#(he’s like 50 and it makes me smile that someone older is actually supporting my musical endeavours hehe) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hhjs · 4 years ago

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forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Good Omens - “From the Heart” (Rated T)

Summary: It's anniversary time again, and Crowley wants to get his husband something special. But Aziraphale, dreading the addition of another electronic gadget he cannot use to his collection, begs Crowley not to get him anything. He doesn't need anything. But if Crowley must get him something, get him something from the heart. Crowley does him one better, seeing as the present he does get him comes with a filthy Bible and a duel to the death... (2499 words)

Notes: Written for the first zine I was ever a part of - The Ineffable Oracle Deck.

Read on AO3.

“But I don’t need anything, my dear,” Aziraphale says, shuffling a shelf of books back in the correct order after a busy day of lookie-loos invading his shop.

“That’s not the point of buying someone a present, Aziraphale!” Crowley snaps his fingers when Aziraphale walks off, returning the books to disarray out of frustration. “I’m buying you a present because it’s our anniversary and I want to get you something special!”

Aziraphale snaps his fingers, setting the books right again. “I have more presents from you than I have spent actual days with you. And I cherish every single one of them.”

“I can see that.” Crowley throws an irritated glance at the shelf above Aziraphale’s desk that houses every present he’s ever gotten the angel – a mint collection of iPads, iPhones, and eReaders in their sealed boxes, lined up neatly but never used.

“Now that I have you,” Aziraphale continues, “the only thing I want is time with you.” Crowley makes a noise, starts to object. Aziraphale turns on his heel and puts a hand to his cheek, stopping him. “But if you feel the need to buy me something to show your love, don’t make it a newfangled gadget.” His hand moves to Crowley’s chest, warmth pooling where his palm rests. “Make it something from the heart.” He rises on his toes to kiss his demon on the cheek, then wanders away to shelve the remaining strays.

Crowley watches him go, makes a face, then snaps his fingers, disrupting order once again for the Hell of it. “From the heart. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

***

“May I help you, young man?”

“Uh …” Crowley startles, turning a circle before he spots the owner of the voice – a petite older woman with white hair and blue eyes.

An angelic blue, like Aziraphale’s.

“No, uh … yes … maybe?” He sighs. Honestly, he wishes she would leave him be to wander a while longer. It’s one of the reasons he prefers vintage stores to mainstream. The employees aren’t working on commission so they prefer to hang out behind the register, wait for customers to come to decisions on their own.

It’s not that he minds being bothered. It’s that he doesn’t have a clue where she came from. She wasn’t there when he walked in, hasn’t been there for the hour he’s been looking around. Perhaps she’s been in the back, inventorying treasures, and is now eager to be rid of him - lock up and go home early.

Like Aziraphale would.

But not knowing where she came from is just the half of it.

He didn’t sense her the way he can other humans.

He’s not entirely certain he senses her now.

It could be the antiques she surrounds herself with, down to her clothes. Her cashmere sweater is from the 20s, her skirt from the 50s, her pearl necklace the 70s. He imagines that if you own a business supported by the generosity of others, why spend money on incidentals? The proceeds go to charity, but there’s plenty to skim off the top.

Seems like sound logic.

“You look overwhelmed,” the woman deduces.

“I don’t know,” Crowley says. “This person is kind of hard to shop for.”

She smiles wide. “Tell me about him.”

Crowley’s brow furrows suspiciously. “How do you know I’m shopping for a man?”

“I don’t.” She shrugs. “But I’ve been at this a long time. You remind me of my son. He and his gentleman have been together for more than a dog’s age. Took them forever to admit it though.”

“Sounds familiar,” Crowley grumbles.

“They’re what the young people call non-binary. But they’re both so career oriented - wrapped up with work, travel a lot. Was a relief to see them finally settle down. Now, tell me about yours, hmm? Have a hobby? Collect anything?”

“Rare books. A passion of his, really. Has a fair bit of them, you might say.”

“Hmm, I do have some first editions, a few misprints … older than old Bibles with dirty pictures drawn in the margins,” she adds with a wink. “Do you think that might be of interest?”

Crowley’s eyes light up. Jackpot! “Yes! Absolutely! That’s perfect!”

“Follow me and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

The route she takes through the store is a bizarre one. She starts heading for the counter, which is straight ahead down a wide aisle flanked by display cabinets filled with figurines. But she veers left down a narrower path that cuts close to a far wall then banks back in the direction they came. Crowley shakes his head. The woman does look about 80 years older than God Herself.

Perhaps she got lost.

In her own shop.

Crowley snickers at the thought.

A glint of silver causes his eyes to sweep left.

He stops walking, mouth agape.

Hanging on the wall is the most exquisite sword Crowley has seen since … since Aziraphale’s sword obviously.

“Are you all right, young man?” the woman asks. Crowley briefly wonders how far she’d gotten before she noticed he wasn’t following her any longer.

“What is this?” he asks, reaching out, fingers hovering above the blade.

“That old thing? Got it a while back. Don’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t really fit in here but it’s so pretty.” She shoots him a sideways glance. “Does, uh, your gentleman fancy swords?”

“He had one once.”

“That’s … unusual.”

“He fought in a war.”

“Did he now?”

Crowley gulps at his unintentional reveal. It’s not his story to tell. He doesn’t even like admitting that much.

He looks the sword over transfixed - the jewel-encrusted pommel, the textured grip, the highly-polished blade. The sword looks like it could have been forged from a single piece of steel. Try as he might, he can’t find a single seam. Crowley only knows of a handful of swords made in such a way.

This couldn’t be one of them? Not hanging on the side-wall of a thrift shop, right?

It was magnificently crafted, real or not. And as far as he was concerned, Aziraphale needed to have it. “I’ll take it!” he declares, removing the sword carefully from its mount.

“Excellent!”

“Oh …” He chuckles “… and one of those Bibles with the dirty pictures, if you don’t mind.”

The woman grins far too familiarly. “Not at all.”

***

“Crowley …” Aziraphale sighs, admiring the reflection visible in the mirror-polished blade. “It’s beautiful! Just beautiful!”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“Absolutely not! It’s glorious! Where did you get it?”

“Funny you should ask … by the way, did you see the card book girl sent us? Decent of her to remember.” He thrusts an envelope in Aziraphale’s direction, diverting his attention. Crowley isn’t dodging Aziraphale’s question.

He doesn’t have an answer for him.

Crowley had also purchased a misprint Bible for his husband. The woman showed him several, but it came down to two that Crowley took considerable time deciding between, as each possessed a unique brand of charming vulgarity. Later, he decided there was no reason for his husband not to own two vulgar Bibles, so he went back for the other.

Only the store was gone.

He returned to the exact spot. He knows he did because the name and address of the store triggered memories he couldn’t explain - Isaiah’s on 41-10 Adam’s Row. But it was nowhere to be seen. And not a single shop owner in the neighborhood had ever heard of it.

“I shall mount it in a place of honor where I will always see it.” Aziraphale gazes lovingly at his husband. “You’ve outdone yourself, my dear. Thank you.”

Crowley smiles. It’s not what he would have chosen from go, but he’d say judging by the twinkle in Aziraphale’s eyes he hit this one out of the park. “You’re welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to run out. I forgot something.”

“I don’t need anything else!”

“Not even the dozen beignets I special ordered from Café Dubois?”

Aziraphale pauses, unblinking. He gingerly sets his new sword aside, takes his husband by the crook of the arm, and leads him to the door. “Be careful to drive the speed limit, but hurry back, my dear.”

***

When Crowley returns with the pastry, there’s a horse standing out front Aziraphale’s shop, more or less blocking the door.

“That’s bizarre,” he mumbles. He isn’t keen on approaching the gray mare, but if he wants inside, he’s going to have to maneuver around it, which he manages, sliding past the horse but keeping a wary eye on it.

“Aziraphale?” he calls, concerned by the quiet. “Why in the world is there …?”

He finds his husband, sitting and drinking tea.

But he’s not alone.

Standing beside him is an honest to goodness knight in armor.

Crowley smirks, jerking a thumb his way. “What’s this about? Singing telegram? Or are we throwing a fancy dress party?”

“No.” Aziraphale takes a thoughtful sip. “He has come to retrieve ill-gotten gains.”

Crowley turns white. “No chance he’s here about the dirty Bible.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrow arches, lifting his face to glare in Crowley’s direction. “No.”

“Well, can ya clue me in to who this cock-off is!?”

“My name is Sir Galahad,” the knight says. “Knight of King Arthur’s Round Table, one of the three achievers of the Holy Grail.”

“That’s … nice.”

“I thought he was a cosplayer,” Aziraphale says. “In which case, the horse is a tad much.”

“It has come to my attention that our most sacred sword Excalibur has fallen into the clutches of this human …”

“He’s no human,” Crowley says proudly. “He’s an angel.”

The knight looks at Aziraphale. Aziraphale waves.

The knight rolls his eyes, unimpressed.

“Be that as it may, Excalibur cannot be left in the care of a common angel either.”

“Oi! He’s not a common angel!” Crowley argues. “He’s a Principality! Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden! He wields a flaming sword!”

“Really?” The knight brightens since that’s something he’d like to see.

“I don’t happen to have it on me,” Aziraphale says, stirring milk into his tea, “but it is quite a sight, I promise you.”

“Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, you say? That changes things,” the knight mutters, deliberating. “It’s settled then.”

“What’s settled?” Crowley asks, waiting for the knight to tell them he made a mistake, and that he’ll jump back on his horse and ride off into the sunset, leave the two of them to finish celebrating. That’s all Crowley needs to hear.

“You may keep Excalibur. In exchange, I will take the angel with me.”

“What!?” Crowley spits.

“What?” Aziraphale echoes, going bug-eyed when the knight approaches and offers his hand. Aziraphale stares at it as if it’s some baffling creature, like a dragon covered in scales of mascarpone cheese.

“Look,” Crowley growls, “take your rusty old sword and go!”

Aziraphale gasps. “Anthony J. Crowley! That sword is the most touching, sentimental present you have ever given me! And you’re just going to hand it over?”

“If it means keeping you with me? Then yes, I am.”

Aziraphale swoons. “How romantic!”

“An angel who’s guarded the gates of Eden will be more valuable to the realm than ten thousand Excaliburs,” the knight says, his voice sliding to a more sultry octave.

Aziraphale’s cheeks turn pink. “Oh …”

Crowley catches the change and points sternly in his direction. “Oi! Don’t you even!”

“There’s only one way to determine who gets the angel,” the knight decides, feeling no need to consult either Crowley or Aziraphale on the matter.

Crowley scoffs. “I’m sorry Sir Wanks-A-Lot, but we already determined that years ago … when I married him!”

“The civil contracts of this realm are of no consequence.”

“And which realm is yours?”

“We shall duel for him,” Galahad continues, ignoring the question. “The winner of said duel shall earn rights to the angel … and Excalibur.”

Crowley stares, gobsmacked, as his husband bats his eyelashes at this wanker in metal pajamas threatening to steal him away. “Aziraphale! Aren’t you going to do anything?”

“I don’t think I can.” Aziraphale reaches for his cup, smiling when the knight offers to add sugar for him. “But I must admit, I’m intrigued by this turn of events. I’d rather like to see how this plays out.”

***

Crowley looks like an idiot holding a sword.

And whether Crowley likes it or not, Galahad has the advantage.

It’s been a while since Crowley has dueled. He doesn’t fight mortals, and any demon who gets in his way he can usually take out with his magic.

Or his car.

There are few situations involving supernatural entities he can’t talk his way out of. But this knight, whoever he is, wherever he comes from, is impervious to his magic, which Crowley discovered when he tried to snap him into a different dimension on the sly while snapping up some armor. Worse, Crowley had to borrow the sword he’s using from Galahad.

But regardless of how out of practice he is or how ridiculous he looks, he can’t surrender.

If he can’t snap Galahad away, he might not be able to rescue Aziraphale from wherever the knight plans on taking him.

“Uh … gentlemen?” Aziraphale says from the fringes. “On second thought, this may not be the best idea.”

“Oh really?” Crowley says bitterly. “And what makes you think that?”

“We’re on the roof, for one thing.” Aziraphale peeks over the edge at the crowd gathering below to pet Sir Galahad’s horse.

“There was oof!” Crowley flies backward, avoiding a jab that gets too close. “Nowhere else ahh! we could do this without attracting Ngk! attention.” Crowley lunges forward, then hops right when Galahad retaliates, shrugging as the blade glances off his armor.

The next three moves happen so quickly, occult powers had to be at play.

Galahad spins, fakes, blocks, then kicks Crowley’s legs out from under him. In the time it takes for Aziraphale to scream Crowley’s name, Galahad is on him, straddling him. Crowley’s helmet rolls across the ground, Galahad’s blade pressed to his neck.

“If you’re going to do it, do it!” Crowley snarls. “But don’t think that means I’ll let you take him! Unless that blade’s made of holy water, you’re not getting rid of me!”

“If you’re willing to go through all this, you must truly love him.”

Crowley’s lip curls. “With all my heart.”

“You’re a demon. You have no heart.”

“Turn of phrase, i’nt it?”

Galahad peers at him, the sword pressed so deeply it’s beginning to leave a mark. Then, with no warning, the man releases him.

“You know, I believe you do.”

“Do what? Love him?”

“Have a heart. One worthy of guarding Excalibur.”

“Oh for Satan’s sake!” Crowley grouses. “Don’t tell me this was some sort of test!?”

“Dearest, I was wrong,” Aziraphale says, helping his husband to his feet. “Next time, get me an iPad.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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janetbrown711 · 4 years ago

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🥺 Writing ask abt eah with apple and darling "You're not a machine or- or some thing, you're a person, and I'm sorry anyone ever made you feel otherwise"

Apple was getting ready to go home for a party- a birthday party to be more specific. Her birthday party if you really wanted to go into detail.

It was May, the beginning of summer. Not that summer truly meant much in Ever After High- it was a year-round school after all, but it did mean a little bit of time would be allotted for students to spend some time at home and relax.

However, Apple was not relaxed- not in the slightest. It was only a little while ago Darling had broken her curse and they realized they were each other’s destined true loves. It had only been a few weeks since they started dating officially and now Apple was going to have to go home and see her mother for the first time outside of video calls since the Dragon Games. Not only that- Her mother was planning on hosting a giant birthday gala for her- and she let her invite her entire class as well as half of Ever After just for fun.

Sure, this meant she was able to continue to hang out with her friends and be herself for at least the night, which she’d enjoy, but it also meant things could easily slip- especially if someone thought they could get something out of outing her to her mother. Darling tried to assure her no one would be that cruel, but Apple feared otherwise. Goodness knows Ever After High has no shortage of mischievous students. Kitty, Duchess, and Faybelle to name a few.

And goodness knows her mother wasn’t exactly the understanding type either.

At least her friends would be there... and Darling. Darling usually made everything feel a lot better. Though... perhaps tonight that wouldn’t be best. She had to act like nothing happened- that she wasn’t gay. Oh god... this was going to be a long break.

“Got everything packed?” Raven asked, a trunk of clothes levitating in dark purple magic next to her. Apple sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“Yep,” She faked energy and enthusiasm. “All ready to go to my mom’s.” Raven cringed.

“I know it’s gonna suck, but hey, we’ll at least be here for the night. That’s something, right?” Raven placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It... is,” Apple said. “But you know how it is. She’s all ‘follow your destiny- be popular- be pretty or else’ and blah.”

“I kinda know the feeling, yeah...” Raven sighed. “But hey, technically you do have destiny on your side. True loves kiss and all that.”

“True,” Apple chuckled a little, going to the window and whistling for birds, who quickly went to her trunk of clothes and lifting it for her. “But...”

“I know, not that easy,” Raven admitted. “Not everyone is blessed with parents who were already destined to be evil so they really don’t care if your bi or not.”

Apple snorted. “Yeah.”

“You got this. And remember- if anything should happen, Briar, Darling, and I are totally willing to take you in for a spell,” Raven reassured. This did very little to comfort Apple, though she appreciated the effort.

“Thanks,” She decided to say, though the thought that she could possibly be kicked out of her own home scared her more than when Raven decided not to sign the Storybook of Legends- which was why she was determined to keep her secret, no matter what.

“Well- my dad’s waiting for me. I’ll see you at the party,” Raven said, checking her mirror phone.

“I’ll walk with you,” Apple said. Raven nodded, and together they made their way down the many, many flights of stairs. The girls didn’t say much, as Raven was busy texting, while Apple was doing her best to practice her happy face before they finally reached the bottom, where Darling and Maddie were waiting for them.

“Apple! Raven! There you two are,” Maddie beamed at them, and Raven chuckled.

“Hey Apple,” Darling smiled giving her girlfriend a peck on the cheek. Apple smiled.

“Hey,” She said, before scanning around.

“Relax, the limo is outside, we’ve one last moment to ourselves,” Darling said, holding her hands.

“We’re literally right here,” Raven rolled her eyes playfully.

“Oh hush,” Apple rolled her eyes.

Maddie gasped. “You kiss Darling with that mouth?” she giggled.

“Whatever. I’ll see you two at the party,” Apple snickered, and Raven and Maddie took their cue and headed out.

“You ready?” Darling asked, pulling Apple away from the stairs.

“Not in the slightest,” She admitted with a pathetic laugh.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. I’ll be right beside you the whole night if needed,” Darling said, tucking a loose strand of Apple’s hair behind her ear.

“That’s what I’m afraid of... I want to be with you so bad, but if she were to find out...” Apple didn’t need to finish the thought. She sighed.

“I know,” Darling sighed. “Just- know no matter what I’m on your side, and what we have is very, very real, and she can’t take it away from us, okay?” Darling asked, Apple nodded, leaning and the princesses shared a quick but passionate kiss.

“I know. I’ll see you tonight,” She said, giving her a hug, which Darling quickly returned.

“Should anything happen, just call for me and I’ll be there in a heartbeat,” She promised.

“My knight in shining armor,” Apple smiled at her.

“You know it,” Darling winked and teased. Apple gave her another quick hug before forcing herself to let go and go to her ride.

Not to Apple’s surprise in the slightest, her mother wasn’t there to pick her up, just the usual dwarf or two. The birds dropped off her luggage in the trunk of the limo and Apple took her seat. Once they started going, she immediately slumped and tried not to think as her mirror phone blew up with texts from Briar and her other friends in support and details about how great this party was going to be.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of being driven, she finally arrived at her castle, and walked right inside, the dwarves taking care of her luggage for her.

Not to her surprise once again, her mother wasn’t there to greet her. Instead, there was a table with some flowers and a single slice of apple pie (long cold by now) waiting for her, with a note that read:

“So happy you’re here my little apple dumpling. So sorry I couldn’t be there to greet you, but I’m very busy planning tonight’s party.

Hugs and Kisses,

-Mummy”

Darling hated when her mother babied her, but she wasn’t ready to face her quite yet, so she took her mother’s absence as a mercy more than the blatant neglect it was. Apple took the pie, tossed it in the nearest garbage, before stopping by the kitchen, grabbing an apple, and heading off to her room to pass the hours away until the party.

No place like home alright.

Her phone was still blowing up from texts from Briar, but Apple figured she’d just wait until Briar passed out to try and answer them all- goodness knows that girl sends 50 texts that could easily have just been four, though she said it “preserved the tone that way”. She loved Briar, but she could be a lot at times.

Apple sighed as she entered her room and flopped onto her overly fluffy bed and pondered if her mom kept any poisoned apples around so she could just skip this whole mess and wake up whenever Darling would be able to get past her mother’s guards and they could just run away into the sunset. Or if she could jump out her window and Darling could be there to catch her...

A girl could dream.

Eventually, she just decided to scroll social media to pass the time, making sure to like any and posts wishing her a happy birthday, though deciding not to comment. Sure it was highly unusual, but she simply did not have the energy today.

She was probably on her mirror phone for hours, when there was a knock at her door. Apple took in a deep breath, putting on her happy face, before opening and finding out her mother was on the other side.

“Apple darling, how was the ride home?” She asked, not waiting for Apple to invite her in.

“It was great mom,” She said, closing the door behind her.

“Good, good,” Her mother nodded to herself, before turning and looking her up and down. “Are you wearing that to the party?”

“No, Lizzie Hearts actually designed me this dress I’ve been dying to wear-”

“Oh, that’s good. Can’t have you turning another year older in that old thing,” She said, gesturing to her dress. Apple only nodded.

“You excited for tonight? I’ve spent all week planning for you,” Snow grinned, going to her tablet and tapping a few things.

“Yep! Totally hexcited,” Apple gave a thumbs up.

“You going to start on your hair soon?” Snow asked, not looking up.

“Yep yep,” It was getting harder for her to be enthusiastic.

“Good,” Snow nodded, turning off the device and looking back to Apple, thinking a moment before smiling.

“You’re growing up so fast my little apple, darling,” She said. “Time really flies when you’re away at that school.”

“I guess, yeah. Though- it’s almost hard to tell with all those tests,” Apple joked. Snow laughed.

“Professor Rumplestilskin keeps you busy?” The queen said.

“He’s just like you described,” Apple confirmed. Snow chuckled.

“Older I bet, though. Goodness knows that old miser has probably only gotten worse with age, unlike some people,” She grinned. Apple nodded once more, not really knowing how to respond.

Snow White paused. “Something on your mind, my little dumpling?”

“Nope! I’m absolutely perfect,” Apple internally panicked, quickly putting on a cheesy smile.

“Good, but do know if anything’s wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me, alright? One of the dwarves can handle it,” Snow patted her head.

“I know, mom,” Apple really hated it when she babied her.

“Right,” The queen nodded to herself. “Well then- I’ll let you get ready now. I really do hope you’ll like this party- All of Ever After is coming in your honor,” She said, beginning to exit.

“Yipee,” Apple said halfheartedly.

“Hate to go, but a few things need to be finalized. Hugs and kisses darling, see you later” Her mother blew a kiss as she headed out.

Once her mother was out of earshot, Apple flopped onto her bed, grabbed a pillow, smushed it against her face, and groaned.

This was going to be a long, long night.

.o0o.

Despite everything, Darling was glad to be home. Sure, her parents didn’t exactly know about the fact she was the white knight and she had to constantly make sure Daring didn’t accidentally spill the beans, but other than that her family was fun to be around- which was more than she could say for other families in Ever After. After all, her parents knew she was gay practically from the moment she was born- as a girl “prince charming” practically set it up from the beginning.

What they didn’t know was that she was dating Apple, meaning that Daring had failed and wasn’t Apple’s destined Prince Charming, but that she was instead. That was a secret she didn’t have to worry about Daring sharing because despite him realizing his destiny was likely with Rosabella, he was still deeply embarrassed by the whole thing.

Still, it was an unspoken agreement between the Charming siblings not to speak a word of what happened at the dragon games- not until Apple was ready to tell her mother anyway.

But despite all this, she was still happy to be home, as it meant she could return to her familiar backyard and practice sword fighting with her brothers in their favorite hang-out spot, where their father used to make them practice “saving damsels in distress”. It was a nice little spot that the siblings spent years building and crafting to perfection, with chairs, hammocks, some of Dexter’s favorite books, swords and dummies for practice, and a few mirrors to suit Daring’s vanity, as well as an elaborate bell system that reached back to the castle in case their parents needed them but didn’t want to go searching.

However, the one downside of the nook was that there was terrible cell reception.

“Darling, you have got to relax and stop stressing about Apple, the party isn’t for several hours, take a mirror and nap on the hammock. I know it works like a charm for me,” said Daring, admiring himself as he advised his baby sister. Darling rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you aren’t panicking as much as I am. I swear you and Rosabella have been texting constantly ever since the whole ‘winter in summer’ fiasco,” Darling pointed out, deciding to somewhat take his advice and sit in the hammock.

“I took his phone while we were in the car, it was driving me insane,” Dexter patted his pocket. Darling snorted.

“Don’t encourage him, it was rude,” Daring shot his brother a glare.

“Alright, calm down you two,” Darling rolled her eyes. “though- if you want we can settle this the old-fashioned way.”

“Uh-uh. No sword fighting- not today anyway. Mom said we have to stay ‘clean and pristine’ for the party tonight,” Dexter said.

“Lame,” Darling groaned, refreshing her mirror phone once more, but not getting any better results than the fifty times she tried before.

“Darling, you seriously need to relax. Apple’s dealt with her mother her whole life, she’ll be okay for a few days,” Dexter said.

“Easy for you to say,” Darling rolled her eyes, trying again but still getting nothing.

“Yeah bro, don’t underestimate this whole thing. You know how the Queen can be,” Daring pointed out.

“Okay, you got me,” Dexter huffed, putting a bookmark in and closing his book. “I’m just trying to get you to relax.”

“You know what’d relax me? A good sword fight,” Darling’s eyes shone mischievously.

“I’m not gonna fight you- I always lose and always end up bleeding somehow,” Dexter shook his head. “Plus- mom said no fighting.”

“Daring?” She turned to her eldest brother.

“No can do Darling. Gotta stay handsome for the party, keeps away the suspicion,” He pulled out his mirror once more, checking out his own reflection again.

“You guys are so lame,” Darling groaned.

“What time even is the party, anyway?” Dexter asked.

“I think the palace doors open at 5, but that’s if you’re insanely early and-”

“-And everyone knows it’s best to be fashionably late as opposed to early,” Daring interrupted her.

“I’m gonna go get ready,” Darling decided, swiftly getting off the hammock.

“Isn’t it a little early to be getting ready? It’s only 3,” Dexter pointed out.

“Mom’s probably going to make me scrub the dirt from my nails like- 50 times before the party so we’ll see how long this takes,” She sighed. “The plights of being a girl.”

“You say that like Daring isn’t right there,” Dexter snarked.

“He makes a good point, Darling. I should be getting ready too,” He said, putting away his mirror.

“Dex, you coming then?” Darling asked. Dexter sighed, putting his book away.

“I guess so,” He said, and the Charming Siblings left their nook to head back into the castle.

After that it was hours of priming and preening, Darling barely had the time to check her phone as the handmaids chatted her ears off about gossip she couldn’t have cared less about, which was made worse when her mother came in and started talking about gossip amongst the royals about who was dating who and fashion trends or whatever. Darling was hardly paying attention, having never cared about these types of things.

It wasn’t like she disliked getting dressed up and doing her hair and painting her nails and such, it was just- when the maids and her mother did it, they hardly ever asked her what she wanted and Darling could never really get a word in on such matters. Hell- the most her mother had probably ever listened to her was when she came out, and when she begged her to let her go to Ever After High and stop being homeschooled. Other than that, she was pretty sure nothing got through, as her mom had a clear preference for Dex, and her dad had a preference for Daring.

Whatever, she had her own way to cope. If she could just get her phone...

“Aaaand, done. Oh now don’t you just look gorgeous,” One of the maids said, placing the final touch on her dress. Darling snapped back in the moment, taking a second to admire the dress they put her in, nodding briefly in approval, quickly walking over to check her phone.

No texts from Apple.

She was probably just getting ready too, Darling had nothing to worry about.

“So...? What do you think?” Her mother asked.

“It’s a lovely dress, thanks mom,” Darling said, not really looking at her, sending Apple a quick text.

“You teens and your mirror phones,” Mrs. Charming rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go looking for your brothers. Don’t mess up that hair.”

“Got it,” Darling still didn’t look up. Her mother sighed before leaving. Darling then thanked the handmaids for their service, then went down to the foyer to wait for everyone.

Apple still hadn’t replied to any of her messages. Darling shouldn’t have been surprised- it was her party and knowing the queen, she was probably keeping her busy or having her change a million times. She should just... attempt to relax. They’d be at the party soon enough, and Darling could give Apple her gift and keep her safe and happy and loved.

The gift Darling had gotten her was separate from the “family present” her parents had made for Apple. It was a necklace and a pretty simple one at that. It was gold, and had the engraving of an apple on the front, but on the back, there was a little rainbow. Darling hoped it was subtle enough and that no one would ask any questions, but she really wanted it to be special to her.

Darling had fallen for many girls throughout the years, but it was easy to say she cared about Apple the most.

Eventually, the rest of her family came down the stairs and it was time to go.

“You ready?” Dexter asked. Darling shook her head.

“I’m a Charming, I shouldn’t be this nervous,” She hugged her arms.

“It’ll be okay. You’re a lot tougher than you think- Apple too,” Dexter reassured. That did help a little.

“Thanks, Dex,” She said.

“No problem. Let’s just go and try to have a good time,” Dexter said, clearly trying to hype himself up too.

“That can’t be too hard, right?” Darling joked a little, stepping into the carriage.

“I hope not,” Dexter said, following suit, and the Charming Family was off.

.o0o.

Apparently, it could be that hard.

Once they arrived, Darling was greeted at the door by some gruff-looking dwarves who grabbed the family’s present out of Dexter’s hands (Darling kept her gift in her purse) and they were formally announced to the party room before being asked to quickly move aside for other guests. Say what you would about Snow White, but she sure knew how to get things done quickly and efficiently. Darling then went to go and try and greet Apple, but more dwarves said she couldn’t greet the princess until later. She briefly made eye contact with her girlfriend, who sent her a silent distress call she wished she could answer, but alas, she had to wait and try to party with everyone else.

Of course, it was nice to mingle with her fellow classmates, but they literally just got off of campus just a few hours ago, so outside of complementing everyone’s outfits, dancing a bit, and taking a few photos, there wasn’t much they could do. Piper and Briar did their best to keep things lively, but something about Apple being forced to sit on a throne the whole time away from everyone else really sucked the energy out of the kids, who wanted nothing more than to mingle with her.

However, after an hour or so, Snow White allowed for the festivities to “officially begin” and Apple was allowed down, though she was quickly overwhelmed by hugs from her friends, which made Darling chuckle as she waited patiently for her turn.

“You looked like you were going to die of misery if you had to sit there a moment longer,” Darling said as she hugged her.

“You have no idea. My mother says adding cushions to a throne looks unprofessional so that’s just solid metal baby,” Apple joked tiredly.

“You’re doing great, Apple. You got this,” Darling whispered. Apple hugged her tighter.

“I know she means well, but sometimes I seriously want to strangle her,” Apple joked.

“I know the feeling,” Darling sympathized as she let go so no one would be suspicious. Apple then continued hugging and catching up with other guests, while Darling waited steadily for her to finish. Apple finished, and swiftly- though subtly- returned to her girlfriend’s side.

“So... wanna dance?” Apple offered.

“Oh you know I’m a dreadful dancer, that’s not fair,” Darling shook her head as Apple grabbed her hand and dragged her to the dance floor.

“The way I remember you totally beat Chase in that dance-off,” Apple pointed out.

“Everyone knows Chase is just about the worst dancer ever after, and we won only because he slipped and fell off the board,” Darling rolled her eyes, but it was too late, as Apple had already gotten her near the center and began to dance.

“C’mon, it’s fun,” Apple said, her eyes shining under the party lights. Darling sighed in defeat and awkwardly began to dance with her. Apple chuckled a little bit, but reassured her that she was doing great, and soon enough, she loosened up enough to the point that she was actually having a good time. Though of course, this became easier when she saw Apple was having a good time. Perhaps she had been worrying for nothing. Perhaps everything was going to be alright- they’d find ways to reach each other and take care and know they were loved and everything was okay and was going to be okay.

After an hour or so, once again, the dancing was called to a brief pause, as Apple was dragged off to open her presents while the rest of the party continued, though Snow White did allow Briar, Raven, and Darling to join her. She went to her seat and began unwrapping box after box of presents, each more elaborate and fancy than the last, and Snow White hovered nearby making comments about them, thanking the families who gave them. Books, jewelry, dresses, tea sets, and all sorts of things were unwrapped one by one, only to be quickly taken away by dwarves, and Darling felt a twinge of guilt for getting her something so minimalistic and small.

However, after the last one was taken away, Darling took the small box out of her purse and handed it to Apple.

“A... personal gift? That’s highly unusual,” Snow White commented, and Darling internally panicked.

“I think it’s a sweet signifier of a good friendship,” Briar commented nonchalantly, though a bit on the nose. Apple smiled at Darling sweetly before opening it and gasping.

“Darling, it’s beautiful,” She said, admiring the engraving.

“Rather small isn’t it?” Snow raised an eyebrow.

“I paid for it myself,” Darling said, trying her best not to give the queen a dirty look. Apple then flipping it over and touched the engraving of the rainbow with her fingers slowly.

“Oh Darling, it’s absolutely beautiful,” She said softly.

“A... rainbow?” Snow raised an eyebrow, and Apple quickly turned it over.

“What’s suspicious about a rainbow? Rainbows are pretty,” Raven tried to defend it, and Darling realized she probably just made the biggest mistake of her life.

“Rainbows can mean a great number of things,” The queen said, looking at Darling.

“Rainbows are also just... pretty,” Raven continued to try, but she wasn’t as good as Briar.

Snow White thought to herself a moment, before ordering for the festivities to continue and for the cakes to be brought out and to begin serving it to the guests. However, after saying that, she turned back to Apple.

“Apple, darling? A word,” She ordered, walking out of the ballroom.

“Oh god- Apple, I’m so, so, so sorry-”

“No, Darling. Don’t be,” Apple stood. “I... I think I can handle this.”

Raven and Briar exchanged a look.

“Are you sure, Apple?” Raven asked.

“I... I think so. Briar, keep the guests entertained. I don’t want anyone to stop partying for my sake, okay?” She asked.

“If that’s what you want,” She nodded, before hugging her. “Just be safe.”

“I will,” Apple hugged her quickly.

“What about us?” Raven asked.

“If your mother so much as raises a finger-” Darling started, but Apple stopped her.

“I... I think I can handle this. She’s my mother, right? I’ve dealt with her before. I-i have facts and destiny on my side,” Apple said, trying to hide her nervousness.

“Okay... if you want to handle this alone, we’ll let you. But- if you need help, but say the word, alright? Raven and I can be there in a flash,” Darling said. Apple smiled a little, before frowning.

“I have to go... I’m sorry- she’ll get mad,” Apple turned away.

“Good luck,” Raven said.

Good luck. Right.

Apple took a deep breath before exiting out into the hallway.

.o0o.

She wouldn’t admit it, but her heart was pounding in her chest. She was terrified to confront her mother, but she had years of pretending everything was fine under her belt in preparation for this very moment. She entered the hallway to find her mother pacing ever so anxiously in her long and elegant white dress with her usual red cape. However, once Apple entered the scene, her mother’s pacing stopped.

“Why did that girl give you a present?” Her mother asked.

“Because I’m important to her and she wanted a way to show that to me,” Apple replied matter-of-factly.

“Important to her how?” Snow raised an eyebrow. Apple got a bad feeling in her stomach. She didn’t want to say- she didn’t have to-

But well...

“Important to her how, Apple?” The queen demanded.

“W-well... you know how I got poisoned at the Dragon Games?” Apple said.

“By the Raven girl, I presume?” Snow raised an eyebrow.

“Mostly her mom, but kinda- that’s not important. What’s important is that it was the apple- like from our story,” She explained. “You know- the ‘true love’s kiss will break the spell’ apple?”

“Apple, I know my own story,” She gave her a look. Apple tried her best not to crack under it.

“Well, I was poisoned and in a coma, and Daring tried to kiss me and- well... it didn’t... work,” Apple said.

“What? What do you mean Daring didn’t work? He’s supposed to be your destined prince, how can this be?” Snow demanded.

“I-i don’t know- well... I do kinda know...” Apple whispered.

“I demand an explanation,” Snow ordered.

“Well- after Daring’s kiss failed everyone was kinda just gonna give up, but Darling was there, and she had this crazy idea, a-and... wellllll...” Apple didn’t finish.

Snow White paused.

“You mean to tell me that... princess broke your little curse?” She asked, seething with hatred.

“Y-yes,” Apple nodded.

The queen paused again.

“And what happened after?” She said coldly.

“W-well for awhile nobody would tell me what happened out of fear of how I’d react, until Darling eventually told be during the whole ‘snow in summer’ fiasco and well- then we... started... dating..?” Apple said that last part quieter than the rest.

“This is absolutely ridiculous- do you seriously expect me to believe all this?” Snow crossed her arms. Apple blinked.

“Mom- it’s the truth,” She stated. Her mother laughed.

“That’s impossible. The Storybook of Legends would never say such a thing,” She said. “The girl must’ve simply done CPR, gotten the piece dislodged from your throat or something.”

“Mom, that’s not what happened- you know how the curse works, ‘true loves kiss’. Darling Charming is my true love,” Apple argued, getting angry now.

“Don’t you dare address your queen with that tone,” Snow snapped. “The amount of disrespect you’ve had today is outrageous. First the complaining, then the lack of focus, then the lies? I am your mother, but I am also your queen, and I expect the utmost respect, is that understood?”

“Mom, for the last time, I’m not lying! I’m in love and am dating Darling Charming. She broke the curse and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life,” Apple asserted, tears now threatening to spill.

“What absolute ludicrous. I will not take such blasphemy. Such a relationship is impossible. Go to your room until you’re ready to tell me the truth,” She commanded.

“N-... No.” Apple put her foot down.

The queen paused.

“No...?” She asked, her eye twitching.

“No. I’ve already told you the truth, so I’m not going anywhere,” Apple glared at her.

“No daughter of mine would speak to me with such blatant disrespect,” Snow White was aghast.

“Mom, whether or not you like it, me and Darling are destined for each other, and there is nothing you can do to change that. Even Principal Grimm agrees with me- Principal Grimm!” Apple exclaimed.

“Do not raise your voice at me, young lady.” The queen threatened.

“Then listen, for goodness sake,” Apple threw her hands in the air. “I’ve told you nothing but the truth, and you refuse to believe me! Why? For some- stupid outdated idea?”

“I’ve had enough of this attitude- go to your room. Now.” Snow ordered again.

Apple didn’t move.

“I won’t ask again, Apple. Go. To. Your. Room,” She stepped forward, causing Apple to take a step back.

“G-go ask Principal Grimm if you don’t believe me,” Apple said, trying her best not to crack. Snow slowly walked towards her daughter, until Apple was backed against a wall. The queen grabbed her face.

“There are hundreds of street orphans far more worthy of your destiny than you are. Do not forget this.” She quickly let go, before walking away, while Apple stood there, dumbstruck.

Eventually, her knees gave in, and she collapsed into sobs, and Darling burst through the door, and Darling immediately wrapped her in a tight embrace.

“It’s okay Apple, it’s alright, I’m right here,” Darling did her best to soothe.

“She doesn’t believe me- sh-she said- sh-she s-sa-said-”

“It’s okay, Apple. I know... she’s wrong. She doesn’t believe you,” Darling tried with all of her might to squeeze the sadness out of her, but nothing was working.

“Sh-she said hundreds of o-orphans are f-far more worthy,” Apple hiccupped, and Darling’s heart broke.

“Apple, she had no right to say that. You aren’t some... machine, you’re a human person. She had no right to ever treat you or make you feel that way,” Darling soothed, but Apple continued to cry, which she couldn’t blame her for.

This sucked.

“I love you Apple, you know that, right?” She asked. Apple nodded her head.

Good. At least she knew that...

“If you need somewhere to stay, I’m sure my parents or Briar’s or even Raven’s wouldn’t mind, okay?” Darling said. Apple nodded again. Darling kissed the top of her head.

This really, really sucked.

“It’s gonna be okay, Apple...” She practically whispered.

“Y-you promise?” Apple looked up at her weakly. Darling wiped some of the tears from her eyes.

“I promise... maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but I promise, someday it’s gonna be okay, alright?” She asked softly. Apple nodded slowly.

“Okay...” Apple rested her head on Darling’s shoulder.

“Do you wanna go anywhere?” Darling asked. Apple shook her head.

“I wanna stay here... with you,” She said hoarsely. Darling nodded her head.

“I can do that,” She said, stroking her face softly, wiping more tears away.

And she meant it. She’d stay right there until Apple felt better, no matter how long it took. Apple knew it, Darling knew it. And despite everything, that did make Apple feel a little bit better.

She was loved. Perhaps not by her mother, but if she didn’t love her, that was her mistake.

Her mother was wrong.

What she and Darling had was love, and nothing could change that.

#my fics #ever after high #dappling #darling charming #apple white #eah #snow white #snow white eah #long post #tw homophobia #tw abuse #the charming siblings #dexter charming #daring charming #tw abusive parents #homophobia

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heybeybey · 4 years ago

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Kismet

Braindumped this yesterday so now you have this fic.

Thanks to @sleeperswakewriting and @anya-grace. They didn't really push me to write this. It's more like 2 people liked the idea and I'm weak for Rivetra so here you go.

Still dedicating this to the two of you for supporting my need for lolo (grandpa) levi + roller skating petra!! 🖤🧡

Pairing: Rivetra | Levi x Petra

Genre: Fluffy romance!!! Tooth-rotting fluff so sweet that I'm gonna write heartbreaking angst next to balance things out.

Summary: The ginger-haired waitress skates over to him, her pink skirt a flurry behind her. She stops beside his table and gives him a disarming smile. "Welcome to Kismet Diner! What will you be having today, sir?"

Okay, so this diner wasn't a shitty choice after all.

Or: 50s Diner Waitress! Petra x Retired Soldier! Levi Modern AU

[Also, if you wanna listen to the songs Levi was forced to listen to in this fic, here's the playlist.]

Sweeter than candy on a stick Huckleberry, cherry or lime If you had a choice he'd be your pick But lollipop is mine

If he's going to listen to another most-likely-already-dead-woman belt out a cheery love song, Levi's sure he's going to finally pop a vein. He grumbles as the next track plays, grateful that this one is more on the mellow side so he can actually focus on his work.

Old school music on loop aside, Kismet Diner is actually pretty decent. They serve good food for an establishment that he thinks is trying way too hard to be a blast-from-the-past monstrosity.

Levi found the place by accident when he was out trying to find a place to work. He didn't feel like spending another evening inside his apartment and thought a change in scenery might help him decompress his mind.

Fucking codes just won't write itself, he thinks.

After wheeling himself around his new neighbourhood for a while, he found that this diner was the only thing open. Having no other choice, he found a spot for himself and settled in with his laptop.

He didn't expect that he'll be returning every night though.

(And that he'd be willing to listen to these cheesy retro love songs every time.)

From behind his laptop, he sneaks another glance at the bubbly server.

He distinctly remembers his first night here. A ginger-haired waitress skated over to him, her pink skirt a flurry behind her, as he settles in his chosen seat. She stopped beside his table and gave him a disarming smile. "Welcome to Kismet Diner! What will you be having today, sir?"

Okay, so this diner wasn't a shitty choice after all, he recalls thinking at that time.

It took him a moment or two to finally answer her and she diligently noted down his order. She flashed him one last smile after she promised that she'll bring his food over in five minutes.

He spent those five minutes feeling like a real creep because his eyes never left her.

It's been a few days since then and he watches her now as she picks up the leftovers from the table in front of his. She wishes a customer goodbye, and skates back to the counter.

"Petra! Think you can extend your shift a little bit? Rico called in sick," a voice from the counter calls out.

"Sure! Her shift's until 1 am right?" The ginger, Petra, replies.

And that's how Levi found himself staying at Kismet Diner until 1 am.

- - -

I laughed at love 'cause I thought it was funny You came along and you moved me honey I've changed my mind, this love is fine

"I think the customers like this song but I can't seem to place what the title is..." The rush hour has since lulled when Petra wonders out loud to the other waitress who's still in the kitchen.

He remembers this one. The older guys back in the military would belt it out when they're drunk as fuck on days when they're allowed to have a break. Frankly, it gave him a headache every time and he doesn't know how Erwin and all the other soldiers were able to take Pyxis seriously after his one-man concert.

He speaks up without thinking.

"Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis."

"Yes, that's the title!" Her eyes light up and she fully spins to face him. "You're into oldies music?"

Levi blinks, and for the first time in his life, he found his throat dry because she's finally talking to him fuck fuck fuck what will he say what was the question again.

"Uh... yeah, I guess?"

Wait, what?

She skates over to his table, a wide smile on her face. "That's so cool! I don't meet a lot of people my age who's still into the oldies. Even my dad teases me about it."

"Oh..."

"What's your name? I'm Petra, by the way. But I think you already know that," she grins sheepishly, pointing to her name plate. "I know I shouldn't really be talking to you but you're here every night so I thought it might be great to get to know our regular customers more."

He blinks up to her, trying to get a hold of himself before he fucks this up even more.

"Levi."

"Nice to meet you, Levi." She looks at her wristwatch and her surroundings, probably checking if there are more tables to cater to, before turning back to him. "My shift's over but I think you stay up late here, right? Mind if I sit with you? I haven't eaten dinner yet and I'd appreciate the company."

He gives her a shrug as his approval and she beams another smile before disappearing back to the kitchen. Petra comes back after a few minutes, still in her pink waitress uniform but without the cap and she also changed her skates to normal cream flats. She brought along a small bag and she unpacks it after sitting down at the chair in front of him.

What the hell is happening?

"Don't get me wrong. I love the food here but it's a bit overpriced if you ask me," she says as brings out her lunchbox. "Don't tell Nanaba that though."

"Wouldn't your boss fire you for randomly inviting yourself at a customer's table?"

"Nanaba? We go way back high school. She's the one who's pushing me to take breaks actually."

They sit in silence for awhile after that. Levi watches as she munches on her sandwich while he takes another sip of his coffee. Not knowing what to say, he just turns back to his laptop to type away. Petra, on the other hand, seems like a great conversationalist.

"So... what's your favorite?" She speaks up after having few bites into her dinner.

"Favorite?"

"Song? There's a lot of classics that deserve attention but I'm curious which one caught your attention."

Fuck.

His mind comes up blank until the image of his blonde best friend came to mind. Erwin knows about this old school shit. Not surprising because he's more ancient than Levi is.

What was that song Eyebrows belted out again when they went on that dreaded karaoke night? He recalls Erwin singing something after his cheating long-distance girlfriend finally broke up with him when they were allowed to call their loved ones.

"Mr. Lonely by Bobby Vinton stuck with me." He replies, again without thinking. She laughs out loud the moment the words were out his mouth and Levi frowns in indignation. "Oi, if you're going to laugh at my shitty taste in music then you can get your ass off my table."

"No, no." Petra wipes away a tear from her laughing. "I think it fits your grumpy 'get-off-my-lawn' grandpa vibe. What, someone broke your heart recently?"

"Grumpy grandpa?" Pretty smile and bubbly personality aside, he's starting to think this woman's a bit rude.

- - -

He's still back the next day though.

"Good evening, sir! Will you be having the usual?" Petra greets. He gives her a slight nod before wheeling himself to his spot. He watches as she flurries around during the dinner rush hour, skating from one table to another. She never loses her smile, even when one lady was being a bitch after Petra delivers the wrong milkshake.

Unlike the previous nights where he's content with just sneaking glances at the gorgeous waitress, Levi spends the next few hours gathering the courage to make a move.

Petra stayed in his table until closing time last night and he listened as she babbled on about all their menu offerings and how she likes creating the milkshakes and the coffee the best.

He'd like to think that they're somehow acquainted enough for him to maybe ask her out.

A look a-there, here she comes There comes that girl again Wanted to date her since I don't know when But she don't notice me when I pass

The booming music is only making him nervous, the cheesy lyrics is pissing him off and fuck, he really wants to punch the music player off right now.

Once Petra finally skates over to him though, setting down his usual black coffee and clubhouse sandwich, he takes his chance.

"Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Sir?" She blinks at him and he almost melts as he stares at her huge amber eyes.

"Uhm... you mentioned that you have Fridays off," he starts. "There's this fair that will be opening tomorrow night and I thought you might be into that. First day's the best time to go too while the crowd hasn't shit on the place yet."

The more he hears his words, the more he wants to kick himself with his still working leg.

He notices that a faint blush started to color her cheeks, eyes shifting down before she gives him a shy smile.

"I'd love to go with you, Levi."

- - -

"Wow, you..."

"Were able to hit them all?" He gears up to shoot the last can. "I was in the military."

"No wonder you have that cool scar!"

His eyes darkens a little bit at that, mind taking him back to the career-ending moment that led to where he is now.

Petra seems to notice his reaction. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"It's fine. It's been almost a year." He cuts her off. This day's supposed to be fun and he's not allowing his PTSD to take over his chances of charming a girl (which was already low at his current state, he thinks).

"That's amazing, son!" The guy manning the booth approaches him. "Feel free to pick any prize for the lady."

Petra looks down to him for approval, asking if she can pick a prize or if he'd rather pick one since it was him who won after all. He gives her a small smile, gesturing towards the display of prizes.

He watches as Petra buzzes around in excitement, deciding on whether she should get the elephant plushie or this creepy clown plushie that caught her attention for some godforsaken reason. (He pushes her to get the elephant one instead.)

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day When it's cold outside I've got the month of May I guess you'd say What can make me feel this way

"Vanilla is still the best."

"You're boring," she retorts. "How can you only try mint chocolate just once in your life? You get refreshing and sweet dark chocolate at the same time. It's the best combination out there!"

"Yeah, if you like eating your toothpaste," he retorts back.

"Come on, just give it a chance?"

They're settled on a bench right now, his wheelchair parked next to the seat. They take this opportunity to have a conversation while they finish their ice cream.

He learns that she's currently finishing up a nursing degree and that she's working part-time at Kismet Diner to fund her studies. She has an obsession with mint chocolate ice cream, and that she truly loves skating outside of work because she also does roller derby on the weekends (with her boss Nanaba and another girl named Nifa). She's an only child and her dad currently lives in the countryside.

Levi tells her a little bit about himself too and he's glad that she respects his reserved nature. He doesn't tell her about his time in the military, only that he used to be a captain for a few years before he left. He also shared that he used to pursue a degree in Computer Science before dropping out halfway through to join the military. Since he left, his unfinished degree has been useful since he was able to find consistent freelance opportunities as a web developer.

That seems like the perfect job for someone who's anti-social as you, she notes and he gives her an unamused look.

He also finds out that he's actually ten years older than her, and he feels even more like an old man at that moment.

"Hey, I like your grumpy grandpa vibe," she teases him.

"You'd get along with Gabi and Falco."

"Who? Are they your kids?" Her eyes lights up when she takes note of his fond tone before it starts to narrow in suspicion. "You're not married are you?"

"What? Hell no. My hair would probably be gray now if they were." He says. "They're my neighbours. Both... what? 13 I think? They wouldn't stop pestering me since I moved into the complex a few months ago. Those two brats also won't stop calling me grandpa. Do I really look that old?"

"I'd say it's because of the wheelchair but it's actually your scowl that completes the look," she replies with a cheeky smile.

When they're done with their ice cream, Petra rolls him around while he holds on to her big-ass elephant plushie for her. He'd know she's excited about a booth in particular when he feels his wheelchair move faster towards their destination.

Throughout the night, she won them a bag of lollipops once and Petra insists he takes them home to Gabi and Falco. He, on the other hand, was surprised that his military background would be useful for something as useless as carnival games. His fast reflexes and sharp eye bagged them a few more wins, with the last game earning them a free popcorn.

- - -

Before they capped off the night, Petra (the retro lover that she is) led him to a nearby jazz club that she visited once. She insisted that it's on the way home so why not drop by? The atmosphere is more chill than Levi expected so at least he didn't have to listen to another upbeat bubblegum retro track.

"Come dance with me?" She says after a moment of watching the couples on the small dance floor.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm on a wheelchair for a reason."

"We can work around it." Ever the optimist, she leans down to try and help him stand up. "Lean yourself on me. I'll support you throughout."

Levi obliges, placing all of his weight on his working left leg while trusting the rest to Petra. He has his arms around and he tries to start moving with her.

He almost slips as he takes another step and in frustration, he attempts to sit down instead. "It's no use Petra-"

Petra's hold on him tightened. "Just trust me a little more Levi."

He sighs, attempting to stand again. They do find the right balance and rhythm on the second try and Levi breathes out in relief.

Soon, they're swaying to the music and Levi couldn't remember the last time he was upright like this, except for when he has to drag himself around with his crutch in the mornings.

Put your lips next to mine, dear Won't you kiss me once, baby? Just a kiss goodnight, maybe You and I will fall in love

"Petra?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm not really into oldies music."

"I know. I realized that when you only kept mentioning the famous hits."

"Huh."

"I actually cringed when you said you liked Mr. Lonely."

"Shut up." She giggles at that and they finally sway in companionable silence, taking in the slow beat.

When the music stops, Petra reaches up to him, placing a kiss on his cheek. He feels his face warm up, throat bobbing as he stares dumbly at her.

"Thanks for tonight, Levi." - - -

Levi goes back to Kismet Diner the next day, and the day after that. He's there every night and she's always the one who takes and serves his order.

He'd accompany her as she eats her late-night dinner on his table and he sometimes brings her some cookies he baked that morning. Nanaba would throw Petra a smirk here and there whenever she serves his table or when Petra clocks off to have dinner with him.

"Your captain's here," he once heard the taller woman whisper to Petra once the door closes to signal his entrance.

Levi would order the same black coffee and clubhouse combination that Petra eventually offered him to try other things on the menu. "Come on, it's on the house! Why can't you just try other options?"

Love me tender, love me sweet Never let me go You have made my life complete And I love you so

One morning three months into getting to know each other, Levi wakes up feeling contentment wash over him when he smells that she's brewing his usual order from his own apartment kitchen.

Petra enters his room beaming a few minutes later, black coffee and a plate of pancakes in each hand. He distinctly notes that she's playing her retro love songs on loud speaker again and he's long since given up on stopping her.

She leans down to place his breakfast on the side table and she starts peppering kisses from his scarred cheek up to the affected blind eye.

"Good morning Levi!" He wholeheartedly accepts both the breakfast and the kisses, hooking his arm around her waist and cuddling closer to her as he sits up in bed.

He takes her in and finds that he slightly misses the pink uniform and roller skates she dons while she serves him at the diner... but he won't deny that he definitely prefers seeing her draped in nothing but his slightly oversized white shirt instead. "Morning."

🧡🧡🧡🧡 ehehe send fic requests here if you'd like

#rivetra #levi x petra #rivapeto #levitra #petra x levi #levi ackerman #petra ral #lolo levi #skater petra #rivetra fic #rivetra fanfic #rivetra fanfiction

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ilalos · 4 years ago

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Lavender dreams (Anthony Bridgerton x OC)-Part 1/3

Word count: 3.1k

Anthony stormed into his office after breakfast with his mother following close. The proper introductions were made when Miss Grace, or Gigi as she preferred to be called, entered the dining room; he had ignored the little somersault that attacked his heart when he made eye contact with the young girl and instead of acknowledging the feeling chose to finish eating as soon as humanly possible and left the table in a haste.

“How could you not notify me of this visit mother? The responsibility of finding her a suitable match falls on me and I know nothing about this girl, do you?” he tried to keep his voice down, but the exasperation he felt still showed in the form of harsh whispers.

“I didn’t tell you because I know she won’t have a problem finding a suitor that would be interested in her” Violet sat down tiredly looking at her exasperated son.

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“Well, she is an only daughter to a wealthy man, she is a well-read young woman and an amazing piano player, not to mention her dowry is obviously substantial” she gave him a pointed ‘I told you so’ glare “and of course, she is beautiful”

“Even worst then, we’ll have to make sure that whoever marries her-“

“We won’t do anything but I’ll make sure she loves the man she chooses to marry and he does her, that was Rose’s wish and that’s what I’ll do” she stood up not wanting to hear any more of her son’s antics.

Meanwhile, in the drawing-room things seemed to be running smoothly as Gigi read a novel and Eloise sat next to her reading the latest Lady Whistledown, while Benedict draws the pair in his sketchbook.

“Ugh! I can’t believe tomorrow is the day where our whole future is defined by the judgment of the queen” Eloise couldn’t keep her discontent in after reading the suppositions of who could be this season’s Incomparable “Can you believe it? Tomorrow our settling down begins” she sighed dramatically.

“Stop scaring the girl, Eloise” Benedict chastised with a smile, not looking up from his sketch.

“It’s not like I have a choice on the matter, so I try not to worry too much about it” Gigi gave her a small smile as if trying to comfort her.

“Right?! Society makes us feel like we have no choice, we either settle for a boring man who will hopefully be interesting enough to-“

“I don’t think she meant that she is pressured by society, dear sister” chuckled Benedict

“Oh, then pray tell me what you meant Grace”

“My father is very ill” started Gigi with a sad look as she let the book fall on her lap “I’m his only daughter and he wishes to see me married and in love before his passing”

Silence filled the room after Gigi finished speaking, she picked her book back up and resumed her reading when Eloise’s voice suddenly cut through the quiet atmosphere.

“You could marry one of my brothers, you know?” She said it more as thought said out loud than an actual suggestion and it caused Benedict to loudly scratch his pencil against the paper of his drawing.

“I don’t think that would be a wise suggestion sister” he racked his brain trying to come up with a way to explain how adamant he was on NOT getting married anytime soon “I for one wouldn’t want to be the brother in question, no offense Gigi”

“None taken” she giggled “I understand where you’re coming from Eloise but neither of your brothers seems prepared, or willing, to get married this season”

“Well it’s your loss, these dimwits may not look like much but they are somewhat intelligent and also very desirable matches according to Lady Whistledown”

“Well isn’t this a warm welcome?” Colin's voice startled the siblings and their guest as they didn’t expect him to arrive for another month.

Benedict was the first to stand and embrace his brother while his sister seemed to be torn between welcoming Colin and running to the Featherington’s residency to notify her best friend of his arrival, she knew Penelope would appreciate learning the news before the whole ton started whispering about it or even worse reading about it the next day. Standing up she chose to run to her friend’s home and also drag her guest along to not leave her alone with her brothers who were already deep in conversation.

“Tell mother we will be back for lunch!” She ran to the door with an iron grip around Gigi’s wrist only stopping to give a quick “Welcome home brother!”

“It was lovely to meet you!” That was all Gigi managed to get out before being dragged through the streets of London towards the Featherington home.

/////Time jump\\\\\

The picnic had gone wonderfully and Violet could not have been happier, surrounded by all her children and one grandchild. For a moment she forgot the expectations, the pressure of the next day’s events that signified the start of a new season that would, hopefully, be less dramatic than the last.

The men chatted about Colin’s travels as all the older men had already taken the same voyages, in way less innocent intents than him (read: brothel tour) as he seemed truly interested in the culture, the sights, and the history of the places he visited. Of course, he had met many women on his travels and he had laid with some of them but of that, he wouldn’t speak in such proximity to his mother and sisters.

Later that evening the girls had gone to pick up their debut dresses accompanied by the duchess to get as much advice as possible in how to be the Incomparable of the season, Daphne truly didn’t know how she had achieved that and if she had to be completely honest she only went to spend some time with her sister.

When the girls arrived back at the Bridgerton home, Violet decided it would be early supper and early bedtime for everyone because tomorrow was a crucial day for everyone’s life. Lady Bridgerton knew she couldn’t control what her sons would get up to in the late-night but she would make sure that her debutants were well rested before their presentation to the queen, and she made sure of it by personally escorting them to their shared room and verifying they had in fact gone to bed.

Way past the middle of the night Gigi woke up with a start after having a nightmare about her mother’s death, tears were running down her cheeks and her heart was hammering inside her chest so fast it was almost painful. She quickly looked to Eloise’s sleeping form and breathed a sigh of relief when she confirmed that the girl had not been awakened by her. Slowly and quietly Gigi got up from the bed and grabbed her robe, she needed some fresh air to calm down and maybe some milk.

Little tears were still falling from her eyes as she walked to the kitchen but the hammering of her heart had subsided by now, as she passed the office she noticed light coming from the room and with a frown, she went to see who was there at this ungodly hour. It was Anthony who was hunched over his desk holding an almost empty cup of liquor, his other hand supporting his head and messing his once perfectly combed hair, he was looking at some papers that were carelessly thrown over the desk surface with a deep frown.

“Lord Bridgerton is everything okay?” she knew she should’ve just continued her path to the kitchen but seeing him so concerned made her feel a dull ache in her chest.

He was startled by her voice, almost dropping his cup and lifting his head so quickly he got a little dizzy. He took a good look at her and realized a couple of things: first, she had been crying, and second, even in the simplest of robes with dried tears on her cheeks she looked breathtakingly beautiful.

“Miss Gillingham what are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I could ask you the same thing” she hadn’t meant to sound so sassy but her sleepy brain couldn’t process much formality at the moment.

“It’s nothing that concerns you” he said it with no intention of being harsh but her small wince let him know it came out that way “may I ask you, where were you heading to before stumbling into my office?”

“I was on my way to the kitchen to heat some milk, couldn’t sleep”

“I could help you with that” he surprised even himself with the suggestion because he knew he couldn’t even turn on the stove “stay here, I’ll go to the kitchen, it’s no place for a barefoot lady to be in”

She blushed and looked down at her feet that were in fact bare. He got up from his desk and walked up to where she was standing by the door, he gently pulled her inside the room and guided her to sit on the couch, silently instructing her to stay there before taking his leave for the kitchen. After he left she decided it would be nice of her to refill his drink, she grabbed the liquor bottle that sat atop one of the many papers on the desk and poured it in the cup. She knew she shouldn’t be reading what was written on the papers but her eyes couldn’t help but wander around the surface and soon realized what troubled Anthony, someone was stealing from the family.

“You didn’t need to do that, I could’ve poured it myself” she jumped a little when she heard his voice.

“Nonsense, you went into the trouble of getting me...cold? Milk” she had one look at the small glass bottle he held in his hand with a small smile.

“Ah yes” he chuckled “I didn’t want to bother a kitchen maid so cold milk it is”

“I appreciate the gesture Lord Bridgerton” she took the bottle from his hands as he approached her “I understand you not wanting to wake any of the kitchen staff as one of them is clearly stealing from you”

“What are you talking about? Such accusations are not to be said in such a lightly manner”

“I apologize, sir, I didn’t mean to anger you” she looked down at her feet and tears welled her eyes once again.

“What makes you think one of our kitchen staff is stealing from us?” He was genuinely curious about her answer, not sure if he’d believe it but nonetheless curious.

“Here” she pointed to a piece of paper and his breath hitched at her proximity “it says that you bought 50 baguettes from the bakery today”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well I saw your table this morning and there were no baguettes there, in the picnic he had croissants and for dinner, there were, again, no baguettes” she felt proud of the way he looked down at her in what could only be described as awe “Baguette is a bread that must be eaten within the same day it is bought as it will get stale rather quickly, it is also an incredible amount of bread for a relatively small family to eat” she completed her explanation and stepped back to give him room to see it for himself.

“I believe you are correct but I must know, how did you know this?” All Anthony could think about was how wonderful it would be to have a wife that could understand such concepts of family economy.

“The same thing happened at our state a couple of years back, our housekeeper claimed to buy enormous quantities of food to get the extra coin herself”

“Who caught her?”

“My mom” she smiled “She said men would’ve never noticed because they had no idea how a kitchen works, she did and she taught me that being a good wife meant not only raising the children but also making sure everything in the home is working how it's supposed to, among other things”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman” he wanted to embrace her with how small and sad she looked but he refrained from doing so, it would be highly inappropriate.

“She was” a yawn tore through her and she suddenly realized just how tired she was “Well good night Lord Bridgerton, thank you for the milk”

He took the vessel from her hand, set it gently on the table, and offered his arm to accompany her to the door.

“Goodnight to you too, and please call me Anthony”

She looked up at him one last time before turning and padding to her bedroom as quietly as she could. Meanwhile, Anthony sat back at his desk and chuckled in disbelief, he had spent the past three hours trying to know where the sudden increase of expenses had come from and she had solved it after mere seconds of looking, she truly was a wonderful woman and would be an even better wife. He couldn’t help but think for a brief moment that she could perhaps be a wonderful wife for him.

Morning came quicker than expected and the house was filled with running maids preparing baths, horses being brushed, and food being made. Anthony fired their housekeeper, Violet wanted to kill him as he chose to do so at the worst possible time and that forced her to make her personal maid the housekeeper to keep things running smoothly on such an important date. The girls came down with their hair done wearing robes so they could eat before getting dressed, Violet didn’t want them to spill anything on them but most importantly she didn’t want to have either of the girls fainting in front of the queen due to hunger, so breakfast in a robe was the solution.

Disaster hit Lady Bridgerton’s mind as soon as she saw the way her firstborn looked at Grace, he looked at her as if he was in love with her. She had no problem in her son choosing to court the young heiress but it would look terrible if he were to court her while she was staying in their home, it would certainly give the wrong impression. She rose from the table and grabbed her eldest daughter by the elbow prompting her to follow her out to the hallway where she proceeded to explain that she needed her and her husband to take Grace to Lady Dunbury’s house.

“But why? Is our presence bothering you mother?”

“Of course not dearest, but I must get Grace out of the house to avoid a scandal” at her daughter’s confused face she continued “your brother seems to fancy her and I’m afraid if he chose to court her it would look terrible if she was to be living under the same roof as him”

Daphne understood her mother’s reasoning and agreed that it would be quite scandalous for a debutant to live in the same home as the man who courted her. Back in the dining room, the Duke of Hastings was getting worried by his wife’s absence so he ventured into the hallway to find her and her mother speaking in hushed voices.

“My love! I was just about to send for you” Daphne reached her hand out to her husband and he took it with a wary look “My mother has asked us to take over Grace’s season at Lady Danbury’s house, and I wanted to know if that may be possible”

He wanted to say no, he wanted to avoid staying the whole season under the scrutiny of the ton and also that of Lady Danbury, but he couldn’t deny his wife the chance to spend this time close to her family and for her to take such responsibility was a task he knew she wished to do to make her mother proud. So despite wanting to deny such request he smiled and instead said he’d be honored to help her with such task and would make arrangements to speak with Lady Danbury and send their belongings there while they went to de debutants presentation.

The presentation to the queen goes uneventful until Eloise walks in accompanied by her mother, even though she failed to aid in catching Lady Whistledown The Queen admired the young lady and provided her with a nod of approval, which was an enormous statement coming from the monarch. Next walked in Grace with Daphne and to no one’s surprise, she was deemed the Incomparable by the queen with a simple kiss to the forehead.

The news traveled fast and as soon as both ladies arrived at the ball in Lady Danbury’s home their dancing cards were filled with prospects, well Grace’s was because thanks to Anthony’s ‘assistance’ Eloise’s was impossibly blank. Daphne and Simon had decided to allow Gigi to dance with whoever she liked and they would worry about background checks when the dances turned into gentleman callers.

Anthony spent half of his attention taking good care of his sister and the other half was put into painfully watching Gigi dancing with different men, but what hurt the most was seeing that the man that made her smile the most was his own brother. He watched Colin take her first dance and couldn’t help the jealousy coursing through his veins as he saw them smiling and laughing as he twirled her around the dance floor. Perhaps that jealousy is what prompted him to abandon his sister’s side and approach the purple-eyed girl to ask for a dance.

“I’m so sorry Anthony but my dance card is full for the night” she was truly apologetic even though she had no way of knowing the eldest Bridgerton would want her to save a dance for him.

“May I see it?” He read through the list of names and chose to scratch over Benedict’s name knowing his brother had saved himself a dance with the girl only to save her from another dance with an impossibly boring gentleman, so he wouldn’t mind giving his dance up to his older brother.

“Is that allowed?” She asked with a smile.

“It is when he’s your brother” he dropped the card and handed back her pencil “Do me a favor and save me a dance on the next ball, and all others after that” with a final smile he left her to dance with the next gentleman and went back to his sister’s side.

Part 2

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I wanted to write this in 1 part buuuuut it came out longer than expected 😬 It’ll probably be like a 3-4 part story. If you took the time to read this I appreciate you :):):):):):):):):)

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x oc #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #my writing

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thisnoodlewritesao3 · 4 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS ON 50 MY BABESSSSSS HDPABFOWBFIWBJROWKRKE

Okay okay okay I have a request idea:

With Tsukishima pls and the soulmate AU where you get the same injuries? I’m thinking like during the Shiratorizawa game when he hurts his hand and maybe you’re like up on the stands and your hand hurts too and you’re like wtf???? Cause Tsukki maybe doesn’t get hurt too often so you never knew if it was real????? Doidnwofneo that’s just my suggestion tho feel free to ignore it haha

IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS AND YES I WILL BE SENDING ANOTHER REQUEST 😊😊😊

Oh I use she/her pronouns but you knew that. And uhhh idk what other info you’d like 😂 anyways ilysm and congratulations again!!!!

Ahhhh, okay, this took me far too long to have the motivation and inspiration to write but it literally slapped me in the face today so hehe. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND SDJKFGSDKFHSDKFHKSHF ----

You relished the idea of having a soulmate; the idea that there was someone out there that was perfect for you warmed your heart beyond imagination. You’d spend hours dreaming that you could be blessed with a soulmate. Luck had never been on your side; it had taken a lot out of you to finally admit defeat, that you would never have that special connection. Well, you could at least live vicariously through Tsukishima Kei - there was no doubt he had a soulmate. He was always covered in bruises despite never actually bumping into a thing or hurting himself.

The worst thing was that he didn’t even really like the idea of having a soulmate, he thought they were stupid - in turn, you thought he was stupid. Tsukishima Kei might have just been your polar opposite. Despite your self-proclaimed rivalry, you still tagged along with his brother to Tsukki’s biggest volleyball match so far: a battle against Shiratorizawa.

Volleyball wasn’t exactly your thing, considering how much you already injured yourself, but you’d always support Tsukki; he’d always supported you - even when he’d claim that he actually hated you.

So there you stood, watching what had to be the most confusing yet exciting thing in your life when something happens. Something you don’t really understand, but the crowd goes silent nonetheless, so you follow suit. From what you could tell, Tsukki had just blocked a ball, it didn’t seem like anything special, but as his team cheered and screamed with joy at what he’d achieved you couldn’t help but join in. Lifting your arm up to cheer just as the middle blocker was tackled by two second years.

Then you felt a slight pain, “the fuck?” You grumbled, rubbing the spot, looking up at Akiteru, “hey, can you look at my shoulder?” You winced in pain as you removed your jacket, letting Akiteru check over the area.

Despite the noise around you, he was silent, “when did you get bit? Come on, I know you’re clumsy but this?” He snorted, taking a picture to show you. This was the catch, you hadn’t been bitten. Sure, you were often forgetful, but this would be something ridiculous to forget; so where had this mystery bite come from?

“But…” you tapped your chin, scowling at the railing, trying to focus. Something clicked. A sudden rush of excitement and you jumped up, trying not to squeal. “Soulmate! I have a soulmate!” You almost wanted to cry. All these years of wishing and dreaming had come together! You had a soulmate, one day you would get to experience so much love that it might be overwhelming.

Akiteru smiled down at you knowingly as time went on. You were even more excited while watching the game, barely able to concentrate on anything; things were happening that you couldn’t describe.

Until you could.

You watched as Tsukishima jumped to block another ball - or one touch, whatever it was - the moment the ball touched his hand an almost instant pain ricocheted through your arm. Or, more specifically, your right hand. Your left hand shot over your mouth to stop yourself from screaming.

It was blinding - though you did always have a low pain tolerance. Akiteru was focused so intently on what was happening on the court that he only noticed you when you reached out a shaking hand to him, tugging on his shirt.

He looked down, eyes opening wide at the bruise that had started forming on your hand, the tears that pricked in your eyes weren’t a surprise. “Is something wrong with his hand?” You barely heard someone say, but you couldn’t focus. Not on him. Not on them. Only the pain that resounded in your pinky finger.

“Y/N,” he said. You couldn’t quite explain his expression, like some sort of understanding and realization all at once. As Yachi, Akirteru and you ran towards the infirmary, you still clutching your hand, you bumped into Tsukki. Before you can say anything to him, you’re taken into a separate room.

Akiteru pinches the bridge of his nose, smirking and shaking his head.

“You really got lucky with this one,” he chuckles, looking up at Tsukishima who is trying his best to fight back against the pain. His brows knit together as he looks up at his older brother, what is he talking about? “You know, Y/N, your soulmate?” He pointed his thumb at the door, shifting awkwardly underneath Tsukki’s gaze. Yachi gasps.

You are his soulmate? There was no chance in hell… unless… well, it did make some sense. You were always bumping into things, falling over; you put yourself in dangerous situations without thinking of the consequences and they always ended up badly for you - for him. But you didn’t have a soulmate?

“I always joked about it before, and it makes sense, I mean, you rarely got hurt as a child,” Akiteru points out and he nods, “so even if you did get a bruise, it would be easy to have assumed it was a soulmate. And if it showed up on her, I… I don’t think we have to explain that one.” He sighed. “And then there was that time she shoved you off of the swing and you cut your cheek and shoved her back, and you had a big fight. You had matching bruises and cuts for so long.” This time Akiteru just chuckled, remembering the scene of you both with bandages on so many parts of your body. You’d gone with the dinosaur bandages and Tsukki just went with plain ones - even if he was jealous the whole time.

Of course it made sense that you’d be his soulmate. But did you know?

Tsukishima wouldn’t tell you about the news until after the game, when you both had matching bandages on your fingers. You were shocked and excited all at once, throwing your arms around his neck. The sudden anger surprised him, especially when you ripped off your jacket to show off the bite mark and shouted, “where did you get this from then? You going out having sex?” He rolled his eyes and glared at Nishinoya - the culprit - and it all clicked in your head. In a few years time, after you finally move in together, you’d joke the only reason he got so hyped up during the end of the match was because he was playing for his soulmate - he’d never deny it. Because maybe he was.

You’d relished the idea of having a soulmate, and now that you had one, you couldn’t be more in love.

----

Taglist: @pies-writes-and-more @satan-ruler-of-hells @realcube

If you want to eb added to the taglist, send me a DM or an ask!

#hq tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu!!#soulmates

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redgillan · 5 years ago

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 3

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,587

Warnings: none

A/N: I wanted to give Reader a family and this is the easiest way to do it. Btw Peggy’s husband isn’t Steve, I have other plans for him ;) Enjoy!

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

The rest of the week went by, and you kept hoping Bucky would come back. You hadn’t seen him since he’d left 300 dollars under his napkin after visiting you at work. You had tucked the bills into your bra, knowing they would be safe there, and walked home at the end of your shift.

Now it was Thursday afternoon and you were craving a day off.

Natasha’s apartment was spacious and the oversized glass window bathed the living room in natural sunlight. The apartment was a gift from Sam. Obviously.

You dropped your purse on the sofa –your bed- and laid out the bills on the coffee table. It was made of marble and brass, another gift from Sam.

You didn’t know what to do with the money, so you took it wherever you went, to keep it safe. You wanted to return it to Bucky. It was too much and you weren’t used to random acts of kindness.

You sunk into the cushion and blew out a sigh as you stared at the money. The persistent vibration of your phone against your thigh pulled you out of your thoughts. Half expecting it to be Natasha, you answered without looking at the caller ID.

The operator told you that Scott Lang was calling from Saint Quentin State Prison, and asked if you would accept the charges. You agreed. You always agreed.

“Splotchy, I need your help.”

Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back against the cushion. “I told you to stop calling me that, Scott.”

It was a silly nickname.

As a child, your mother dubbed you splotchy because of the colourful doodles you painted on the living room walls, and your siblings, who were roughly a few years older than you, had loved using that nickname. Especially since they knew you disliked it.

Their support and endless enthusiasm played a big part in your artistic journey, nurturing that spark into a flame. What started out as a childlike fascination with colours and shapes became your whole life. No one was surprised when you decided to pursue a degree in fine arts.

After the death of her husband, Peggy Carter adopted five children; a little boy from San Francisco, a little girl from Wakanda, twins from Sokovia and a little girl whose birth parents were still in high school. You were the last one, the only one she adopted as a baby.

“Is it offensive to call an artist splotchy?”

“It’s irrelevant. I haven’t painted in months,” you replied. “And we’re not kids anymore, you can use my name.”

“I’ve been calling you Splotchy for so long, I forgot your actual name.”

“You’re so funny,” you deadpanned. “What do you need, Scott?”

Scott’s tone changed suddenly, his voice grew agitated. “I need you to call Maggie. She isn’t picking up when I call her.”

“Scott,” you sighed.

“I haven’t talked to Cassie since her birthday,” he cut you off, pleading. “Please, I just want to talk to my little girl.”

Maggie was Scott’s ex-wife. Six months after his incarceration, she had filed for divorce. Natasha thought it was a real dick move but you didn’t blame Maggie. She was alone, her husband was in jail –for basically being a dumbass although the official charge was embezzlement and destruction of property- and she had a kid to raise.

Maggie wasn’t a saint but she was a good mother, and Cassie was a smart and healthy kid. Now you knew what to do with Bucky’s money.

“I’ll call her,” you said. “Listen, I’m going to put 50 bucks on your book. Buy yourself a bar of soap, I can smell you from here.” Scott interrupted you with a monotone ‘har har’. You chuckled. “I’ll buy Cassie a Christmas gift on your behalf, all right? I think she wanted a bike.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chanted over the phone, his voice muffled as if he was holding the receiver too close to his mouth. “Are you sure you can afford it? I know it isn’t easy for you. Between living in New York and paying for mom’s nursing home, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting off the conversation. “I’m not alone, Okoye helps.”

“And Wanda?”

“She sends postcards from time to time.”

The line went quiet for a moment. “I want to get out of here so bad,” Scott groaned. “Everything’s gone to shit since I went to jail.”

“Everything’s gone to shit since Pietro died, Scott.” You both remained silent, remembering your late brother. Just thinking about him made your eyes start to prickle with tears, so you cleared your throat and ended the call. “I’ll talk to Maggie. You’ll be out soon, just... stay out of trouble. Love you.”

You left your phone on the table and kicked off your shoes before you lay down on the sofa for a well-deserved nap. In your dreams your brothers weren’t either dead or in prison, your mother hadn’t been diagnosed with Alzheimer, and you weren’t a burden to your friend.

If you were lucky enough, you wouldn’t even dream at all.

The next day, Bucky arrived at the hotel at six thirty and you playfully glared at him from across the lounge. He wasn’t stupid, he knew why you were glaring at him. At least he had the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Just so you know, you bought yourself about 30 breakfasts,” you told him, referring to the far-too-generous tip he had left the other day.

“A man’s gotta eat,” he replied with a boyish cockiness that made him look stupidly attractive. You were too flustered to find a good comeback.

You brought him his cup of coffee and let him enjoy his breakfast while you attended to your other clients. It was an unusually busy day, the room was packed with families who were getting ready to explore Manhattan. You didn’t have time to chat with Bucky and he didn’t stay long. You saw him flinch a couple of times; the muscles in his shoulders pulled tight and his eyes darting left and right.

He left another ridiculously generous tip, along with a handwritten note. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day x.

Bucky came back the following week, and even though it was a quiet morning, you made sure to find him a table in a secluded spot. He didn’t notice when you slipped the 300 dollars into the pocket of his coat. You could be pretty sneaky, too.

“Mmmh,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I looked at your Instagram.”

“Oh,” you glanced at your shoes, embarrassed. “Wait, you’re on Instagram? I have a hard time imagining you scrolling through your feed.”

He laughed a little. “I’ll admit I’m not as tech savvy as you youngsters, but I’m not a fossil. I use it to look at the pictures my sister post of my niblings.”

“Cute,” you grinned.

“Anyway,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair. “I love your work. It’s very unique; a cross between Impressionism and Post-impressionism. It’s realistic, and yet there’s something different...” his face scrunched up as he tried to look for the right word. “There’s something in your paintings, something that isn’t here in real life but perhaps should be. It’s hard to explain. It’s a feeling, a color, a pattern; it’s indiscernible but it’s there.” He looked up at you, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”

You blinked, suddenly stunned that someone had such strong opinions about your work. There was nothing but sincerity in his ocean-blue eyes, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

“I, um-” you cleared your throat, “Thank you, I didn’t know that. I look up to Monet, obviously. His work is phenomenal, and I also have a soft spot for Van Gogh.” You ran a hand across your face. “Sorry, I’m a little emotional. The people who compliment my art are usually my siblings, and Nat.”

“And now me,” he said with a warm smile. “And soon a lot more people.”

Flustered, you bit your bottom lip. “That would be nice.”

Bucky nodded. He gathered his silverware and set them on his plate, trying to buy time. You watched him hesitate before he turned to you. “I noticed that your last post was from almost a year ago.”

“Yeah,” you said with a casual shrug. “I don’t really paint anymore. I’m too tired when I get home and supplies are expensive.”

“Of course,” he pursed his lips in thought. “Are you free this afternoon? I was wondering if we could meet for coffee.”

You tried not to show your surprise but his words made the sleeping butterflies in your stomach crack an eye open, their interest piqued.

Was he asking you out? He’d come to your workplace every week since your brief ‘date’. He always gave you more-than-generous tips, and he listened to you with a combination of close attention and warmth that made you weak at the knees.

He’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for anyone but maybe he had changed his mind. Agh, down girl! He just wanted a friend.

You looked into his beautiful eyes, seeing a myriad of expressions cross his face before he smiled at you.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, angel.”

It was an honest lie, just hearing him call you angel felt like a punch to the stomach. The butterflies were dancing around, reborn, and chanting the word ‘date’.

“If you don’t like coffee, we can have tea, or ice cream,” he said, “anything as long as you can sit down with me.”

You snorted. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, smiling. “This is my number. Pick a place and I’ll meet you there.”

After breakfast, you closed the restaurant and started cleaning the Lounge. You brought everything back to the kitchen, stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and turned it on. Then you put away the unopened miniature jams, butter and whatnot, and gathered the remaining patisseries and fresh fruits in a basket that you would later bring to the reception.

You worked mechanically. It wasn’t exactly the most exciting job you’d ever had.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky. It was easy to let your mind wander into the cosy and dangerous territory of this being a real date.

You decided to go to the Australian coffee shop near Natasha’s apartment. It was popular but not as crowded as Starbucks, which suited you fine.

After your shift, you removed your uniform and changed into the spare set of clothes you kept in your locker for emergencies. Emergencies being an impromptu date or a night out with Nat. You dug around in your purse for your lipstick; the nice one, the Carter Red as your mother called it.

You dabbed the lipstick on your lips, staining them. You only wore it on special occasions, and you weren’t sure Bucky deserved your full red pout.

You walked to the café with a little pep in your step and a confident smile on your face. The freezing temperature didn’t matter, you were too giddy to care. It was a date, it had to be, why else would he ask you to meet for coffee?

You smiled when you saw him through the coffee shop window. He was chatting with the waiter as the latter set two mugs on the table.

“Hi again!” You shrugged out of your jacket and took a seat.

“I hope you like hot chocolate. Carl, here, says it’s their best seller,” Bucky said, smiling kindly at the waiter.

“Enjoy, and if you need anything else don’t hesitate to call me.”

You carefully wrapped your cold hands around your mug while you watched Carl walk away. A moment of silence rose between you. Bucky watched you with an unreadable expression, making you fidget in your seat.

“I’m glad you came,” he finally said.

“Me too. I’m a little surprised you asked.”

He looked down at his mug and smiled; it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have something to ask you.” He paused. “The night we met, you said you agreed to see me because being in a... financial relationship felt like the only solution to your problems.”

Your smile faltered but he didn’t seem to notice. Oh. The butterflies in your stomach fell so suddenly that it felt like carrying a ball of lead. They went back into hibernation.

“If I had been a decent person and, I don’t know, bought you a drink, talked to you,” he paused, meeting your eyes. “Would you have been interested in this type of relationship? With me, I mean.”

You swallowed hard. “You want to be my sugar daddy.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement. You were slowly realizing that you had been wrong about his intentions. This wasn’t a date, it was a business afternoon tea.

He winced. “Do we really have to call it that? I was thinking mentorship. I can provide financial help, and in exchange you could be my friend.”

“I can be your friend for free,” you said, your throat tightening.

He shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “This way we’ll both get something out of it.”

You looked down at your hands, still wrapped around the mug, and pursed your lips in thought. You felt a sharp tingling sensation in your nose, a sign that you were about to cry. You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw, fighting against the flood that was coming.

You pushed all the emotion down and forced a smile to your face. “Do you mind if I use the restroom? I just took the subway, I’d like to wash my hands.”

Bucky watched you, momentarily stunned by your request. “Of course, take your time,” he quickly recovered.

“Thanks,” you croaked, pushing your chair back.

You picked up your bag and walked to the restroom, your legs feeling like cotton wool. You didn’t need to use the restroom, you had walked to the café, but you needed a moment alone to collect yourself.

A woman came out of the restroom, holding the door open for you. You picked up the pace and thanked her before closing the door behind you. You looked pretty sickly under the artificial light of the restroom. Your eyes were glassy with tears and your red lips were taunting you.

“Got your hopes up, uh?” You watched your lips move. A little humourless chuckle escaped you and you shook your head at your own idiocy.

You aggressively wiped the lipstick off your mouth with the back of your hand and sighed deeply as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Now you felt like an idiot.

It wasn’t Bucky’s fault. He had been nothing but nice and kind, and perhaps you had mistaken his kindness for flirting. A naïve mistake. You had always been a little clueless when it came to men.

You ran your index fingers under your eyes to get rid of the makeup that had gathered there. It wasn’t the end of the world, you barely knew him anyway. It didn’t hurt any less, though.

Maybe it was time for you to do something out of character, to experience life no matter how crazy it seemed. You were dreading this conversation with Bucky, but you couldn’t hide in the restroom forever. With another sigh, you pushed yourself away from the sink and walked out of the restroom.

Part 4

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barns imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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xpao-bearx · 4 years ago

Text

Part 1 HERE

NOTE: OMG I really wasn't expecting for the previous first part of Heavenly Sins to blow up as it did, but I just wanted to give a huuuge THANK YOU to all of you amazing folks!! 🥰🥰🥰 Your support truly means so fooken much to trashy ol' meh and y'all are the reason I am writing this story series in the first place :')

I do have my ideas, but I still don't know much yet of what to do or even how long (or short) this story will get. So, if you would continue to give me your mindblowing support, it would seriously mean the W O R L D.

I do, however, very much enjoy writing Negan in particular so far. He's one of my absolute fave characters ever and JEFFREY DEAN FUCKIN' MORGAN NEED I SAY MOAR?!? 🥵💕💕

But this second part will be focusing a bit more on our beloved sheriff Ricky boi! Of course, Daryl will also get some much deserved love and attention tho I think he will appear in the story a lil later on.

Also, if you ever feel compelled, you are more than welcome to take some inspo from this story and make your own imagines and such! I'd love to see 'em, so please tag me 😁

P.S. There won't always be long ass notes like this, only if I wanna say something or bring up whatever is important. Also, if you wanna be tagged on any new/future story parts, then just tell moi and I will dedicate the latest one to the people who wanted to be tagged!

DEDICATED TO: The wonderful @buttercandy16 💖

"Heavenly Sins"

Part 2

After your little spiel, you haven't spoken to Negan since then. But on the way home after church, you passed by his house and found him tinkering away on his motorcycle (which you previously learned he interestingly named Lucille) in the garage. Not being able to help yourself, you paused in your tracks and just curiously watched him for a while.

His leather jacket was off, revealing a plain white t-shirt. The shirt was quite tight, and you noted how it perfectly hugged the taut muscles of his chest. Your eyes then slowly trailed to his toned arms, adorned by tattoos you wished you had a better look at. He stopped briefly, placing his tools down before grabbing the hem of his shirt and wiping the sweat on his forehead.

You didn't even think twice as your eyes dropped, hyperfocused on his abs. He wasn't the buffest guy out there, but he was lean and fit and--to put it bluntly--hot. A part of you screamed bloody murder to get a grip on yourself, to just turn your stiff body around and proceed on home. But another part completely squashed down those protests without even a fight; as if your pathetic excuse of a resolve wasn't even meant in the first place.

"Take a goddamn picture, darlin'. It'll last longer."

Your head snapped up, meeting the tantalizing hazel stare of Negan. His lips were curled in a smug smirk, and nevermore in your entire life have you wanted to both slap and kiss someone so badly.

But you only clicked your tongue, shooting him a sharp glare before (at last!) turning and walking away as you hid your blush. In the distance, his amused chuckle begrudgingly sounded like the sweetest fucking music to your ears.

♡♡♡

You woke up at 7:05 a.m. like you typically did the next morning, Monday. It was the dawn of a new week, and while most people dreaded it you actually didn't mind it so much. You had your job to thank for that.

Sure, it wasn't always easy, but it was worth it in the end. You loved teaching and spending time with the children, and you were even more ecstatic since you knew Judith was going to be at the daycare.

As you finished eating breakfast and preparing for the day, you grabbed your bag then went out the door. You opted to walk again today, the weather far too beautiful to miss plus the daycare really wasn't that far away.

Eventually arriving at your destination, you approached the daycare building's doors with a little spring in your step. Once inside, a young woman with her blonde hair high in a ponytail smiled and waved.

"Hi, Y/N! Goodmorning!" Beth Greene greeted energetically.

"Morning, Beth." You chuckled, the girl's radiant smile infectious. You've known Beth for some time now, especially since the Greenes were one of the oldest families in Alexandria and they were well respected. But you got along best with Beth, you thought she was the friendliest and she was also the latest hire of the daycare.

Stashing your bag away in your personal locker, you fixed yourself up a bit before getting your nametag and sticking it on your top. Looking up at the wall clock, you read that it was 7:50 a.m. Perfect, just in time for the kids' drop-offs.

You waited outside with Beth and the rest of the daycare workers, until finally the parents started rolling in. It was the usual; some of the children were wailing, snot snivelling down their nose as their embarrassed parents tried to tug them away from clinging onto their legs. You could only offer a sympathetic smile as you tried to help, while other children were much more relaxed and didn't even spare a second glance at their parents as they were dropped off.

"Well, that's about all of them." Beth piped up.

"Wait, we're still waiting for Judith." You said, searching for the toddler. "Rick said she'd be here."

Beth checked her watch, her brows creasing a little in worry. "That's odd. Sheriff Grimes is never late when he's dropping Judith off."

Just as she said that, there was a honk that disrupted the peace. You and Beth both spotted a crying Judith being held by Lori, the woman appearing utterly exhausted before her eyes locked with yours and didn't waste another second dashing towards you.

"Please don't run when you're holding Judith. Also, no honking is allowed on the premises." It was hard for you to keep the malice out of your voice, but you mentally gave yourself a pat on the back since you miraculously managed to not make it sound the worst it could get.

Lori raised a brow at you, but only handed Judith over to you. Judith immediately quieted down when she saw it was you, you cooing gently at her as she giggled and snuggled up comfortably against your chest.

"Rick will be picking her up later." Was all Lori said, pressing a quick peck on Judith's curly little head before parting ways. As Lori rushed back to the car, you saw Shane in the driver's seat shamelessly attack her neck with fervent kisses and you couldn't restrain an eyeroll.

"Fucking bitch..." You grumbled.

"Uh-oh. Bad!" Judith giggled again, clapping her hands gleefully.

"Right, right. Bad. Don't copy me, okay?" You laughed, completely forgetting about your aggravation as you rubbed your nose with Judith's and went inside.

♡♡♡

The rest of the day rolled along splendidly. No one threw a tantrum and for the most part, all the kids properly shared the wide assortment of toys and even did their activities orderly and on time. So, you decided to indulge them with a small yet much sought after reward.

Painting.

When it comes down to children, painting can be utter chaos. But you figured since they were being so good, you'd allow it. At the daycare you worked in, painting was quite a rare occurrence and that only solidified how much the kids adored it.

Once the materials were set out, it was a dizzying flurry of excited hands grabbing anything it could latch on to. As the kids went about doing their creative business, you found Judith all alone sitting in the corner playing around with some blocks.

"Whatcha doin' there, Judi?" You asked, sweetly calling out her nickname. "You don't wanna paint?"

"I wanna, but not with papers." She replied, shaking her head.

"Oh? Then where do you wanna paint?"

"I wanna paint on faces, but no one wants me to!"

"If that's the case, then I'd be more than happy to let you paint my face." You smiled.

"Really?!" Judith's whole face lit up, jumping up and wrapping her tiny arms around you as tightly as she could. "Thank youuu!"

You chuckled, ruffling her hair and watching as she happily gathered some paint and brushes.

♡♡♡

It was finally the end of a long day, and your face felt a bit itchy from the paint Judith put on you. But it didn't matter; as long as the little girl was happy, it was the best damn day ever.

You were holding Judith's hand as you waited outside for Rick to pick her up, and once he came up with his car Judith beamed.

"Daddy!"

"Hello, sweetheart. Did you have a nice day?" His face looked tired, his greying beard making him appear slightly older than he really was, but his smile was genuine as he carried Judith in his strong arms.

"The bestest! Y/N lemme paint her face!"

"She did, huh? What did you pai--oh my god."

You bursted into laughter at his reaction, flashing him a toothy grin. "In the words of Judi: You're a pretty tiger! Grr!"

"Now that you mention it, I can see it." Rick joined in your laughter, nodding his head. "Looks like we've got a talented lil artist in our hands!"

"Daddy, I wanna paint your face next! You can be daddy tiger and Y/N can be mommy!" Judith proclaimed.

You and Rick flushed pink at the same exact time, but Rick was quick to clear his throat and change the topic. "A-Anyways, Y/N, how 'bout me and the kids give you a ride? Thank you for today, by the way."

"No problem, and sure! Thanks so much."

As you settled in the passenger's seat, two hands covered your eyes from behind. "Guess who~?"

"Hmm..." You hummed, making a show of thinking. "Are you an elf?"

"No!" The hands were removed, Carl popping his head out from the backseat to look at you as he laughed. "It's me!"

"Oh, sorry! You're just so short, I thought you were an elf." You teased good naturedly.

Carl huffed, sticking his tongue out at you. "Y'know, in a few years, I'll be way taller than you!"

Once Rick was done buckling Judith into her carseat, he took his place in the driver's seat and drove out of the premises. You just talked about anything that came to mind: work, the weather, Alexandria's local shops, etc. To anyone else, maybe it seemed like regular boring conversation. But speaking with Rick was truly one of the highlights of any of your days. He was extremely easy to talk to, and he never failed to cheer you up. And it was obvious Rick was the same. He was allowed to simply be himself around you; to loosen up, momentarily forget about the stress and sometimes even the woes that came along with being the town's upstanding sheriff.

As you were nearing your home, Carl decided to cut in.

"Y/N, can we stay at your house? It's been a while since we had a sleepover." Carl asked, his baby blue eyes identical to Rick's alight with hope.

It wouldn't be the first time Rick and the kids would be staying over. You were very close to the Grimes family, sometimes even almost considering them as your own. You didn't mind it. Since you lived alone, it can get pretty lonely. And having people around surely brightened up the house and made you keep your sanity.

"I don't mind, but you gotta ask your dad." You chuckled.

Carl turned to Rick, pouting and giving his best puppy dog eyes. Rick rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress an inkling of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. But let me drop you and Judith off with Y/N first. I'll be back, I just need to get some extra clothes and essentials."

"YAY!" Carl cheered, Judith following suit as they both raised their arms and hollered.

"You're so whipped for them." You laughed, shaking your head as you looked at Rick.

"I ain't denying that." He sighed dramatically, grinning.