the kitchen, Danneel giving Jensen a smile. “Hi Uncle Sam and Dean!”

“Hey, kiddo,” said Sam, JJ turning her attention to Dean.

“Hi, JJ,” said Dean softly.

“You guys gonna stay for dinner?” she asked.

“Yup. They’re going to stay with us for a while,” said Jensen, grabbing his bag from the trunk. “Come on boys. De’s friday night meals are always the best.”

“This is amazing,” said Dean, Danneel chuckling as he worked on his third plate of food, Jensen taking the opportunity to spend some playtime with the kids.

When he returned, the boys were washing up the dishes, Danneel sitting at the counter with a smile.

“I like them. I think we should keep them,” said Danneel teasingly.

“I think we have to,” mumbled Jensen, Danneel staring up at him. He sighed and hopped up on the counter, holding her hand as the guys finished loading up the dishwasher. “I think...I think it’s time we got realistic about the chances of you guys going back to your own universe.”

“I told you he just brought us down here to ditch us,” said Dean.

“I brought you down here so you don’t sit in that apartment all day. This is our home and it’s private. Go outside, take a swim, get your head on straight. You both have to accept that these are your lives now. It’s all our lives,” said Jensen.

“What do you mean?” said Sam, taking a seat at the other counter.

“I mean if I was a normal guy, Jared was a normal guy, we could let you slip away just fine. Start over however you want. We don’t get that option. In public, you have to be an Ackles and you have to be a Padalecki. You have to be our brothers,” said Jensen.

“How the hell are we going to pull that off?” scoffed Dean.

“We’d have to get the family on board with it,” said Danneel. “Although your dad would probably be the only really hard sell if you think about it.”

“No! We’re not-”

“Dean,” said Jensen. “Listen. We-”

“Oh shit,” said Danneel when the garage door opened. “I forgot.”

“Forgot what?” said Jensen, wide eyed when he saw his dad round the corner and pause, blinking at the scene in front of him. “You forgot my dad was stopping over!”

“He was driving up from Houston after a small gig there earlier today. I told him he could crash here tonight, surprise you,” she said, running her hands over her face.

“Well. I am surprised,” said Jensen’s dad.

“Uh,” said Jensen, quickly hopping off the counter. “I uh…”

His father walked past him and stepped over to Dean, holding up a finger and poking Dean in the chest. He did the same to Sam, staring back at Dean.

“You’re the Winchesters,” said Jensen’s dad.

“Exactly!” said Jensen, his dad holding up a hand.

“I ain’t convinced I haven’t gone insane so give me a second, kiddo,” he said. He tilted Dean’s chin up, Dean glancing at Danneel who just shrugged, Dean swallowing when Jensen’s father flicked him in the side of the head.

“Ow,” said Dean, rubbing his temple.

“Alright. I’m Alan,” he said to Sam and Dean, turning his attention to Jensen. “What is happening?”

“Honestly? It’s a long story,” he said.

“Well start talking before I call your mother to have us all committed.”

“Well…” said Dean, sharing the bottle of bourbon Jensen had gotten out long ago with him. “Your dad seems really nice.”

“Give me,” said Alan, stealing the bottle away and whacking both Dean and Jensen on the back of the head.

“Dad,” whined Jensen, pouting when his father scowled.

“This is weird enough and we don’t need you two drunk,” he said. “Now sit back down.”

“Forget what I said,” mumbled Dean.

“I heard that,” said Alan.

“Well I ain’t your kid,” said Dean.

“Do I need to have this conversation with you too?” said Alan, staring at Sam. He shook his head, Danneel quickly skirting out of there with Sam to go hide in the living room. “Listen up. My kid is the one helping you. He could leave you and your brother to figure out this world on your own but guess what? He’s not. He’s choosing the hard thing because it’s what’ll probably help you the most. But if you don’t want it, there’s the door.”

“Dad, there isn’t really an alternative,” said Jensen. “Not unless they live in a shack the rest of their lives.”

“Fine with me,” he said.

“Dad,” said Jensen.

“Why should we do all this, drag the whole family, drag Jared’s whole family, through a big lie for someone who’s going to be ungrateful about it?” he said.

“Because it’s Dean and he’s not exactly open about this stuff,” said Jensen. “I have been playing him on TV for years. I have a good idea of how his head works.”

“I ain’t convinced. Get out,” said Alan.

“Dean, stay,” said Jensen, lifting his chin. “This is my house.”

“I’m not going to lie about having another son if he doesn't want it,” he said.

“I was stuck there in their world, dad. Trapped. Sam and Dean helped me,” said Jensen. “And what the hell is this all of a sudden? We help people when we can, that’s how you raised us. We’re good people and you’re acting like a dick.”

“You want the whole family to lie? For him?” asked his dad.

“Yes,” said Jensen. “For both of them.”

“Why?” said Alan.

“Because no one ever did a thing for them. The show was real for them, their actual lives. They deserve another shot, a shot at normal where they don’t have to hide,” said Jensen. “Please.”

“Good boy,” he said softly. Jensen scrunched up his face, tilting his head and glancing at Dean. “Hey, I already knew I was going to do it. I wanted to know why you wanted to.”

“Dickhead,” mumbled Jensen, his dad ruffling his hair.

“Whine like that and I’ll let Dean be the older twin,” said Alan with a chuckle.

“No!” said Jensen. “I’m older!”

“Do I get a say in this? Like at all?” said Dean. Alan shrugged.

“Technically you are younger,” he said.

“In this world, jerkface,” said Dean. Alan nodded and curled his finger.

“Let’s go have a chat outside,” he said. Dean huffed but followed after him, Jensen sighing when he found Danneel and Sam hanging out in the living room.

“I’m sorry about Dean,” said Sam, giving Jensen a smile. “He really does appreciate everything. I think the Alpha thing is really messing with him. He was head of the pack after our dad died and being head Alpha is a big deal in our world. I mean, take Dean with all his normal crap and add this on top of it.”

“I know,” said Jensen, plopping down next to Danneel, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Are only boys Alphas?” she asked, Jensen smiling up at her. Sam chuckled a little and shook his head.

“No. Pretty sure if she wasn’t an Alpha, she’d be the feistiest Omega I ever met though,” said Dean, rounding the corner with Jensen’s dad. “So yeah, chicks can totally be Alphas. A bit rarer though.”

“Well, I’m heading to bed kids. I’ll see you all in the morning, figure out how the hell to tell your mother we have another kid,” said Jensen’s dad, rubbing the back of his neck. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” said Danneel, giving Dean a smile. “So…”

“Can I talk to Sammy alone?” asked Dean.

“Yeah. We uh...we only got the one guest room but there’s plenty of couches around,” said Jensen, Dean smiling.

“Dude, it’s okay,” he said. “Uh, mind showing us? This’ll probably be a while. We got a lot to talk through. Brother to brother.”

Jensen nodded and played good host, showing them the bedroom and bathroom they could use, finding some extra sheets and pillows for Dean and setting them down in the room.

“De and I are just off the front door, other side of the house,” said Jensen, turning to leave.

“Hey, twin,” said Dean, Jensen glancing over his shoulder. “Call up Jared. Us four got a lot to talk about.”

“Honey?” asked Danneel, Jensen crawling into bed in the middle of the night. “What’s up with the boys?”

“We’re going to do it. Fake us both having twin brothers,” said Jensen. “I can’t believe this is our life now.”

“Hey, you always wanted the Winchesters to have a family,” she said.

“I didn’t think it’d literally be our family, De,” said Jensen, throwing an arm over her. “Why’d you ask about the Alpha stuff earlier?”

“Dean’s having a hard time, I want to help him if I can,” she said.

“Me too, sweetheart.”

Two Weeks Later

“Yo,” said Jensen, hopping out of his car on the way home from the airport, making a quick pit stop at the brewery. Dean gave him a nod, setting a sack of hops down. “De got you put to work good this week I heard.”

“I don’t care what happened in my universe. Both of you there at the same time, she’s so the Alpha out of you two,” said Dean.

“Eh, being an Omega’s not so bad, right?” said Jensen.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded you being the one that popped out the twins,” said Dean with a laugh.

“You’re joking,” said Jensen.

“Remember that sex ed book? Nope,” said Dean.

“Where…” said Jensen, Dean glancing around Jensen. “No way.”

“Yup,” said Dean, sighing when he heard Danneel tutting behind him. “Gettin’ me in trouble with the boss lady already.”

“Boys,” said Danneel, a smile in her voice. “Jensen, Dean. This is Ana. Today’s her first day. She’s going to be helping out in the office, events, odds and ends. Ana, this is Jensen.”

“Hello sir,” she said, giving Jensen a handshake.

“Oh god, I’m your boss but please don’t ever call me sir again,” said Jensen with a smile. “We’re sort of a bunch of goofballs around here.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, turning to Dean. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Dean, staring at her as she held out her hand. Jensen saw Dean blank out for a second, shaking his head and quickly accepting the handshake. “Dean.”

“Like Dean Winchester?” she said with a little laugh. Dean shook his head, dropping his face away after a moment. “Sorry.”

“No, no...you’re uh…” said Dean, Jensen catching a bit of flush in his cheeks.

“Let’s introduce you to everyone else and then Dean can be your training buddy for the day. He just started this week too,” said Danneel.

“Okay. Bye Jensen. Dean,” said Ana, giving them both a smile as she left with Danneel.

“She was cute,” said Jensen, Dean shrugging. “Dude.”

“Maybe...she was a little cute,” mumbled Dean.

“Too bad you were too busy trying not to blush you didn’t notice she was doing it too,” said Jensen.

“She did not,” said Dean.

“Gonna have to find out for yourself, Deanie,” teased Jensen.

“Eh, go screw yourself, Jenny,” said Dean.

“Love you too. Brother,” said Jensen with a laugh, pausing when he caught Dean’s face. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s...it’s not you. S’just weird,” said Dean. “I used to know a girl in my world, looked just like her.”

“Really?” said Jensen, turning around, catching the Danneel and Ana walk out of the back of the brewery.

“It was when Sammy was in college. I was working this hunt, a little big for me to be working on my own. I met this hunter, was going to work it with him, my dad gave him a call. The guy was a bit of an ass. He said ‘his girl’ would show me the ropes. He left and this chick, ain’t even old enough to drink, she walks in the bar, orders a beer, tells them I’m paying for it, knocks it back and then tells me to get my perky ass going cause we got a restless spirit to take care of. I thought she was a bit of an ass like her old man but it was a front, we all got fronts in that world. She was stitching up my arm in my motel room when it was finished, had this cute little smile and bam, her heat hits. She’s freaking out because it’s way off schedule and then bam, my rut hits and that’s way off schedule too and we realize...true mates,” said Dean with a smirk. “I actually had an Omega. Can you believe that?”

“That’s great man,” said Jensen, already having an idea of where this story was going.

“You’re the first person I ever told that to. Not even Sammy knows I had a mate,” said Dean, rubbing the back of his neck. “It wasn’t even a hunt that got her. A silly car accident. We barely got a few months together.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine,” said Jensen.

“No,” said Dean. “You can’t.”

“I can ask De to keep her away if-”

“No, no. It was a long time ago. It’s not her. I’m okay, seriously,” said Dean.

“Alright,” said Jensen. “I’ll see you at home later then.”

Two Days Later

“Daddy,” said Zeppelin, tugging on Dean’s jeans, Dean giving him a smile. “Oh. Uncle De, where’s daddy?”

“He’s playing with your sisters upstairs,” said Dean. “You want to go play with them?”

“No,” he said, walking away, Danneel giving him a smile as he plopped down in the living room.

“Alright, Uncle Dean,” she said, patting Dean’s arms. “Ready for your date tonight?”

“It’s not a date,” said Dean, running his hand over the gray button down Jensen had loaned him.

“It’s so a date,” said Jensen, walking down the stairs, patting Dean’s shoulder. “Come here.”

Jensen slipped on a pair of shoes and Dean followed him outside, handing him the keys to his truck.

“This where you tell me not to screw up this poor girl,” said Dean.

“This is where I tell you...have some fun tonight. We hardly ever see you crack a smile unless you’re with the kids,” said Jensen.

“Sam’s accepted that this is where we live now. I haven’t,” said Dean. “He’s making plans for apartments and I’m up half the night researching to get back.”

“Get back to what? To getting hurt all the time? Dying? Hunting?” said Jensen.

“It’s all I got, Jensen,” said Dean. “That and being an Alpha.”

“Well you’re not an Alpha anymore. You’re Dean and you get to start over fresh, be what you want. We’ll help you with whatever you decide. But you have to live your life,” said Jensen.

“I’m too fucked up,” he said. Jensen hummed and crossed his arms.

“I see. We’re gonna have to do this the hard way,” said Jensen. Dean rolled his eyes and started to walk away. “Hey. Winchester.”

“What,” said Dean with a sigh.

“Talk with Jared sometime,” said Jensen. Dean turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Just cause we don’t fight monsters doesn’t mean we don’t have demons in this family. Talk to him tomorrow. Jared’ll be honest with you. He’ll set your head straight.”

“Why? You sick of me already?” scoffed Dean.

“Because in case you forgot,” said Jensen, stepping up to Dean’s face, “You didn’t just get me as a brother. You got Jared too. I’m good at being there but Jared...you have more in common than you think. Just talk to him for me. For Sam. Please.”

“You’re not my brother,” mumbled Dean.

“Yeah. I am,” said Jensen, Dean staring at him. “Neither one of us picked this but it’s what we got. You know, like siblings. You don’t get to pick those.”

“You’re so annoying,” said Dean.

“I”m the older brother. Of course I’m annoying,” said Jensen with a smirk.

“I was in Hell for forty years. I say that makes me older,” said Dean, narrowing his eyes as Jensen swallowed. He sighed and dropped his head. “I’m sorry. Forget I said that.”

“It’s alright,” said Jensen, digging into his back pocket and pulling out his credit card. “Have fun on your date. My treat.”

“I got a job. I can pay,” said Dean.

“Dude. Just take it. It’s your first date in this universe. It’s my treat and De ain’t gonna be happy if you say no,” said Jensen.

“Fine. It’s probably going to go horrible anyways,” he said as he took the card.

“Have fun, Dean!”

“Hey,” said Jensen when Dean walked into the kitchen the next morning, picking JJ up from her seat at the counter and sitting down, resting her in his lap. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” he yawned, JJ grabbing his cheeks. “Good morning, sweetie.”

“Uncle Dean, it’s my seat,” she said.

“Can we share?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said, grabbing his shirt and tilting her head. “You got a tattoo like dad?”

“This?” he asked, glancing at Jensen when he pulled down his Henley and showed off his anti-possession tattoo.

“I only got the three, honey. Yours and the twins and the crown,” said Jensen, sliding two plates of eggs on the counter. He walked around and picked her up, plopping her in the seat next to Dean.

“Uncle Dean, are you gonna live with us forever?” asked JJ as she started to eat.

“No. Not forever,” said Dean with half a smile.

“Can you? Please?” she asked.

“I’ll stick around a while, how’s that sound?” asked Dean.

“Fine,” she grumbled.

“So how was the date?” asked Jensen.

“You know, a date,” said Dean.

“You gonna see Ana again?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Feels funny,” said Dean, wolfing down his food quickly. “I’m gonna go for a walk before it gets too hot out. I’ll see you guys.”

He stood and headed upstairs, JJ giving her father a look.

“Dad, why’s Uncle Dean so sad all the time?” she asked.

“It’s a lot of grown up stuff,” he said.

“Can you fix it?” she asked.

“Maybe. Give Uncle Dean and Sam a few extra hugs for me when you see them honey,” he said.

“You got it, dad.”

“Hey,” said Jensen, finding Dean out by Jared’s pool a few hours later. “Where’s Sam?”

“Grocery store. Gen’s bringing the kids over your place to swim,” said Jared.

“So, what? You two need a ride?” chuckled Jensen.

“No. Dean came over this morning and we’ve been talking,” said Jared. “I thought it might be good to get you involved.”

“What’s up?” asked Jensen, taking a seat on a patio chair.

“I think we all know Dean’s struggling with this...adjustment. Sam and I have noticed it and we’re sure you see it too. Add that on top of everything that these guys normally go through and this is where we end up,” said Jared.

“You okay?” asked Jensen, Dean sighing.

“In this world, you’re pack leader. Maybe you don’t realize but you are. I could get over the hunting if I could still be an Alpha, still have that,” said Dean.

“We don’t have that in our world, Dean,” said Jensen, tilting his head back. “I’m not a pack leader either. I’m part of a family, one you’re part of now. I know that this one is different than what you’re used to. I get it, man. We all do. But if you’re struggling, let us help.”

“I don’t know what I need,” said Dean.

“We don’t film until when, Tuesday afternoon?” asked Jensen after a moment.

“Nope,” said Jared, pulling out his phone. “You want me to reschedule our flight for Tuesday morning?”

“Yeah. I think a boys weekend with us and Sam is in order,” said Jensen with a smirk.

“Same place as we went last time?” asked Jared.

“Yeah. You mind getting it reserved and I’ll get these boys packed up?” said Jensen.

“Where are we going?” asked Dean as Jensen pulled him to his feet.

“Trust us. You guys will like it.”

“Nice,” said Jared when Dean reeled in a fish late that afternoon. “That’s your fourth one already.”

“Must be a better fisherman in this universe,” Dean chuckled. He unhooked the fish and dropped it back in the water, Sam sighing from the other side of the dock. “Patience, Sammy.”

“I’m getting hungry,” he said.

“Me too. Dean, how do you like your steak done?” asked Jared as he reeled in his line.

“Medium’s always good,” he said.

“Alright. You guys set the table out back and we’ll handle the food tonight,” said Jared, heading towards the small cabin with Sam.

“He a good cook?” asked Dean.

“He knows his way around a grill,” said Jensen, taking a sip of his beer. “You seem more relaxed here.”

“Not used to the real world still I suppose,” said Dean.

“Well, we rented the cabin for three weeks. You and Sam can come by anytime you want. Quiet place to be yourself,” he said.

“I like people. I want to be Dean Winchester again is all,” he said.

“You are. You’re a badass. I know that. But you gotta relax before you pop.”

“Maybe I haven’t been trying as much as I say I have been,” said Dean.

“When I was stuck, all I wanted was to go home,” said Jensen. “I understand.”

“Nothing bad happens here,” said Dean after a moment.

“Bad stuff happens. It’s not monsters that cause it is all,” said Jensen. “I think that’s what you struggle with.”

“There’s nothing for me to do here,” said Dean. “Nothing bad to stop. No pack to lead.”

“There’s plenty of bad to stop. Sam still needs you. I think you have to change that idea in your head of what that means is all,” said Jensen.

“Do you always have to be so annoyingly optimistic?” asked Dean.

“I want you to feel better is all.”

“Why?”

“You’ve been one of my best friends for fifteen years. I care about you. I didn’t know you were real until recently but you taught me a few things over the years. If you could stop being such a dick, it’d be nice,” he said.

“I’m your best friend? You sure you ain’t nuts, Jenny?” asked Dean.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Also, you so put my head at rest knowing a freaking hunter is home with my family to watch out for them when I’m not there,” he said.

“I never thought of it like that,” he said, a small smile on his face. “You got no idea how lucky you are, man.”

“I know. Maybe when we get back from our trip, you can hang with Ana again. She’s cute. You seemed like you liked her,” he said.

“I did. I’ll think about it,” he said. “Would you mind if I did something with the kids next week? Like after school?”

“Not at all. You don’t have to ask permission. I see how good you are with them and I’m sure De would love a few hours to herself,” he said, pulling his line in. “Why don’t you stay a bit longer. I can setup.”

“Alright,” said Dean as Jensen stood up. “Jensen.”

“Hm?”

“Thanks. You and Jared for taking care of us. You could have left us on our own to figure all this out,” he said.

“S’not our style,” said Jensen. “Food’ll be done in probably twenty.”

“What are you, my mother? I got it,” he said, waving him off.

Jensen smiled as he headed back to the cabin, Jared heating up the grill on the deck.

“You think he’s doing better?” asked Jared.

“Yeah. I think these guys are gonna be alright.”

_________

#spn #supernatural #dean x jensen #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean #winchester #dean spn #sam winchester #jensen ackles #rpf #au #rpf au #sam #jensen #platonic relationships

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perhapsitmaybedragons · 4 years

Text

A Congress of Newts and Serpents

Shoutout to cassieoh for the title, which I quite like and never would have thought of on my own.

I really wanted to write Newt getting romance advice from Crowley. It didn’t turn out the way I was expecting it, but I like how it went. It’s quite fluffy and has a very happy ending - one shot only.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944687

Or continue reading below:

“The point is,” Anathema continued, “That you had no right to say that!”

“I'm just saying, maybe we should go back home to discuss this?” Newt glanced at Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale looked concerned. Crowley was smirking in that way that meant he thought he was about to get a lot of free entertainment.

“Home?” She was seething. She grabbed his keys off of the table in the entry way. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I will absolutely see you at home. You can find your own way there.”

She slammed the door behind her and Newt stood there, watching her go. He had some inkling he was meant to chase after her, but another part of his brain was arguing that it was something that one only did in romantic comedies. She would calm down. Eventually. Right?

“What exactly did you do?” Crowley couldn't hide his delight. Sure, he was very kind for a demon, but he was still, at heart, a demon. “I don't think I've ever seen her so mad.”

“It's not like we've known them that long, Crowley,” Aziraphale poked him.

“I just said that I thought it was silly to go around lighting sage in the cottage. She said it would cleanse the air or something, and maybe get rid of demons?” he ran his hand through his already messy hair, somehow making it worse in the process. “I pointed out that might mean Crowley couldn't come around and she said something about well of course it makes exceptions for him he's one of the good guys. And it's just...I believe in science and I don't understand all of this new age stuff. I'm trying, I swear!” He spared a quick glare at the leftovers from tonight's dinner – sage encrusted chicken. It had brought the fight from this morning right back, after he'd thought they'd already worked it out.

“Well, dear boy,” Aziraphale chuckled. “It may be 'new age' to you, but I can assure you it's existed for centuries. Nothing new under the sun, as they say.”

“Who says that? I don't say that,” Crowley shook his head and went to get himself a drink. They were all in his flat. Aziraphale had thought it would be a good idea to get the humans to come around every so often while they all waited to see if Heaven or Hell would make another move. So far, all that had happened was that they'd learned Newt was a lightweight and that Anathema got angry after just one drink (though she never seemed actually drunk ...just ...angry).

“You do have to meet in the middle,” Aziraphale continued as though Crowley hadn't interrupted him. “It's alright if you don't quite believe the same things, but it isn't kind to patronize.”

“I didn't think I was being patronizing...”

“But you may have come across that way, even without intending it. How long have you known Ms. Device?”

“I mean...we met the day we all had to stop Adam from blowing up the world.”

“So just a few weeks, then. It can be hard to build a relationship that quickly.”

Neither one of them could see Crowley rolling his eyes behind his shades. “It was quick,” Newt admitted. “Do you think it means we're wrong for each other?”

“I think, Newton, that you should go home, get some sleep and talk to Anathema in the morning. Perhaps you should sleep on the couch tonight, let her have the bed,” Aziraphale clapped him gently on the back. “Crowley will take you, since she took your car.”

“I'll take him? News to me. Why don't you take him, angel?”

“I couldn't – what would be the point? I don't have a car. He'd have to take the bus and at this hour those can be impossible to come by!”

“You could miracle one up for him-”

“I will not perform a frivolous miracle when you could just take him in your car,” Aziraphale insisted. “It would be much faster than the bus, anyway. The way you drive, so long as you don't get yourselves into an accident, you'll probably be there and back in half an hour.”

“I'm sorry, so long as we don't get into an accident?” Newt repeated.

He was ignored. “Fine!” Crowley threw his hands up. “I'll take him. Are you going home now, then or did you want a ride, too?”

“No, no, I thought I'd stay here until you get back. I have some thoughts I wanted to run by you.”

“Fine,” Crowley said again. “You, awkward human,” Newt frowned but didn't correct him. They both knew that Crowley knew his name. “Let's get going. The sooner we leave the sooner I can get back and take a nap.”

“Haven't you been drinking?”

“He's right, Crowley. Sober up, first.”

Crowley groaned and shook the alcohol from his system. “There? Happy? All back in the bottle for later. Can we please just go?” He flung the apartment door open and gestured for Newt to go out. Newt scurried along, out the door, through the hallway, down the stairs and finally to where the Bentley was parked in all its glory. He'd seen the car before, but he'd never been in it. He didn't know very much about cars, but he knew just enough to know this was expensive and old.

He climbed into the front seat and buckled in. Crowley got in on the driver's side and started the engine.

“Wait, don't you need to turn the headlights on?”

“Ugh...if it will make you feel better,” Crowley nodded and the lights came on. Then he reversed the car and headed off in the direction of Tadfield.

“It's just...” The words poured out of Newt before he could think better of it, “I don't see what the big deal is. I really wasn't trying to upset her or anything. I thought relationships were about sharing your opinions. But ...maybe it's not a great idea to form a relationship based on a book...”

“A book?”

“Yeah. Agnes Nutter. She predicted us together. Apparently marriage as well.”

“Ah.”

“So. Stupid reason, huh?”

“Well, yeah.”

Newt hadn't expected that. “But she got everything right! Agnes predicted every little thing we needed to survive. How can you say that it's stupid?”

“Because you said that it's stupid. I was just agreeing with you. Did you want me to say 'oh, no, you're wrong. Perfectly logical to let an ancient witch decide who you should be with and who you should marry. Most obvious thing in the world, that'?”

“Maybe not,” Newt shrunk into the passenger seat, vaguely aware that he was sulking. “I guess it's not as good as overcoming everything you and Aziraphale have, but you can't really compare us – we're just human. I mean, she's a witch but -”

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Crowley had brought the car to an abrupt stop. Newt's whole body jerked as they went from impossibly fast to standing still. He felt a little fuzzy, but fully aware that had Crowley not cushioned the blow that could have done some serious damage to him.

“She's a witch, literally. I'm not calling her names-”

“Not that, I know about her being a witch,” Crowley was acting funny. His tone of voice was bored, like he didn't want to have the conversation. But Newt knew enough about body language to gather that Crowley was very interested in what Newt had to say right now. “What's that about me and Aziraphale?”

“Well, you're together, aren't you? So I figure you had to fight all of Hell and maybe all of Heaven, too, just to be together.”

“We're not,” Crowley didn't finish his argument. “He and I are friends. I mean...really good friends.”

“Aren't you in love with each other?” And now Newt was absolutely baffled. He'd had best friends before. None of them looked at him the way Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Not that he'd ever seen, anyway. “I thought you were together. Anathema-” now he trailed off, suddenly reminded of the fight. “Look, no matter what you two are to each other, I know you've fought before. How did you deal with it?”

“Probably the same way you dealt with fights with your mates in the past,” Crowley started his car back up again but didn't start driving. They were sitting still, parked on the side of the road. He looked deep in thought.

Newt was many things. Awkward, bad with electronics, maybe a little on the odd side. But he wasn't dumb. “Look, if I fight with friends it's never about anything important. And they get loads of time away from me, so if they're mad at me I don't have to worry about going to bed alone.”

“Those aren't things I have to worry about. I mean, I don't worry about going to bed alone. I do go to bed alone... I just don't worry about it, I mean.” The car started moving, but it wasn't lost on Newt that Crowley was driving the speed limit. He wondered for a moment if it was the first time Crowley had ever obeyed traffic laws.

“Fine. Indulge me. Hypothetical. If you and Aziraphale were in love and you had a fight-”

“Why do you need to bring him into this hypothetical? Why not just say 'if you were in love with someone and had a fight with them'?”

“Fine! If you were in love with someone, anyone, doesn't matter who, and they were very angry at you, what do you do about it? Especially when you never put in the ground work to be together in the first place?”

To his credit, Crowley did seem to be pondering the question sincerely. “Complained to the wrong people, mostly.”

“Complained? Not ...would complain? You're talking like you have been in this situation.”

“Not the part about being fated to be together by someone, obviously. Um...you've heard of the,” Crowley snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the correct phrasing. “The friend zone!” he looked triumphant when the word came to him.

“Yes,” Newt said slowly. He'd used the phrase himself as a teen once, and had been quickly reprimanded by his mother. He had learned to be wary of the kind of people who used it.

“That was mine, but it was an accident, swear it. I was just in a bar complaining to someone, and obviously I'd had a bit too much ...I said to this guy, 'you know, an out and out rejection would be fine, but it's not like I haven't been obvious about the whole thing. I may not have said the words but all my actions were you know...implying, and this person is smart, they can do book analysis and tell you why the curtains were blue or some such so why can't they read between the lines for me?' And this ...this asshole comes up with a story about some girl he was friends with and was being nice to all the time and how she only wanted to be friends and it was obviously the same as my thing, she'd lead him on by being nice to him. And, Newt?”

“Er-yeah?”

“I was just drunk enough and feeling just evil enough to goad him on with that. That was...I want to tell you the seventies – the nineteen seventies, but I can't remember for sure now. It was stupid.”

“So who was it then?”

“I already told you. Some asshole in a bar.”

“Not the friend zone guy! Who were you complaining about not realizing you're in love with them?”

“You know damn well,” Crowley grumbled. “Everyone knows except that idiot. Especially all the other people in bars I've complained to for the last several thousand years. He's so clever but he's so stupid-”

“Are you sure you sobered yourself up all the way?” Newt checked that his seat belt was fully secure.

Crowley ignored him. “The point is, Agnes got everything else right so she's probably right about you two. Do you like Anathema?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then take an interest in her interests. You ever seen something that makes her just,” Crowley clenched one fist for emphasis, the other remaining lazily on the wheel, “Just light up? Something that makes her so excited it's like the rest of the world drops away and maybe it does for you, too, because you're so focused on how happy she looks?”

“Once or twice...”

“And you don't want to do everything you can to make her look like that any chance possible?”

“Yes. ...Yes, I do. But I'm a little surprised you're willing to give advice on this. Or talk about it at all. You don't usually say much to me.”

“I talk when there's something worth saying. ...what do you know about glaciers?”

Newt stared at Crowley like he thought the demon had gone completely mad. “Uh- just that they're melting awfully fast, what with the greenhouse gases and-”

“Remarkably slow things. Used to be, at least. Then global warming and the polar bears dying and – not my point. My point is, the glaciers were here when we got here. Him and me, I mean. Him and I? Me and him? ...right, anyway, there's this big one that's been there the whole time and it's moving really slowly. Like ...snails are out pacing this bastard, right? That thing is going to somehow circumnavigate the globe multiple times before he's going to want to talk about us.”

“Us?”

“Not you and I us, me and him us!”

“Oh, right. Right. So are you admitting-”

“Yes, yes, we're past all that. I'm in love with Aziraphale, big whoop, you figured it out. Again, you're not the first one to say something to me about it.”

“And you've ...told him since then?”

“Not technically. We got kind of close to talking about it once... He says I go too fast for him. So if I go too fast and there's a glacier out pacing him, where do we meet in the middle?”

“Is that where the 'glacial pace' phrase comes from? I never thought about it before,” Newt admitted.

“Sorry. We're supposed to be talking about you and your witch, right? Look...I don't know what to tell you. Other than that she's an angry drinker so I would keep the stronger stuff out of the house. You can't be with a person just because a prophetess says you're meant to be. If you want to be with her, it should be because you want to be with her. But make that clear to her.”

“I was trying. That was part of the argument, really. I was trying to point out that my not believing in everything was a good sign for us, because it meant I wanted to be with her for her and not because of Agnes.”

Crowley frowned, “Well, I do actually see your point on that one. But sometimes it matters how it's said.”

Newt tried to look less astonished than he felt. Somewhere along the line, Crowley had decided to take the conversation seriously and actually offer help. Some part of the back of his brain tried to remind him that this was a demon, one who wasn't above still messing with people (though usually in mostly harmless ways). But he couldn't see if this was a trap or not. It seemed like friendly advice.

Judging by how Crowley sped the car back up to his normal speeds (the speedometer was not at an angle Newt could see, and even if it were, they were now going a lot faster than it could measure), Newt figured the conversation was over. Crowley turned the radio on, which went from classical to “Bohemian Rhapsody” without either of them changing the station.

They both pretended to be focused on the music until the car rolled up to Jasmine Cottage. “You'll be all right. I think you're kind of good for each other. Just make sure you're listening, but also make sure she listens to you. When you got together the world was ending so you had to do it quickly, but it's not ending anymore, all right?”

“Yeah, all right,” Newt got out but left the door to the car open. “Crowley? Um. Thank you. For the advice and for being honest with me about you and - ...about your stuff. I hope all that works out for you. For what it's worth,” He wasn't sure he should continue. Newt was very good at putting his foot in his mouth, and he hoped this wasn't another one of those situations. “I think if you spoke to Aziraphale... he might be ready now. You wouldn't be rushing him or anything, not if you just told him what you want to talk about and then let him decide if he wants to have that conversation. I'm pretty sure...look, you don't see the way he's looking at you some of the times, but everyone else has noticed.”

“Whatever you say,” Crowley had adopted that bored tone again. He flicked his wrist and the car door shut itself, making Newt jump back in surprise. But the window was still open. “You and Bicycle Girl have a good night. Hope things work out.”

“Thanks, I-” But Crowley was already driving away. “Thanks, anyway. Right.” Newt squared up his shoulders and headed into the cottage, ready to talk. But he heard a honking noise and realized Anathema was pulling up in Dick Turpin now.

“How did you beat me home?” she demanded as she got out. “I was just about to turn around and go back for you, but I got this feeling that I shouldn't and-” she shook her head.

“Crowley gave me a ride. Literal speed demon, that guy. Look, I wanted to talk to you..”

“I wanted to talk to you! I've done some reflecting and-”

“Anathema?” He interrupted. “I promise I'm going to listen this time, but can we please go inside first? We're literally in the middle of the road here.”

“Right...right.” She moved the car to its appropriate parking spot before they both went inside. And talked. And listened. And talked some more. They took turns talking and listening for the next several hours before they went outside to watch the sunrise the next day, neither of them having gotten any sleep.

“Think we'll be all right?” He asked, putting an arm around her shoulders and squeezing.

“Yeah, I think we will.”

Crowley had headed back immediately after dropping Newt off. Aziraphale, as he'd promised, was still in the flat where he'd been left. He'd brought a whole collection of books to keep himself occupied. He was curled up in a chair Crowley hadn't had before today (“Heaven's sake, more tartan?! Crowley thought to himself as he saw the plush chair Aziraphale had conjured up). He was reading an ancient looking book, a steaming cup of tea next to him.

“Crowley! How did it go?”

“S'Alright. I got him home in one piece, anyway.”

“Do you think they'll be alright? Human relationships can be so ...fickle.”

“Angel?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I still moving too fast for you?”

The question hung between them momentarily. Aziraphale sat up and put his book down on the floor. He seemed to be carefully considering his options. “I -what brought this on?”

“Does it matter? We've never talked about it. I am asking if you are ready to talk now – and telling you that if you aren't, it's ok.”

“No, I want to talk about it,” Aziraphale wiggled so that he was sitting up straight. “I'm sorry. You've done so much for me all these centuries and at first I thought – ah, well, this must be a trap. Then we had the Arrangement and I thought, well, fine, he just wants some time off from doing this work. But it was never about that, was it?”

“See, I thought I had been astoundingly obvious about it. Too obvious. Like one of those American John Grisham novels-”

“I don't like John Grishams-”

“I know, I know, cause they lack subtlety and all have the same plot. You've told me. But that's my point, isn't it? You were the Enemy, but you were the enemy who gives away a flaming sword God gave him because the humans might need it. I thought you were intriguing.”

“I'm not sure I'm ready yet. Not fully,” Aziraphale admitted. “I think my feelings are obvious enough at this point?” His eyes met Crowley's. “I hope so, at least. And if not...you can consider this a formal declaration.”

“A formal declaration?” Crowley repeated. He tried very hard not to smirk. The smirk won. “So this is your ...declaration of Intent to Begin Woo, then?”

“Ah, yes, exactly!” Aziraphale looked delighted by the idea. All these centuries and he still didn't always get sarcasm. Or he purposely chose to disregard it, in Crowley's case. Crowley could never be certain which one it was.

“And how would that look?”

“It would be slow, but I could start coming around and bringing you flowers and talking to you about your day-”

“Other than the flowers, how is that different from what we're currently doing?”

“Because my intent is stated, of course!” Aziraphale looked affronted. “And now you know I'm not doing it just to be your friend, though I do still quite value your friendship. I rather like this idea...”

“It does let you set the pace,” Crowley admitted. “I want you to be comfortable with this.”

“I am quite comfortable, thank you. Comfortable enough to suggest that I ...sleep over?” A blush crept to his cheeks, but before Crowley could start teasing, he corrected. “I just mean sleep in this chair. It's quite comfortable. Not the bed. You'd take the bed. But it would make it easier for me to begin my wooing of you.”

“All right, then, Angel. You're on. But I expect to be uh...thoroughly woo-ed starting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow morning, then! It's a date.”

#good omens #my writing #ineffable husbands #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #newt #newton pulsifer #anathema #anathema device #fluff #romance advice #getting advice from a demon can be surprisingly helpful

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