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let-them-read-fics · 3 years

Text

Too Late To Apologize?

Requested By @rosiesandlilies: “I was wondering if I can request a Rosé x female reader story where Rosie is an idol who also happens to be ur wife and since she and BP are taking over the world by storm, she starts to forget about you and whenever u ask her to spend a little bit of time with you, she gets upset and fights with you. You’re also an important person but you always make time for her. Can it be angsty with fluff 🥰”

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 6,026

Warnings / Misc: -- Angst, Self Doubt, Strained Marriage / Relationship, Crying, Some Swearing, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Oooooo lord, here we go. I am feeding 👏 you 👏 all 👏 today! This one took a while to write, but I’m pretty happy with it. I wrote it all in one go, starting at like 3am (as usual lol), so forgive me if it’s a little rough. I put a lot of effort into it, though, so I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you for requesting -- Happy reading!

PS ~ I highly recommend that you listen to these songs as you read this:

You Were Good To Me -- Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

Surrender -- Natalie Taylor

The Night We Met -- Lord Huron

I Found -- Amber Run

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Hongdae, Seoul -- 8:00 PM

“Good evening, everyone! Before I open the doors, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time out of your day to stop in. We couldn’t have done this without your support, and we’re endlessly grateful. We hope you have a wonderful experience with us tonight. Now, without further ado, welcome to La Rêverie!”

To your amusement, the sizable crowd erupts into a fit of cheers once your opening speech is over. Echoes of the joyous sounds carry across the city, wiggling their way through the alleys and streets, bouncing off of the nearby buildings. The customers slowly filter in, greeting and congratulating you on their way; you’re beyond excited to start this new journey, and seeing people so happy to be a part of it only makes you more proud.

Eventually everyone makes it inside to their seats, and you join them.

--- Later That Evening ---

“Y/N, we have a private party that would like to see you. They’re eager to meet the woman behind all of this,” Pierre smirks, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. His demeanor confuses you slightly, seeing as how this isn’t the first time high profile celebrities have requested your presence -- that’s just one of the perks of being a world renowned chef. You brush off his remark as playful banter and send him to tell them that you’ll be out soon.

---

“...yes, actually. Y/N and I were fortunate enough to meet when she was studying in Paris; we were being trained by the same chef. We’ve been close ever since. I’m not surprised that she hired me, though; I’m practically a master in the kitchen.”

At Pierre’s cocky words, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. A small grin plays on your lips nonetheless, and you smooth out your top one more time before rounding the corner.

“What’s this idiot on about now? Did he tell you about the time that he nearly got kicked out of our mentorship program for giving Anthony Bourdain the wrong dish?” You ask the table, sending them a glance while ruffling his hair as you come up behind him. They all snicker at that, and it’s his turn to roll his eyes; with an annoyed shove, he scolds you for bringing that story up again.

“Must you always tell people about that?”

Your smile widens, spreading cutely across your face. Mocking him is one of your favorite things to do. “Mhm,” you say simply, nodding your head for emphasis. He attempts to hide his embarrassment, but it only brings a deeper blush to his cheeks.

At the VIP table, the suppressed sound of laughter carries over to you, and you’re reminded of your reason for being here in the first place. Upon offering your full attention to the table now, no longer distracted by Pierre, you’re met with 4 different pairs of eyes on you. Warm, yellow light illuminates the area, the classy overhead fixture emitting a soft glow to cast down on the guests beautifully. It’s cozy and inviting, just like you had intended it to be, and the sight makes you happy.

As you quickly scan over each of the girls, your brain pieces together where you know them from.

“My oh my, it’s Blackpink themselves. To what do I owe this honor?” All of the natural charisma that you possess takes over now, doing its best to override your nerves. It’s definitely not the time to fangirl over them; you have to act cool. One by one, you shake their hands, making sure to give each of them a glimpse of your award winning smile.

Jennie is the first to speak up. “Yourself, of course. You’re the talk of the town, Y/N, how could we miss this?” The way that she says it so casually, already skipping past the formalities, puts you at ease.

“Ah, you’re too kind. Was your food prepared to your liking?”

A chorus of approving noises leaves the table, successfully boosting your confidence in the process. “It was truly incredible, Y/N.” Rosé gushes, her adorable accent adding something magical to the simple phrase. For the first time tonight, your mind goes blank; ever since news broke of your plans for this new restaurant, you practiced to avoid this very thing. As you stand there floundering for a beat, she takes notice of the effect that her words have on you; it doesn’t take long for her to realize how much she loves to make you blush.

“Thank you so much. We’re so glad to have you here tonight.”

“We’re happy to be here! Rosé hasn’t stopped talking about it for the past week.” The Australian’s eyes go wide as Lisa exposes her, and she shoots the younger girl a shocked look. Lisa only smirks at this, her shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant shrug. Jisoo nods in confirmation, adding, “Yeah, she’s been super pumped.”

On the inside, you’re freaking out. Rosé was that excited to try out your creations? There’s no logical explanation for that one. Your own surprise is evident in your voice as you respond, “Oh really now? And why’s that?”

“I-I’ve just heard a lot of great things, you know? You’re pretty talented.” She tries to sound confident, but the stutter in her voice betrays her. The tips of her ears are burning with embarrassment, and after sending her yet another smile, you decide to spare her by changing the topic.

“Well thank you, again. It’s truly a privilege to cook for you girls.” The conversation continues from there, effortlessly moving from subject to subject, and you love how welcome they make you feel. Occasionally you excuse yourself to check on the other guests and ensure that they’re enjoying their dinner, and every time, Rosé finds herself sorely missing your presence. Despite only officially meeting tonight, she feels like she’s known you her whole life. The two of you clicked instantly, and she can’t seem to get enough of you.

After spending the better part of 2 hours chatting and getting to know one another better, you grow bold and ask the question that’s been rolling around in your head all night.

“Would you guys like to come back to the kitchen for a bit? I could give you some tips and we could make a couple dishes, if you want.”

Rosé nearly interrupts you from how eager she is to accept the offer. The second that you’re done asking, she’s already saying yes. The others happily agree as well, and soon you’re leading them to the back to get prepped.

_________

“Just like this, everyone. Cut thinly here,” you inform, using your knife to point to the areas in question, “...then turn it and follow through with the slices. It should come out diced, like so.” The girls observed your swift motions, peeking over at the small cubes once you’re finished. Things continue on like this for a while, and soon you’re halfway done with the veggies while they’re barely done with the first part of their batches.

“Slow down, Y/N! You’re too fast for us grandmas.” Jisoo jests, her voice bouncy with amusement.

“Okay, okay! I’ll wait, just let me know if you need help.” Your knife comes to rest against the cutting board, and you take the opportunity to lean back against the countertop to watch them work. Your eyes trail over to Rosé, only to find her already looking at you; she tenses once she realizes she’s been caught, and she returns to her previous duties. You decide to tease her.

“Everything alright, Rosé? You seem a little distracted…” She momentarily shuts her eyes at your words, trying to refocus her thoughts and collect herself. A subtle snicker from Lisa can be heard, and Rosé delivers a quick jab to her arm. The maknae lets out a little “oww” before setting her things down to rub away the newfound soreness of her arm.

A little later, Jennie requests some assistance, prompting you to make your way over to her. The station that she’s working at just so happens to be next to Rosé’s, and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t thrill you.

“Do we peel this first or leave it on?”

“Cut the ends first, then slice it in half and remove the outer layer.”

Under your watchful eye, she follows your instructions and is soon back on track. She thanks you, and you bring your hand up to give her a pat on the back. Although she feels childish for it, the action works to make Rosé the tiniest bit jealous; she wants your attention on her.

The blonde clears her throat before speaking up. “Y/N, I need a little help, too.” Your heart jumps at her words, and you fight hard to keep yourself in check as you spin around to face her.

“Of course, Rosé.” She sighs at the way her name rolls off your tongue, and she’s completely convinced that you’ve secretly put her under some type of spell. Her thoughts of you and your mysterious ways are interrupted when you come to stand next to her, your hip lightly brushing against hers.

“Oh, well there’s your problem: you’re holding the knife wrong. Here,” you start, reaching out to reposition her hand in a better spot. Now she’ll be able to control it better, and she won’t run the risk of cutting herself.

“Better?” You ask innocently, missing the way that she bites her lip. The close proximity of your bodies is making her head spin, and she can’t decide if she wants you to stay or go. “Yes, thank you.” She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t, so you take that as your cue to go check on the other girls. Rosé silently curses herself for missing that golden opportunity to flirt with you, but she takes solace in the fact that she catches you stealing glances her way fairly often. You feel the connection too, and she’s pleased with that -- maybe she was doing something right after all.

The next stint of the night is spent preparing and cooking the dishes you promised them while trading jokes, banter, and teasing remarks. A mini food fight also took place, but for the sake of professionalism you won’t mention that. You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day.

----

“Goodnight girls. I hope you come by again sometime soon!”

They all assure you that they’ll be back before you know it, and you believe them. After all, they gobbled those dishes down like they hadn’t eaten in days -- it’s safe to say that they enjoyed them.

Rosé lingers in the doorway, eyeing you as you work to clean off the counter. She doesn’t want to go; she’s loved getting to hang out with you. Contemplating her options, she decides to be brave; she tells the girls to go on ahead, that she’ll be there in a minute.

“Rosé, did you forget something?” You ask, looking up at her as you reach forward to wipe any remaining debris off the sleek surface.

“Yeah, your number.” Somehow, she possesses all the confidence in the world now, her new demeanor completely opposite to its previously shy counterpart.

You tilt your head at her, a dumbfounded smile parting your lips ever so slightly. “Bold, are we? Alright, I’ll bite.” You say, holding a hand out for her to give you her phone. Her eyes widen a bit -- was she not expecting you to say yes? There’s no way you could turn down a chance like this. She fumbles around in her bag until the smooth screen of her phone comes into contact with her fingers, letting her know she’s found it.

“Here you go,” she chuckles cutely, an adorable little pattern of blush rising to her cheeks again.

After entering your number, making sure to save the contact and even take a goofy picture of yourself for it, you give it back to her. “Call me anytime, love.” Her smile spreads even farther at the pet name, and she ducks her head to hide her reddening cheeks.

As she slowly approaches the door, walking backwards, she says, “I will… love,” offering you a little awkward salute at the end of it. You giggle at her antics, and soon bid her goodnight.

No more than 5 minutes later, your phone dings as it displays a notification from an unknown number.

“I’m usually not that awkward 🤦‍♀️ pretty girls just make me nervous.” The message makes your heart flutter, and you quickly save her number to your contacts.

“Really? We have yet another thing in common, then.”

The girls watch as Rosé does a little victory dance in her seat, her movements a bit limited by the belt stretched across her body. She’s practically glowing with excitement, her fingers already firing off another reply.

________

3 Years Later -- Rome, Italy

Upon seeing Rosé saunter down the aisle, your emotions get the jump on you; before you can stop them, tears flow freely down your face, and you bring a hand up to your mouth to quiet yourself. She looks bruisingly beautiful: the natural curves of her body are accentuated by the silky material of her dress, and her shoulders are covered in lace. An angel cast down from the heavens above.

She smiles at the audience that’s filled with your close friends and family, offering little greetings as she passes them. Once she and her father make it to the altar, he pulls you in for a big hug, a few tears escaping his eyes. After he takes a step back, he looks between the two of you with pure pride on his face, his hand resting on your shoulder.

The song ends, signalling for the two of you to join hands and face each other, and he returns to his seat.

“We’re gathered here today to celebrate the joyous union of Y/N L/N and Roseanne Park. Two souls destined to find their way to one another, travelling millions of miles in the process. We come together to revel in this fact and send them into their new life together with all of our support.” The officiator says into the microphone, smiling at the two of you. You can tell he loves his job, and he’s damn good at it.

Rosé’s grip on your hand tightens as she tries to contain her tears, but you’re quick to assure her that it’s alright. “You can cry, baby.” At your words, her lip is released from between her teeth, and her tears begin to flow. You wipe them away, stepping closer to rest your forehead against hers.

The ceremony continues on and the two of you recite the personal vows you wrote. Somehow, unbeknownst to you, there doesn’t seem to be a limit to how much you can cry in one sitting. Rosé is having the same problem, seeing as how her makeup is smudging some as the tears wash the substances away. You don’t care though, and you make it a point to remind her of that; she’s never looked more beautiful to you.

“I do.” You choke out, beaming at her as you run your thumb across her knuckles.

“I do.” She responds, impatiently bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waits for those final words from the officiator.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Her lips are on yours before he even finishes the phrase, her hand resting on the back of your neck as she pulls you in closer. Your lips move with hers in perfect time, working to seal your union in the best way possible. “I love you, forever,” she whispers against your lips.

____

Present Day, 1:17 AM

In order to spare you from the overwhelming sadness that you’re being subjected to now, your brain takes you back to those happy times from the past. When Rosé still made time for you; when she loved you.

Even though you hate it, you still find her in everything. The bright sunshine of the early morning reminds you of all the times she would wake you up with kisses, holding you close. The songbirds outside of your window bring to mind when you’d come home to find her at the piano, alternating between striking the keys and strumming her guitar as her beautiful voice carried out across the house.

You miss that Rosé, so, so much. The Rosé that would call you in between sessions at the studio, if only for 5 minutes. The Rosé that longed to hear your voice after a long day; who fell into your arms the second that she shuffled through the door after practice.

As time has passed, though, she’s seemed to fade more and more from your life; missed calls and texts have become a given, and it takes everything in you to mask your sorrow. Anyone who knows you well at all can easily see through the facade: you’re now a shell of who you once were, your normally vibrant and cheery self gone. You attempt to hide your sadness behind a smile, but it never really works out; your eyes don’t shine like they used to, and your lips don’t quite tweak up at the corners in the special way they had before.

But you’re getting ahead of yourself again. Your reason for crying tonight is simple: for the hundredth time this month, she’s cancelled your date night plans, opting to spend the time working instead. The argument that the two of you had earlier replays in your mind:

"I don't have a choice."

Except, she did. She could choose you, choose to take a break, if only for the evening. You never ask too much of her, knowing that she can't handle even more stress competing with what she already has from the company and media. Being an idol is hard enough, and you know you can never fully wrap your head around everything that's expected of her.

Though, that makes this all the more ridiculous. All you've asked for is a couple hours of her time -- for her to relax with you and get away from it all. Earlier that day you had gone to the store and picked up all the necessary materials to treat her to a little spa day, complete with bath and body oils, face masks, and even some bath bombs.

"Asking my wife to spend an evening with me is not unreasonable, Rosé."

"I'm not having this argument again, Y/N. I get enough shit from everyone else; I don't need any extra from you."

Maybe it was something in how she said it, so final and hateful, her face coming to rest in a scowl. Her arms were crossed as she stood in front of you, and you could see the muscles in her jaw clench and release repeatedly. In some twisted way, part of you was glad to have this encounter; it hurt like hell, but at least she was paying attention to you. She hadn't looked at you for this long in a while.

Before you can even get another word out, she sighs, saying, "I don't have time for this. I have to go back to the studio."

Just as she turns to go, you catch her wrist. With a slightly annoyed look, she turns to face you.

"If you walk out that door then I'm leaving; at least for the night. We need to talk about this, but if you don't care enough to even give me that, then…" you trail off, tilting your head slightly. You want her to apologize, to say how wrong she's been for doing all of this to you -- but she doesn't. Her expression is tired, irritation written plainly for you to see. She pulls her arm away, offering a petty, "Oh well," with a shrug before exiting the house.

How could she be so cold? Maybe that's what hurt the most. Seeing the love of your life turn into someone completely different than who you fell for stung more than any argument ever could. The reality is that she's not the same person anymore. Accepting that would be half of the battle in and of itself.

Your heart is betraying itself, stuck in a sticky situation: you're constantly struggling between your love for her and the respect you hold for yourself. Half of you wants to stay, to make her listen and fight for this; but the other half of you, perhaps the more rational side, knows that that won't work now. You've tried that already, you reason with yourself, racking your brain for any new way to get through to her.

Sometimes it's like she forgets all of the sacrifices you make for the relationship. Despite having your own busy schedule to deal with, you always make time for her. So why could she never do the same for you?

It's obvious that in its current state, this relationship is only wrecking your mental health -- a testament to that is every night you've spent lying awake, sobbing into your pillow as your list of insecurities grows longer and longer. She used to be the person you'd run to when negative thoughts plagued your mind, her sweet words of love showing how much she valued you. But all of that's gone now, leaving you with a shattered heart and racing mind. When had you stopped being enough?

~~~~~~~

It’s late, well past 4AM when Rosé manages to make it home. Practice absolutely wrecked her today, leaving her body exhausted from dancing and throat sore from all the singing she had to do. She’s more than ready to collapse into bed and pass out.

One thing that always stayed the same was your sleeping arrangement. No matter how much Rosé hurt you, you still slept in the same bed. Her subconscious was always kinder to you than she was, anyway; the two of you would cuddle in close like before, her arms wrapped around you as she slept peacefully. No arguments or yelling, you could always count on the nights to heal your heart a little bit.

As she enters the empty bedroom, the memory of your argument from earlier that day comes flooding back. She remembers that you said you were leaving, but part of her didn't fully believe you. She should've known better -- you always keep your word. Guilt washes over her, and she gently taps her head against the wall as a sort of self-punishment for her previous actions. Why did she say that to you? The hurt look in your eyes broke her heart, but she couldn’t afford to skip practice, especially with the comeback quickly approaching. In retrospect, she should’ve just told you that she didn’t feel prepared, and that’s why this practice had been so important. Even though she doesn’t show it, you still mean the world to her. She just so happens to be her own worst enemy.

With a heavy sigh, she makes her way to the bathroom; there she finds a cute little basket of goodies next to the tub, and a note on the counter of the sink. She approaches the basket first, quickly discovering that it holds some of her favorite self-care items from the local store. Yet again, a deep pang of guilt courses through her upon realizing that you had prepared that for her. Defeated, she picks up the note.

Roseanne,

If you’re reading this, then I’ve already left. I don’t want you to worry, if you even still care enough to do that, so I decided to leave this letter for you. I’ll be staying with my friend for the next while. I don’t know how long, but that depends entirely on you. I’ve tried to communicate with you, but we’re getting nowhere; we both know it. We’re not who we used to be, Rosé, and I hate that. I want us to be happy again, but it seems that I can’t do that for you. If you want to end things, let me know.

- Y/N

Rosé’s heart is breaking, splintering into a million different pieces and leaving her with no possible way to collect them all. How had she so royally fucked this up? She only has herself to blame, and she knows that; she can’t believe that she let things get like this. She had been so blinded by the stress that she lost sight of the most important thing in her life: you. It’s slowly sinking in that she very well might lose you for good this time, and she doesn’t know how to cope with that. She can survive without her career, but she knows she can’t go on without you.

----- La Rêverie, 2 Weeks Later -----

She only intended to walk by -- to see if you were there and safe. But as she gazes through the windows, peeking into the place that houses so many of her dearest memories, she’s transfixed. Her eyes land on you, finding you hard at work in the kitchen. It’s always been where you go when you’re stressed or upset about something -- two things that Rosé knows she’s the cause of.

You’re in your element, face donning a look of pure concentration as you prepare what she assumes is a new dish. Your hair’s in a bun, a few strands coming down to fall around your face as you move about. Gravity takes its time in gently coaxing them out of the tie's hold, and Rosé’s breath hitches at how beautiful you look; it’s as if she’s falling for you all over again. She’s always admired your skills, but they hold a whole new meaning now, an unspoken tension in every movement you make.

How had she been so selfish? You had been there for her all along, waiting patiently for the day that she would come to her senses. You would always have dinner ready -- usually one of her favorites, hoping that would spark something again -- but she always brushed you off. She never stayed long enough to see the crushed look on your face, or how the pain was becoming clearer and clearer by the day. She realizes now just how much of a toll her actions have taken on the both of you; you're still just as breathtaking as ever to her, but that special sparkle in your eye has long been eclipsed by something more dull. You're tired of being let down repeatedly, stuck in a constant loop of excuses and avoidance, and Rosé can't blame you for a second.

The time apart hasn't been kind to her at all; there hasn't been a single day that's gone by where you haven't consumed her thoughts. She misses you so badly it hurts, and even now, despite being so close to you, separated only by the walls of the restaurant, you've never been further away.

The distant sound of a car alarm cuts through the silence, simultaneously scaring her and drawing your attention. Before you can spot her, she ducks down; there’s no way that she can face you yet. Taking this as a sign, she decides to leave.

She’s spent the past 2 weeks attempting to spare you by not coming around; she thinks you need time away from her to deal with everything she’s put you through, and she doesn’t want to upset you anymore than she already has. Ever-torn, part of you is glad that she’s stayed away; however, another part of you just wants to see her again. You miss the nights more than you thought you would.

--- A Few Days Later ---

Steady sheets of rain pound harshly against the window, vibrating the latches with each gust of wind. Times like these are always the worst, especially when you don’t have Rosé to calm you down. Violent thunderstorms never fail to frighten you, and this one in particular seems like it’ll be the worst one of the season. Swiftly padding over to the window, you sneak a quick peek outside, only to find the branches of the large oak tree that occupies the yard swaying in the wind with reckless abandon. The sight terrifies you, but you do your best to keep yourself from panicking, even having to do some breathing exercises. Your friend can sleep through anything, and you know she needs the rest; so, you stay in the spare bedroom that she’s so graciously allowing you to reside in, and lie awake.

Across the city, Rosé is tossing and turning. The storm hasn’t fully reached its peak there yet, but she knows how worried you must be. Tears spring to her eyes at the thought of you huddled up under the covers, body trembling in fear as the storm rages on. The deep-rooted shame that she’s grown so accustomed to since you left plagues her conscience, making her even more disgusted with herself.

After turning over yet again, her eyes land on the picture she has of the two of you propped up on the nightstand. It was taken on your wedding day, that stunning view of the venue paling in comparison to your beauty. A sense of determination washes over her -- determination to make you that happy again someday, in whatever way she can -- and she gets out of bed to collect a few materials. She’ll do whatever it takes.

----

The sound of a car door slamming perks your ears up, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quickly pulling the curtain back, you’re beyond shocked to see Rosé out there, holding something in her hand. Just as you lean in closer to the window to try and see what it is, her caller ID pops up on your phone.

“Come downstairs, please.”

Even with the vast array of emotions coursing through you at the moment, you’re only focused on getting her inside and out of harm’s way.

You nearly knock the door off its hinges with how quickly you snap it open. To your surprise, she’s still standing by her car, but now you can see what she was holding before; a white sign with black writing on it. The words are barely legible with how much it's raining, the dye of the marker horribly smudged, but you can make out: “I’m sorry! I’m an idiot.” It’s like something out of romantic drama.

Before you can even comment on everything that’s happening, Rosé begins the speech that she’s been trying to piece together ever since you left.

She has to raise her voice so you can hear her over the storm. You wonder why she doesn’t just come in, but you think that maybe she’s doing it to show you that she’s willing to punish herself by standing out in the elements. “No words that I say will ever be able to fix the pain that my actions caused. You don’t deserve any of the shit I put you through, and I hate myself for being such a coward. I was too immature to look past my own struggles and just talk to you about them.”

Now, she takes a few cautious steps towards the front door, testing the waters as she scans your face to gauge how you’re feeling. “I guess I just thought I could deal with it like I always do. But losing you showed me how wrong I was; I love you so much, Y/N. I don’t want to end things; I’ll never want that. You’re my world, baby; I’m so sorry that it took me this long to see what was right in front of me.”

How are you to respond to that? Can you trust her? She looks more sincere in this moment than she has in a long time, and that puts you a little more at ease. Her eyes are begging -- pleading -- with you to believe her, and after a moment you step to the side, wordlessly telling her to come in. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until a few stray tears drip onto your shirt, leaving little marks in their wake. She has to restrain herself from reaching out and wiping them away; she has no idea when -- or if -- you’ll be able to forgive her.

Soft pitter-patter of the water running off of her coat echoes lightly across the foyer, serving as white noise for the conversation you’re having. Her sniffles work in tandem with it, and she bites back her sobs in order to get the words out.

“I know this won’t be fixed overnight, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me. I won’t blame you for a second if you can’t forgive me, either. I just couldn’t let you get away without a fight.”

With each new fresh batch of tears that settle in your eyes, you have to work twice as hard to blink them away. “I-I don’t know what to say, Rose. You’re the only person in this world capable of hurting me that badly, because you mean more to me than anyone else. But I never thought you’d treat me like that. Do you know how many times I doubted myself, thinking I did something wrong?” Your tone is bitter now, voice conveying the pain from those months of anguish that you had to endure, and Rosé hangs her head.

“I know that now, Y/N, and I know that I can never take it back. But God, how I wish I could. I’d do anything in my power to take that pain away. It was never your fault; none of it was.”

You know she’s being honest. After seeing the opposite for so long, it’s easy to spot when she’s telling the truth. You nod a couple times, deciding to pull her in for a long-overdue hug. She’s motionless at first, not quite knowing if you want her to return it or not, but the second that you quietly say, “Hold me, Rosé,” she’s scooping you up in her arms like her life depends on it. Her head rests in the crook of your neck, and the two of you cry together, letting all of the pent up frustration and sadness leave your bodies.

After standing there, embracing one another for who knows how long, she pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. Her gaze subtly falls to your lips, but you don’t fail to notice. “Can I?” She asks gently, raising her eyes back up to yours. “Yes.” You utter, nearly swooning as her soft lips brush against your own. You’ve missed them.

Her chilled hands cup your cheeks with purpose, and you can feel water running off the ends of her hair and onto your chest.

She kisses you in such a poetic way: softly, as if you might break at any moment, but urgently, like a lost soldier finally returning to the arms of their lover. She wants to make you feel how sorry she is, how much she loves you, and this seems like the perfect place to start.

“I love you, jerk,” you say through your tears, brushing your thumb along her cheek as you look into her eyes.

“And I love you, angel.” She picks you up, spinning you around a couple of times before setting you back down on your feet.

After a moment, you glace at the window. “Shhhh, wait. Do you hear that?”

She cocks her head to the side as she listens closely for any potential noise that you might be talking about, but she hears nothing. “No? I don’t hear anything…”

“Exactly; the rain stopped.”

“Huh. I guess it did its job, then.” She smiles, silently thanking the universe for working in its wonderful ways. It brought the two of you back to one another, and neither of you can contain your happiness. Maybe you don’t hate storms as much after all...

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renaerys · 3 years

Note

Prompt 50. But Berserk & Boomer😔👉👈💕

50. “I thought you left.”

We’re calling this one Unfortunately, She Impressed Him. This is a pair of characters I love with all my heart in any flavor of relationship and can’t wait to write more of in my ongoing multi-chapter fic Trinity House over on AO3.

This fic is part of a prompt challenge that is now closed to new requests, but you can read all the completed submissions here. Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we’re getting creative here.

xxx

Boomer was halfway across the deserted lobby of Faust Keating Rogers, LLP when he realized he’d forgotten his keys at his desk. He groaned aloud because it was 8 p.m. and no one was around to hear him because they had all gone home to their families hours ago like normal people. Boomer didn’t have two to three kids and a house in the suburbs, though, and neither did his boss. The three hour lull reserved for dinner, baths, and bedtimes before the evening work-from-home grind offered him no alternative but to power through. He fully planned to grab take out on his way home and enjoy an episode of whatever was on HBOMax before getting back to the tedious work of reviewing the draft prospectus statement his boss had sent him to proof by tomorrow morning.

Except, his keys were forty floors up and he now had to risk running into her again when he’d managed to slip away so neatly. He’d even removed his tie on the elevator ride down, and now he rubbed his exposed neck, flushed with anxiety over what might happen if she saw him and asked him to stick around to finish the work here.

“Nice going, dumbass,” he lamented as he stepped onto the elevator and hit the button for the fortieth floor.

It wasn’t that Boomer disliked his job. In fact, he didn’t mind it at all. It was better than slinging drinks or waiting tables. He had health insurance, a steady paycheck, and a resumé that could proudly display the name of one of the most elite accounting firms in the country. He could pivot his career if he wanted to, as Brick would say. Boomer wasn’t thinking about his next job right now, though. Right now, he was thinking about this one and how his boss was a hard-ass and a workaholic even if she was brilliant, and how there was a one hundred percent chance she would detect him coming back to his desk (which was annoyingly set up right in front of her office so that he could answer her calls, manage her meetings, and deal with whoever passed close enough to her event horizon to get suckered into the latest heinous audit in need of staffing).

There were his traitorous keys sitting on the desk next to the framed picture of his brothers. He glared at them, as if they were a forgotten household item that had developed a supernatural grudge like in those old Japanese folktales he liked to read online. He half expected them to jingle and alert his boss to his presence, just to spite him.

They didn’t, and he slipped them into his pocket as quietly as could be. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and took a beat. It was quiet. Most of the offices were dark, save for a few poor souls in the large conference room stuck on the ongoing year-end audit for one of the firm’s most important clients: Unicorn, Inc. His boss’s office was also lit up behind her closed door, but she hadn’t called out to him like she would during the day when he got back from his lunch break hoping for a few minutes to catch up on emails in peace before she dumped more work on him.

This, of course, was odd. The small legion of assistants who had come before Boomer were notorious for their short-term employment working this specific desk. The work was demanding and so was the boss, but there was something else that set her apart from other senior associates in the International Tax Services division, something that seemed to intimidate away any support the higher ups sent her way. Denise a couple desks down had warned Boomer not to bring too many personal effects to the office; chances were he wasn’t going to last long. Boomer had smiled thinly and thanked Denise for her advice, and brought the picture of his brothers in the next morning because he had his pride and Brick told him it was healthy to indulge that once in a while. Brick would certainly know.

So here he was, uncertain. Anxiety over having to sit here for another two hours finishing work and having tepid Doordash delivered pulled him toward the elevator and escape, while that annoying, rare pride demanded he check on his boss and make sure she knew he was here to support her, lest she get the idea that he needed to be fired.

The longer he stood there, indecisive, the greater his curiosity grew. What was she doing in there? It was quiet, even when he strained his Super hearing. He could hear Dean Matheson pouring whiskey a few offices down (that guy had a drinking problem and everyone knew they only kept him around because he had the Unicorn, Inc. account), Adebayo Hansou on a conference call with Dubai that was escalating to profanity, Shelly Kim with her head down and typing away at an Excel spreadsheet like a pro. Their assistants were long gone for the night, but here was Boomer, loitering and indecisive and what is she doing in there not yelling at me when she definitely knows I’m here?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He knocked on the closed door—rap, rap, rap—and called out softly, “Berserk?”

A beat, then: “Come in.”

Finding his boss in upward facing dog while still in her pencil skirt was not a sight Boomer was prepared for. Berserk had her eyes closed as she stretched at a near ninety degree angle and listened to music on her Airpods. Boomer had never seen her with her heels off and her mane of red hair thrown together in a messy bun; it was so casual that it was almost obscene.

“You’re staring.”

Fuck, he was staring and now she was looking right at him down her nose, even though she was the one on the floor. He stood up straighter, unable to help himself when she took that tone that reminded him so much of Brick’s when he was about to criticize, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Sorry.”

She breathed in deeply through her nose and hoisted herself up into downward dog position. “Why are you here?”

Forgot my keys seemed like a really lame excuse that she’d probably laugh at him for, but he also was not in the habit of making shit up on the spot if he hoped to make people believe him. “I forgot my keys.” He took them from his pocket to show her, as if she might not know what keys are, as a concept.

“Smart locks.” Berserk exhaled and slowly walked her hands back on the yoga mat until she reached her feet and began to swing slowly left and right.

Huh? he almost said like an idiot, until he caught himself. “Don’t think my landlord would approve of me installing that.” Also, those things were like $200 a pop, which was not worth the occasional inconvenience and shame of forgetting his keys and then catching his boss doing yoga in her office after hours.

Berserk made some noncommittal sound like whatever, peasant and slowly uncurled upward one vertebra at a time. Boomer realized he was back to staring again, literally lingering in her door watching her and trying to equate this subdued, casual version of Berserk with the terse, no-nonsense businesswoman he was used to dealing with on a daily basis.

When she finally achieved her full height, she popped her neck. The hair that was too short for her bun fell in around her narrow face in a stylish, athleisure sort of way. The top buttons on her blouse were undone. She wore a small, golden necklace he’d never noticed before because he wasn’t in the habit of checking out his boss. “I thought you left.”

The accusatory nature of her words were totally at odds with her flat tone, only the barest hint of curiosity dangling there at the end, like she expected him to respond.

Oh, she expected him to respond.

Boomer took another step into her office because he was full of poor judgment today. “I forgot my keys.”

At which point he showed her his keys again and also had a mild stroke, because what the fuck are you doing, mate?

Berserk smiled. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Was she laughing at him? He had never heard her laugh before, unless it was at Dean Matheson, that comb-over in denial who, in addition to being a high functioning alcoholic, also had a reputation for throwing associates under the bus when a client wasn’t happy.

Boomer smiled back, because that was what he did when people smiled at him, and ‘people’ now included Berserk, apparently.

“Well, since you’re here,” she said as she padded around to her desk.

Crap, there was the work he was afraid of soliciting from her by remaining in the building. He debated an excuse to give her: picking up dry cleaning? Plausible, but transparent. Meeting up with his brothers? No, she’d probably make him stay all night for the chance to ruin Brick’s plans.

“Thai or Mexican?”

Boomer stared dumbly. He was becoming quite good at that (10,000 hours and you can become an expert at anything, they say). “Huh?”

The yoga must have put Berserk in an exceedingly gracious mood, because she actually repeated her question without getting that look on her face like she was picturing him getting trampled by stampeding monsters. “Thai or Mexican? I don’t have a preference.”

Oh.

Boomer’s stomach picked that time to snarl at him—8 p.m. and still no dinner, the fiend.

Berserk snorted in laughter and fanned herself with her phone. “Jesus. Mexican it is.”

Which was how Boomer found himself on the small sofa tucked in the corner of Berserk’s office, shoes off and belt loosened, with enough tacos, tamales, and rice and beans to feed a small family. He even had a beer from the mini fridge Berserk kept under her desk.

She hadn’t stayed late to work. Well, she had, but only because she didn’t have a reason to go home.

“I just hate getting home to a dark apartment sometimes,” she said in between bites of food. She had her legs tucked up under her on the sofa close enough to brush Boomer’s thigh if he reached to grab the salsa.

“I thought you lived with your sister?”

“Brute got her own place a few months ago. The arrangement was only temporary while she was in between jobs.”

It was weird knowing so little about a person whose whole family had been in Boomer’s inner orbit since childhood. As far as he knew, Berserk wasn’t close to any of her cousins, not even Blossom. Boomer himself had never been more eager to leave a room than when Brat walked into it. Only Butch, Brute, and Buttercup had ever found common ground among each other once the sworn rivalries and blood feuds of their youth gave way to teenage rebellion against their respective overlord fathers and then the slog of adulthood that was inescapable even for a bunch of Supers flying high on Chemical X.

The fact that Boomer had gotten this job surprised him more than anyone. After drifting from restaurant jobs to office temp placements over the last six years, he’d never thought he would dust off his economics degree and land a temp-to-permanent position that seemed way above his qualifications. And he never thought it would be working for a woman he’d most definitely electrocuted in battle at least a dozen times before puberty.

“What?”

Boomer blinked. He’d been staring again, Jesus Christ. “Sorry, I was just thinking… I didn't know that. I’ve been working here for five months and I don’t actually know much about you at all.”

“Hm.”

Her magenta eyes were wine-dark against the murky sky beyond the window forty stories up. Boomer did avert his gaze this time to reach for the salsa, but he didn’t use it.

“I don’t even know why you invited me to stay for dinner in the office if we’re not going to do any work.”

“Why did you stay?”

“For the free food.”

Berserk grinned—the third time she had smiled at him tonight (or ever). He needed to stop counting; he’d be disappointed when it stopped happening tomorrow.

“Don’t get used to it. Much as I appreciate the company now and again, there’s no need for both of us to be stuck here while Matheson’s breathing down the associates’ necks. Can’t have him poaching you out from under me.”

“Well, I don’t work for him; I work for you.”

“It’s sweet how you don’t understand office politics.” She ate a lone slice of avocado with a fork. “He landed Unicorn back when they were early stage, and back when he was still putting in the work to earn his reputation. But since they IPO’d three years ago and make up twenty percent of our revenue now, he’s just another big name coasting by on associate work. You know he regularly schedules client calls and just doesn’t bother to show up? He forgets half the time, and the other half he’s busy playing golf or buying a yacht or whatever the fuck rich, white Boomers do.”

“Well, as a Boomer myself, I can say I’ve spent exactly zero hours buying yachts.”

She chuckled. Fourth time. “Oh, really.”

“Never even thought of yachts. As far as I’m concerned, they’re not even real.”

“Thanks for your expert opinion.”

“Any time.” Boomer turned his body to face her and draped his arm over the back of the sofa. With only the soft light from the floor lamp in the corner, he imagined himself adrift in the darkness, the sky scraper lights nearby stars. It was a lonely thought, one made romantic in the knowledge that she was here too, and he wasn’t actually alone.

“Matheson almost did poach you, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Boomer couldn’t recall exchanging more than a few words with the man.

“When we were filling support positions. Someone recognized you from the news a few years back, when the Cyclops Monster attacked the marina district and you and your brothers took it out. Matheson got it in his head that you’d be able to work at Super speed and help lower his billables.”

“Wow. Maybe you should’ve let him. What do you think the net savings would be in yacht units of measurement?”

Berserk rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “I claimed you before he could get the paperwork in.”

Boomer hyper-focused on that word: claimed. He also pointedly ignored it entirely, much in the same way he ignored the new count of five smiles tonight. “Showed him your bending powers, did you?”

Berserk’s Corona bottle turned frosty under her hand in a totally unnecessary, big dick energy display of said powers, and she took another sip. “No. Sharon from HR likes me. And I promised her I wouldn’t fire you after three months like your predecessors.”

Flattered was not how Boomer would describe the feeling of being claimed by Berserk and eluding Matheson’s vampiric clutches. But he was a bit tickled all the same. This was the woman Butch had once described as essentially Brick, if he were constipated all the time.

And then he realized what she was doing. “Hey, you’re sharing things about yourself.”

She clinked her bottle to his, and Boomer shivered at the frosty chill she transferred on contact. “Aw, you figured it out all by yourself.”

“Ha ha.”

She didn’t quite smile, but she did look kind of serene then, content even, as she lay back against the arm of the sofa and yawned. Her gold necklace—just a simple disk with an engraving Boomer could not make out—reflected the lamp light when she moved. It rested just beneath her collarbone, which had suddenly become the single-most interesting part of Berserk, and oh no, was he interested—

“You’re staring again.”

Son of a bitch.

“Sorry,” he said automatically. “I didn’t mean to.”

Hard no. He was not allowed to be any percent attracted to Berserk. First, she was his boss, and there was a cliché here that, while subverted on the gender role spectrum, was still very risky for both of them. Second, she was Berserk, a fellow Super, cousin to his best friend Bubbles and a shrewd, stiletto bitch in Brick’s estimation, which sounded bad. Not that she was bad, or even evil, unless you counted helping rich corporations accurately report their taxes while taking advantage of the many egregious loopholes in the Internal Revenue Code. Which, okay, point taken, but he also worked here and anyway, people should not be deemed good or evil so much as their choices ought to be—

“Are you thinking about fucking me?”

You shrewd, stiletto bitch!

She was smiling again, and Boomer pathetically logged that as the sixth time, although he wasn’t sure he should count it given the overt malice behind it.

Unfortunately, Boomer was, as had been previously established, very bad at making shit up on the fly. So he miserably said, “Yeah.”

“Hm.”

She sipped her beer slowly, and of course he watched. If it was out in the open, as fleeting a bout of insanity as it may have been, at least he could wallow in it without worrying about appearances.

It was the yoga. That fucking upward facing dog, Jesus Christ.

It was more than that too. Over the last few months, he had worked closely with her, watched her navigate the cutthroat halls full of piranhas like Matheson and other account managers, getting herself work on the best clients while managing her juniors with efficiency and professionalism. She was excellent and sharp, and she demanded excellency and sharpness in kind. After years of going it alone or temping for bosses who didn’t care enough even to learn his name, much less provide him with guidance and mentorship, it was an unspeakable relief to work under someone who knew how to rally the troops. Someone who knew how to lead, how to motivate, and how to reward loyalty with loyalty in return. It didn’t hurt that she looked amazing in her daily stilettos, either.

Unfortunately, she impressed him.

“I have some work to get done tonight.” Berserk stood up and smoothed her skirt.

Boomer scrambled to his feet. “Of course! Um.” He began closing food containers and repackaging them in the bags they’d come in, because he was panicking. “I’ll get rid of the trash. Do you want the leftovers in the fridge?”

“You take them. Otherwise my office will smell like a burrito for a week.”

“Okay.” Numbly, Boomer finished packing everything up, while Berserk made her way back to her desk and logged into her computer to check her emails.

Boomer lingered at the door. “I’ll have the prospectus back to you later tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Wow, way to go, stud.

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.

“Boomer?”

“Yeah?”

“Friday is good.”

He stared back at her in expert mode. “Huh?”

Berserk poked her head around the side of her large, external monitor. She was smiling again. Lucky number seven. “For fucking.”

“Okay,” Boomer said.

Okay?!

She pulled back behind her monitor. “I was going to get a cat, but you’ll do much better.”

Because she didn’t like going home to a dark, empty apartment alone. With no one to fuck.

“That was a joke.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he croaked.

Friday is for fucking, he thought, which was delightful alliteration and also completely insane and one hundred percent something he was getting more on board with by the nanosecond.

“See you tomorrow,” she said.

Boomer clutched the leftover Mexican food in his fist. “Okay. Goodnight.”

It took him the time to fly home and put the food away in his small fridge to realize that he had a sort-of date with Berserk lined up for two days from now.

He Y-posed at the window and whooped, “Hell yes!!”

Loud pounding in the floor followed by old Mrs. Cruikshank’s muffled Keep it down! couldn’t bring down his mood.

Boomer leaped onto his threadbare, living room sofa with his work laptop and took to the prospectus with alacrity. He’d send over superior work product and make Berserk’s job just that much easier tomorrow morning.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House (which has a lot more Berserk and Boomer content, btw!) and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

#powerpuff girls #powerpuff girls fanfic #bersoomer #ppg berserk #ppg boomer #september fic prompts #so this turned into a 3k one shot because i love these characters and i couldn't help myself #tfw considering a part 2

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the-archxr · 4 years

Text

Mamma Mia! How Can I Resist You?

steve harrington x reader

Summary: When El finds Y/N’s diary, she doesn’t expect much. But when her and Max find out about their older friends huge crush on a certain babysitter, the night becomes just a little more interesting.

A/N: So I really thought Waterloo! was going to be the only fic I based off of Mamma Mia! but knowing me and my obsession for it I was childish to assume that, cause here we are!

Song Inspo: Honey, Honey - Amanda Seyfried (and company)

•••••

El hadn’t meant to come across it. And she certainly hadn’t meant to look at it...

But with her curiosity peaked by the unassuming pink leather, sticker covered book, she couldn’t help but feel the need to look. She hadn’t expected anything important to be in it, honestly; and for the first few pages she skimmed through, she was proven right.

In retrospect, the girl didn’t actually know what a diary was. Max didn’t have one (as far as she knew) and she didn’t quite grasp the concept of a diary in and of itself, so for the six or seven blue lined pages that all had the year 1978 written in messy purple ink at the top, she had assumed that it was nothing important.

From what she could tell (from barely reading what was scrawled on those few pages) she gathered that most of the information written in the book was about your middle school and your friends and family. Some paragraphs complained about teachers you found to be annoying and some were written with excitement about what you had planned with your friends in the upcoming days.

The last page was only filled halfway, and was ended with a polite goodbye to your “diary”, saying that you felt you were “too old” to record your “childish thoughts”. El frowned at the realization that regardless of how unimportant this journal of yours seemed, she was still snooping through your things. And a concept she was certainly aware of was privacy. She complained that Hop hadn’t given her and Mike enough privacy, yet here she was.

A...what was that word again?

She racked her brain for a few seconds, until...

Hypocrite. She was being a hypocrite.

After the guilt began to really gnaw at her, she went to shut the cover of the book, until the oscillating fan that sat in front of your bed fluttered the loose-ended papers, revealing another diary entry hidden behind the one El was on.

The page was filled with words; this time though, they were written in black ink and were neat and meticulous. El recognized your handwriting as she had complimented you multiple times on it during your writing lessons Hop had you go over with her. The young girl smiled at the familiar mix of your cursive and printed letters—almost all of them looped together in a way that seemed like the words swam across the paper.

She liked to look at your writing—it was pretty and fun and she kind of hoped one day her handwriting could look like that.

Her eyes then fluttered to the top of the page, her attention immediately being drawn to the date. Wednesday, July 14, 1985.

El’s eyes widened at the script, which prompted her to read it over again to make sure that she had read it right.

And she had.

It wasn’t a trick of the eye and she hadn’t mixed up the numbers of the year at all.

“1-9-8-5.” El mumbles to herself, running her finger over the dried pen. You had wrote in the book this year. With the book in hand, El walked over to your door, and pulled it forward to look behind it. As expected, on the back of the white door was a long, bright yellow calendar on it.

Biting her lip in anticipation, she looked over the date again, then looked back to your Tower Records calendar until she found the month of July.

She then raised a finger over the days of the month until she found today’s date, which wasn’t entirely difficult as she knew that every day that passed, you crossed out with your bright pink highlighter in large x’s.

Thursday, July 15.

The shock of knowing hit her quickly once again. The writing on the page was fairly new—only a day old. El stood there for a few seconds, turning the small book over in her hands. Whatever you had wrote yesterday must’ve been important enough to feel the need to write in your childhood diary.

Slumping on your bed, El looked to your open door and hesitated for a moment before straining her ears for the sound of anything. You and Max had left just minutes earlier to pick up pizza, leaving El at home per her request.

Technically, she was supposed to be picking tonight’s movie, but as she was getting dressed into her pyjamas, she just so happened to look at your desk, where the pink book sat there, tauntingly.

After listening for a few more seconds—and not hearing anything—El came to the conclusion that her curiosity was far stronger than her guilt (at least right now), and just because she read it, didn’t mean you had to know she had. It was a complete invasion of your privacy, but as El flipped to the page, she ended up reading the first sentence anyway.

God, I can’t believe I’m doing this...

Well...with a hook like that, El really couldn’t help herself. Sitting back against your pillows, she made herself comfortable and began to read on.

Hi again, it’s me. I know that this is an inanimate object, but I just...I’m going to treat you like you’re a real person cause I really need to get this off my chest and I have no one to talk to so...yeah... I told myself when my mom first gave this to me when I was like 11 or something that I wouldn’t write about boys I liked. I guess...ya know kid me still thought boys had cooties (regardless of the many crushes I had) I always thought that writing about them would give you, my diary, cooties which in turn would give me cooties so like...of course I avoided that altogether. Anyway, you get the idea.

But here I am. So, I really didn’t keep that promise. Like, at all... It’s just the majority of my friends are the kids I babysit with...him, and as much as I love them they can’t keep their goddamn mouths shut so that’s out of the question. I can’t talk to Robin cause I know I wouldn’t hear the end of it, so that was also out of the question. And I can’t talk to him cause it’s...it’s him. So that’s really out of the question... So here I am. Telling you, my childhood diary, which I’m convinced has mould on it but whatever.

El laughs to herself. She found you to be the funniest person she knew (she would never tell Mike that) and so she wasn’t surprised your humour etched itself in your writing as well.

I like Steve Harrington.

El almost chokes on her own spit as she reads forward. She sits up in your bed and rereads the sentence with frantic eyes.

I like Steve Harrington. Fuck, maybe I love him. Who knows at this point, honestly.

It’s after she reads that sentence that she slams the book shut and throws it on your desk. And it’s at that point where the guilt really starts to eat at her insides. Because what she just read wasn’t a recap of whatever annoying thing your annoying teacher did. This was a confession to a secret you clearly didn’t want anyone knowing.

El’s breathing begins to pick up and soon she can no longer be in your room. Jumping off your bed she runs out to your living room. With a slip of her feet on your hard wood floor, she unexpectedly bumps into you (someone she really didn’t want to see right now, and who she really didn’t expect to be home yet). Instinctively, you grip the delicious smelling box and steady yourself and her before she can make full contact with the ground.

“Woah, okay.” She firmly plants her feet and looks up at you. You’re smiling down at her with your head cocked to the side a little. You have a cheerful look on your face, that is mixed with a little concern for El’s sudden frightened state, which ruins El even more because the thought of you mad at her practically kills her.

If you found out, you most likely won’t want to hang out with her anymore. You won’t trust her. She says goodbye then to the thought of making her handwriting like yours because she believes there’s no way that would happen after you inevitably find out.

Max then enters the room, equally as confused as you are and soon El breaks down. She falls to the floor and begins to sob uncontrollably—something you nor Max has seen her do. Handing the redhead the pizza, you coax El to stand up as you sit beside her on the couch. With an arm wrapped around her shoulders you frown lightly at her, wanting to give her the most attention in hopes she’ll talk about what has her so upset.

“El, sweetie...what’s wrong?”

She sniffles and wipes her nose with the side of her hand. She never looks to you though. “You’re gonna hate me.”

Your eyes widen at Max as she takes a seat on the chair near the fireplace. “What?” You ask. “Why would I hate you?”

The girl looks up to you and as her lips quiver she sobs again. “I read your diary.” Another choked sob. “I...I know about Steve.”

At that you’re convinced that your eyes are going to fall out of your head any moment now. Max raises an eyebrow. “Steve? What about Steve?”

“El, how much did you read?” Your voice wavers. This was not supposed to happen this way... Or at all.

She snorts. “Almost all of it. I know you...you love him.” You watch Max’s jaw drop through the corner of your vision. “I—I’m sorry, Y/N! I should’ve known better!”

El curls into you but is stopped by the site of Max suddenly making a beeline for your room. “Max...” You call out warningly. “Max!” Standing up, and subsequently hauling El along, you flee in her direction.

By the time you walk past the door, Max is holding the open book to her chest, a look of pure excitement and shock on her face. “Holy shit!” She looks to you, her blue eyes wide. “Holy shit!”

El sits on your bed as you rush over to Max, attempting to snatch the book out of her hand. She evades you though and slips underneath your arm, jumping on your bed with her arms high in the air.

“Dear Diary,” Max begins with a toothy grin. Her curls wild as she bounces on the mattress away from you each time you try to get closer. “I don’t know when it happened: when Steve, the obnoxious boy from my grade 9 history class became the Steve that I now would lay my life on the line for if he asked.” You bound towards her, which she also avoids by jumping off your bed and running back out to the living room.

El, who has now stopped crying runs with you after your friend who sits gleefully on top of the couch cushions. “Steve’s different now. He’s changed. He’s caring, and funny, and courageous and stupidly cute that I’m at a point where he actually makes me dizzy when he’s around!” Max recites. Looking to you she tilts her head with a smile. “Awe, isn’t that adorable!”

You groan and lean over her to grab the book. As your fingers wrap around the corner of the cover, Max rolls (quite literally) off the top of the couch and onto the carpeted floor. “I’ve never felt this way before. I mean when he looks at me...with those soft, puppy dog brown eyes I can’t help but be thrilled! So much so that it nearly kills me!”

At this point you simply watch her in shock as she continues to read on. “Are you done yet?” You finally question. You’re annoyed, but more so embarrassed as Max’s intrigue grows. She then looks to you, shuts the book, stands up, grabs the pizza and both you and El by the hands and pulls you towards your room.

“We’re not watching a movie tonight.” She says to both of you. “Not after this. I need to know more.” Her smile is wicked as she shuts your bedroom door with a loud thud.

Pushing you onto your bed, she pulls a chair up in front of you and leans back into it with her arms crossed. She’s looking at you with so much anticipation that it almost unnerves you.

El sheepishly leans against the wall behind your bed and watches the two of you with a worried gaze. Max then leans in towards you with a wolfish grin. “Tell us. Everything.”

•••••

Steve Harrington Taglist:

@wigofokoye @timeladygallifrey @fairlysuitehearts @loulouloueh @bluegreyme @coltonparayyko @readinthegarden12 @hello-therree @gothackedalready @aphrodites-perfume @fic-cheesecake @bohemiandeakyy @nerd-domland @blueoz @laneygthememequeen @xelaalec @i-justlikewhales @elen-alambil @heykarsyn @yellowhopes @veeshthefrog @justsomeficsilike @cxddlyash @aniya21890 @billyhargrovescigarette @nugturally @daddystevee @asheseiler @enchantedcruelsummer @jxnehxpper

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #joe keery x reader #joe keery #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagines #el hopper #max mayfield #abba references #mamma mia!#look at me cranking out fics #ive been feeling extra creative these past few days #like idk why

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marvelslut16 · 4 years

Text

Prank gone wrong

Prompt number: 19 “I can’t do this anymore”

Fandom: It

Paring: Richie Tozier x reader (aged up to 17 or 18)

Rating: T

Word count: 2.6k (this was supposed to be short!)

Warnings: Swearing. Bullying. Mentions of domestic abuse/domestic violence- nothing graphic. asshole Richie. Angst but ends fluffy

A/N: Oof I’ve been gone for ages, I’m sorry guys. But here’s day one of fictober, so hopefully I’ll be able to keep up and this will motivate me to write regularly again. I’m not sure if I love this one or not. I liked the idea when I started and then it took some turns and this is what I ended up with while writing between zoom classes, so sorry if it sucks. I added the second gif cause it’s closer to the age in the story.

It all started as a stupid prank, a way to get back at Greta for years and years of torture, you never thought it would end in you losing a friend. Just over three months ago Richie agreed to Bev’s plan, take Greta out on a few dates and then publicly humiliate her- give her a taste of her own medicine. But to everyone's surprise, it lasted way longer than a few dates and there was no end in sight. Worst of all it seemed that Richie was actually falling for her- he would defend her any chance he got and even started ditching the losers to spend time with her and her friends.

It was no surprise to you that Greta fell for Richie, he’s funny, sweet, and he’s aged well. His head has grown into his coke bottle glasses, he still wears hawian shirts but now he has a leather jacket over them constantly- a leather jacket that the two of you picked out together. There is no better than one Richie Tozier, and your feelings are getting harder and harder to deny. Your crush on the trashmouth developed back in middle school- the summer Pennywise reigned terror, but through the years your crush turned into something stronger- by senior year you knew you loved him. Halfway into said school year every loser, besides Richie of course, knew of your feelings for him. The pitied glances they would send your way were almost suffocating.

Richie is late to lunch yet again, probably making out with Greta in the hallway, so each of you are using this time to talk about the personal hell her and her friends have created for each of you today. You go last, quickly giving them a rundown of your encounter with her in the bathroom, where she threatened you to stay away from ‘her Richie’ and that you would live to regret it if you didn’t. She even ripped one of your textbooks out of your hands, dropping it into the disgusting toilet water- calling you a worthless slut on her way out.

“Greta is such a bitch!” you complain to your friends, mindlessly pushing around the mush they call lunch at Derry high with the cheap plastic spork they provide.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t talk about my girlfriend that way,” Richie’s voice is calm and even- lacking the normal excitement and joking lilt to it. Your eyes widen in horror at him having heard you, then they narrow at how genuine his defense of her is.

“Richie, c’mon, let it go,” Eddie pleads, glancing between your shocked and hurt face and Richie’s angry one.

“No Eddie, I’m so sick of (Y/N) talking shit about my girlfriend!” you whip around in your seat and look at him in shock.

“Richie what the hell?” you rise out of your seat so he won’t look down on you literally and figuratively anymore. He cocks his eyebrow, head dropping to the side as he crosses his arms and lets out a huff of annoyance. “Ya know what? I can’t do this anymore!”

“Do what anymore?” Richie doesn’t drop the cocky attitude, making the next words out of your mouth slightly less painful.

“Be your friend,” there’s a collective gasp from your friends. Richie’s face morphs into shock and sadness for a split second before hardening and sending you another glare. “Not when you’re dating her. She’s changing you Richie!”

“Greta was right about you, you are a bitch,” your breath catches in your throat and you fight the tears that well up in your eyes. Richie’s glare is unflinching as you stare him in the eye, a tell-tale sign that he doesn’t regret a single word that he said. The murmuring from the table behind you stops the moment the words leave his mouth, they all stare at their friend in shock.

“Fine, then you’ll never have to deal with this bitch again,” you spin around and grab your backpack and lunch tray. “Fuck you Richard Tozier!” you dump your tray of mush into the trach on your way out of the cafeteria nad away from that stupid boy you somehow fell for.

“What did you just do?” Stan is the first one to regain the use of his voice, he’s glaring at Richie as the boy takes your recently vacated seat.

“I’m sick of her attitude towards Greta,” he tries to defend, shocked when all of his friends level him with matching glares.

“W-wh-what h-ha-ha-happen-ned to th-he pr-pr-prank-k?” Bill’s recently improved stuttering growing worse as he grows anxious at the turn of events between his friends.

“Greta isn’t the bad one here, we’ve been rude to her all of these years!” Richie once again tries to effectively defend his girlfriend.

“She wrote loser on my cast!” Eddie practically screeches before he goes into an anxiety attack, beleving it’s an asthma attack he takes two puffs from his inhaler.

“Her and her friends dumped wet garbage on me,” Bev adds, quieter than Eddie.

“That was in middle school,” Richie rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

“I thought you were in love with (Y/N) before the whole prank, that you did it to get over her,” Eddie says slowly this time, having calmed down from moments prior.

“Greta helped me realize I never loved (Y/N), I was doing what was expected after years of friendship,” the losers stare at him- open mouthed and gaping at Richie’s stupidity.

“She attacked (Y/N) in the bathroom this morning,” Mike tries to reason with his brainwashed friend.

“No, (Y/N) was lying to you guys. She attacked Greta earlier, not the other way around. She screamed at Greta to break up with me or she’d regret it, and then dumped her books in the toilet and called her slut.”

“Greta did that to (Y/N), you dumbass!” Bev grows increasingly angry, at Richie and herself for coming up with the stupid prank. “I was in there with her, Greta’s convinced (Y/N)’s in love with you so she wants to rip you apart. Do you honestly believe (Y/N) would do something like that?”

“Shit!” Richie slams his fists on the table, causing most of the cafeteria to turn and looking at him briefly before going back to their individual tasks. Everything Greta had blamed on you in the past three months comes rushing back and he realizes that they’re all out of character but in character for Greta. Somewhere along the way he convinced himself that Greta was telling the truth so he had a reason to stop being in love with his best friend- he was too scared to tell you because you’re the only person that could actually hurt him.

“(Y/N) (L/N) to the principal's office immediately,” the voiceover the intercom cracks showing the age of the ancient system.

“Richie?” Stan isn’t sure he wants to know the truth as he asks the question.

“I told Greta to tell the principal,” his voice is oddly quiet and broken, definitely out of character for the jokester trashmouth.

“You fucking idiot!” Bev seethes, staring Richie down. They’re the only two that know the truth about your father.

You quickly get up from your place in the library and walk down the empty halls to get to the principal's office. Once you arrive the secretary gives you a dirty look, causing you to sink back and the pit of anxiety in your gut to grow. Greta sends you a triumphant smirk before going back to fake sobbing as she walks out of the principal's office and past you.

You feel like you're going to vomit as you walk into the principal's office behind him, the look on his face says you’ll get after school detention for at least a week! Whatever lies Greta told about you are clearly being believed by him and the secretary.

“You’re a good student Miss. (L/N), so why have you been harassing Miss. Keene?” he crosses his arms over his chest, they rest lightly on top of his bulging gut.

“I haven’t-” you try to defend, but he puts up a hand to stop you.

“She alleges it’s because you have feelings for her boyfriend Mr. Tozier and you’re upset that she chose her over you.”

“That’s not true-” his glare cuts you off this time.

“Today alone you threw her books in the toilet, threatened her for being with Richie, and called her a slut,” the words today alone stand out to you, how many lies did she tell?

“She did that to me! Not the other way around!” you try desperately for him to believe you.

“Then why didn’t you come to me?” he raises a brow much like Richie did in the cafeteria, Greta has both of them wrapped around her finger and against you.

“Because no ones ever done anything! She’s been torturing me since we were in grade school and she’s never got in trouble! A freshman came to you last week saying Greta was bullying her and you didn’t do anything!”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to suspend you for the rest of the week.” he says firmly, no room for negotiation or pleading.

“That’s four days!” you cry out incredulously.

“Do you want to make it longer?” when you don’t respond he continues talking. “Your father is on his way, go get your books from your locker and leave school property.”

You hear someone call your name from down the hall as you grab all of your textbooks from your locker, trying to shove all five thick books into your bag. You ignore the voice up until it’s right next to you and you realize it’s Richie trying to plead for forgiveness.

“Lose my number, and while you’re at it forget my name. Stay the fuck away from me Tozier!” Your outburst grabs the attention of the other students walking to their next class, everyone shocked by the inseparable duo of Tozier and (L/N) fighting. You slam your locker shut with a loud bang, heading for the door and away from him calling your name.

Monday comes agonizingly slowly, but when it does you're sitting with Bev in the bathroom during third period, both of you telling your teachers you don’t feel good.

“How bad was it?” she flicks her lighter and lights her cigarette, standing next to the window so she can blow the smoke outside.

“Worse than it's ever been,” you feel ghost pains on your back from where your dad's leather belt met your flesh for the past six days. “Since Richie didn’t sneak in to help clean them this time I think I may have an infection.”

“He broke up with Greta,” Bev changes the subject, she knows you only trust Richie enough to see the damage your father inflicts, so she doesn’t bother to ask to check on it.”

“Good for him,” you stare down at the gross linoleum tile under your beat up Chuck Taylor’s. Richie had promised to take you away from your father the moment you two graduated, he’d been promising it for years, even while he was with Greta, but now you aren’t holding out hope for the promise.

“He’s been miserable without you,” the bell signaling the end of the period saves you from formulating an answer. Bev quickly flushes her cigarette butt and the two of you head to the cafeteria, you’re a little worried about sitting with the losers after your fight with Richie. Bev grabs your hand and gently pulls you to the table when she notices your hesitance. You catch up with the rest of the losers, minus Richie who isn’t in the lunchroom which you’re oddly sad about, finding out about tests and break ups you missed while you were suspended. The loud ear splitting sound of feedback causes the entire cafeteria to cover their ears and look to the microphone stand in the front of the room. Richie is standing in the front holding the microphone, cringing slightly at the loud sound. No lunch ladies run to grab the microphone from him, meaning he got permission to do whatever it is he’s about to do. His wild curls bounce as he nervously shifts from foot to foot as he looks around the cafeteria until he locks eyes with you. You can’t look away from him so you miss the smiles the losers give each other and the high five Bev and Ben share.

“(Y/N) I don’t know what I could ever say to you to get you to forgive me, I can never forgive myself for hurting you,” he talks into the microphone, everyone looking between the two of you, but neither of you seem to notice anyone but each other. “I know I embarrassed you, so maybe if I embarrass myself in front of everyone you’ll forgive me a little bit. (Y/N), I never meant to hurt you, I only agreed to the prank because I wanted to forget you. No- fuck that doesn’t sound right.

“I’ve been in love with you since middle school and I knew you could never love me too, even when Ed’s told me you did I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to forget my feelings for you because I never wanted to hurt you, so I agreed to the prank. But I hurt you anyway because I let Greta get in my head, so I even failed the damn prank. But I love you so fucking much (Y/N) and I’m sick of running from these damn feelings. All I want to do is take you away from this hellhole after we graduate, and go to NYU together like we’ve planned since Freshman year. I love you (Y/N) (L/N), and I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing to you about how shitty I was if you give me a second chance.”

Your body stands up on autopilot, and you don’t realize you’re walking towards him until your face to face. Lifting your hand you gently push a curl that fell in front of his eye away and tuck it behind his ear, he leans his head into your hand as a lunch lady comes and takes the microphone out his hand grinning largely at teen love. You struggle to find words, so you wrap both your hands around the lapels of his leather jacket and pull him into a kiss. It isn’t your first kiss, Bill had dared you two to kiss sophomore year in a game of truth or dare in the barrens, but this kiss is different. These aren't two kids afraid of the adult feelings that were overcoming them, these are two almost adults finally giving into the most powerful and amazing feeling in existence. Richie makes sure to keep his hands away from your back, he’ll clean out your cuts later, instead he tangles his fingers into your hair pulling you in deeper. Before the kiss can go too far you pull back giggling as Richie follows your face trying to kiss you again.

“I love you too,” you rest your forehead on his, turning your giggling face into a mock serious one. “But you’re on thin ice mister.”

“I love you more,” he caresses your cheek and you grin happily, laughing at his antics when he starts speaking again. “Than I love Eddie’s mom.” the entire cafeteria is whooping and hollering at your kiss, but non louder than your losers. Well, everyone except Greta, who lets out a high pitched huff and storms out of the cafeteria.

“I think the prank ended up working out,” you giggle, lightly nipping at Richie’s thumb as it grazes over your lower lip.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny

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crystalbahamut · 3 years

Text

pounds of flesh

FFXIV Write Day 3: Scale

Summary: The Exarch is familiar with tactics used to dodge those most dangerous of creatures (Healers) and offers you his assistance.

Author’s note: Am currently ignoring the fact that there’s no faucet in the Pendant room (that I could find) because that seems inconvenient for such an otherwise nice kitchenette. The prompt started me off with the idea of scaling a staircase feeling on par with scaling a mountain but it sort of veered off from there. I really loved this prompt though; there are so many ways to take it.

Warnings: Shadowbringers spoilers, unspecified WoL, non-healing WoL (kind of), 2nd person pov, WoL/Exarch, overworking oneself on purpose

Words: 1,876

---

You might have gotten a little bit…carried away today. Triffids, hoptraps, wargs, and more; you had carried out a number of quests to reduce the threats posed to those traveling the roads of Lakeland, and that wasn’t even counting the morning spent in Rak’tika helping out the Night’s Blessed with some of their chores. You don’t mind– it’s nice to be helpful, good, necessary even– but now that everything aches and some of the cuts have opened up again you wonder if maybe you took it a little far. All you wanted to do was make sure you slept well tonight, but even taking the intercity aetheryte was too much to ask of your energy stores. You have scaled cliffs and mountains, but right now the thought of scaling the steps to your room is making you want to find a place the guards don’t patrol and just lay on the ground. It’s a good thing the manager is on break right now, or you’d have to field some uncomfortable questions about why you’re just standing around, staring.

“There you are.”

You flinch. Mayhap the manager would have been the lesser of two well-intentioned evils, considering the Exarch sounds…not exactly smug, but knowing. You stand taller and clear your throat. “Evening Exarch,” you say. “Did you need something?”

“Not precisely, though I am wont to worry when you stay out so late,” he says and steps towards you.

That…you almost turn around for that. He worries? You shake your head; of course he worries, you are (supposedly) the one hope for the world’s survival. ‘Tis nothing more than prudence. “Nothing to worry about; I’m quite fine.”

“Oh?” You can hear the smile in his voice as he comes around your side, and you quickly look away. “Should I be flattered that you seem to be emulating me?”

You scowl and pull the head covering down farther. How in the world does he see anything like this? “You didn’t invent hooded robes, Exarch.”

“No, I did not,” he chuckles. “However I have not seen you wearing one, until now.”

“Mayhap I simply felt like it.”

“Mayhap you did,” he says. “Or mayhap you are trying to hide a head wound incurred when a lake viper used its tail to swat you into a tree.”

You don’t have a good comeback for that. “You know, nobody likes a know it all,” you grumble and try to sink into your shoulders. One of these days you are going to break that damn magic mirror of his.

“My dear warrior,” he sighs as though indulging you in a whim. “What would it take for you to accompany me to Spagyrics?”

You turn to give him a look of incredulity and then realize that probably isn’t very effective. However he sighs and says, “I see.”

“Do you?” you ask. “I can’t see anything like this; I don’t know how you do it.”

He doesn’t take the bait, unfortunately. “Would you allow me to see to your wounds then?”

“I can heal myself.”

“If you could, you already would have.” He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, though right on a sore spot that twinges, and you try not to wince. “I would just like some assurance you are well enough. If you are uncomfortable with me, I can fetch one of the Scio-”

“You,” you say immediately and take his arm. You pull back the hood to see with your good eye and find his mouth partly opened in surprise. “I trust you.” Also, if Alisaie or Y’shtola see you in this state, they will put you out of their misery. But you meant what you said. You do trust him.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, as though he’s honored, and the wondrous tone of his voice is enough to give you the energy to make it up the stairs and to your room.

“I don’t think I’ve seen someone manage to limp so successfully on both legs before,” the Exarch says and goes to the cupboard where the first aid kit lives.

“It’s not that bad– though I’m going to warn you that I’m a bit dirty so it probably looks worse than it is,” you say and pull off the robe. Gently, as everywhere it touches seems to throb with new pain, or maybe the fatigue is getting to you. While he’s turned around you quickly (ow) change into some shorts and a tank top and sit on the bench by the door.

When he turns around the Exarch actually stops in his tracks. “Wicked white,” he says and sighs. “If Chessamile saw you like this…”

“The Warrior of Darkness would be ended by the wrath of a bypassed healer.” You put a finger to your lips. “But surely now my trusty accomplice will help me.”

He smiles again, though he looks like he’s trying to wrangle it back into a disapproving frown. “Extortion now, is it?” he asks as he starts filling a bowl with water.

“I think your offer belied the feelings of one used to dodging chirurgeons,” you say and give yourself a quick check to make sure anything that needs treating is visible. Thankfully your torso just endured some bruising; it’s your limbs that took the brunt of everything. And your head, you’re reminded as you try to gingerly scrape off some of the dried blood and accidentally reopen the wound, making fresh blood course back down over your eye. “Oops.”

“Perhaps I have, but even my own injuries pale in comparison. I can see why any healer would have their hands full with you,” the Exarch says as he comes over to take your hand, shove some cloth in it, and force you press it hard against the cut. “Pray just hold that there for now.”

Now that you’re able to relax and do nothing, exhaustion courses through your bones and you do as he bids if only because anything else is far too much effort. You struggle to stay awake as he pulls over a chair, the medical kit, and the bowl of water, and blink yourself back to consciousness when he sits down.

“Are there any sprains?” he asks as he looks over the injuries.

“My right ankle feels a bit funny, and I think I pulled something in my left thigh, but mostly I’m just scraped up,” you say. He dabs some of the scratches with the clean water and it’s uncomfortable but not unbearable. You almost start to fall asleep with his gentle ministrations.

But when he presses a new, slightly damp cloth to those scrapes, the stinging wakes you right up. “Thal’s balls!” you hiss and resist the urge to rip his hands away. On the plus side, your head has stopped bleeding again; now it only throbs as you set the bloodied cloth aside and try to quell the nausea caused by pain.

“I apologize,” he murmurs and dabs it more gently. It’s not a good feeling but you can bear it a little easier now that you know it’s coming. He clears his throat. “What were you working on so frenetically today?”

“Huh?” You think about the question. “Oh– nothing much really; I was just taking a few jobs here and there.”

“Are you in need of gil?” he asks and lifts his head. Presumably to look at you. “Surely some of these jobs could have waited another day?”

You take the washcloth and wring it out before you start cleaning your other leg, and then your arms. It will help him get through this easier. And it also makes it so you don’t have to look at him now. “They could have. But I wanted them done.”

“Because you plan to take the day for yourself tomorrow?”

“Perhaps,” you say. “Perhaps this is how I want to spend my days.”

“Working yourself to the bone when you already do so much?” He finishes wrapping your ankle and grabs your hand. He says your name gently, without reproach. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” You shut your eyes. “Sometimes…I just want to sleep. That’s all.”

“I see,” he says and doesn’t press for more. If this were Alphinaud you wouldn’t be able to escape without some awkward attempt at platitudes on his end, or Urianger, who would try to make suggestions while also nearly putting you to sleep with one of his lectures, but the Exarch keeps tending to you with hands that are gentler than they have any right to be.

When he starts treating the cut on your head it’s a good excuse to close your eyes, but even without some supposed excuse you don’t think you would do any differently. He’s so…gentle. Healers, even the kindest ones, are all business– as they should be, as they’re always the ones that have to make sure everyone is fighting fit for the next catastrophe. But the Exarch touches you so tenderly, like he wants to put you back together piece by piece, with soothing motions and soft brushes of skin, and crystal that’s warmer than it looks, and it’s all you can do to keep from falling apart in his capable hands.

“One moment, my warrior,” he murmurs and you realize you’re halfway to sleep by the fact that you can’t seem to open your eyes when he leaves, but it doesn’t bother you overmuch. When he comes back and nudges you to stand, you manage to do so, but you still don’t open your eyes even as you shuffle over to the bed with his help. You sit on sheets– the cover has been pulled back already, you realize with delayed thoughts as the Exarch tucks you in. You’ll be mortified in the morning, but for now…

“I pray sweet dreams find you tonight, my warrior.”

You think you imagine the gentle kiss placed upon your brow, but in case this isn’t some lovely dream and he is still around to hear it, you whisper, “Thank you.”

The next morning finds you sore and a little stiff, but you can recognize that you’re better off than you would have been otherwise.

You also find a collection of medicinal-looking mixtures all lined up in bottles in a neat little row on the table. And, when you go over to investigate, a note from the Exarch.

My dear warrior,

Though it is not a happy thought, there are many in Norvrandt who share your desire for uninterrupted sleep, as well as your difficulties attaining it. These elixirs each have their own cards describing ingredients and dosage; if you find one to your liking, it would be a simple matter of requesting more, and I should be delighted to do so.

Also, if you ever find the climb to your room to be too arduous, perhaps the smaller staircase leading to the tower itself would be less of a strain. Once inside, there are easier ways to get around that I would be happy to show you.

With fondest wishes,

The Crystal Exarch

You smile and fold the letter back up. An easier way to the Ocular, hm? You’d like to see that. Perhaps now is a good time to stretch your legs and make the climb.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite prompt 3: scale #ffxiv fanfic #shadowbringers spoilers #the crystal exarch #warrior of light #wolexarch #wol x exarch

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ninzied · 4 years

Photo

fire lines

based on a prompt for distracting work kisses.

for @myletternevercame. special thanks to @heidiamalia for the brainstorming session!

rated m.

Frank usually works through his lunch breaks.

He used to take them as far away from—well, everything—as he could, finding himself a lone edge on the roof or some corner of a vacant floor to eat his meal in relative quiet. But ever since Curt roped him into this management job, everything’s always coming to him whether he likes it or not.

And he doesn’t not like it, as it turns out.

It’s a small construction company, a kind of in-between place for hard-up vets to get work, either settling there or to steady their feet for something else that’s more suited to them. The work feels meaningful in that way. Karen had recently coerced a beat reporter from the Bulletin’s local business section into writing up a piece on them, and the glowing review brought in more and more jobs for his guys. Frank has found it surprisingly gratifying, minus all the paperwork.

So much goddamn paperwork.

He’d never pegged himself for an office space kind of guy. He prefers to be out there, in the midst of things with the others—so he spends most of his days doing just that, saving all that bureaucratic bullshit for his lunch breaks in his office trailer.

He’s heading there now, after a rougher-than-usual morning spent on some stubborn electrical wiring. He thinks of all the other kinds of work waiting for him in his trailer and groans, half-wishing he’d packed a beer with his sandwich today.

He shields his gaze from the midday sun, and then he turns, and he sees her.

She’s in her kitten heels, a pencil skirt and cream-colored blouse. It’s so unusual to see her at his place of work—their schedules hardly ever seem to align these days, and he spends a lot of them just fucking missing her. For a second he thinks he could almost have imagined her there, waving goodbye to one of his workers, and smiling.

Frank allows himself another moment to give her a once-over from afar, his gaze moving up her body and lingering. Her blonde hair is pale in the sunlight, flashing golden when a breeze sifts through the strands. And then he lets out a laugh, because there, perched on the top of her head, is a bright yellow hard hat.

The name PETE comes into focus as he quickens his step, sharpied onto the back of the hat in his own familiar scrawl. Karen turns to give him a fondly exasperated look as he comes up to her, sliding a hand over the small of her back in greeting.

“Shouldn’t you be the one wearing this?” she asks him.

“Looks better on you,” he says, kissing her cheek as she rolls her eyes good-naturedly at him. He takes her hand, tugging her up the steps to his trailer. “Everything okay? You never take lunch.”

“Neither do you,” she counters, and he has to concede her point. “And everything’s fine. I just thought we could eat together for a change.”

Her work bag is already tucked up against some filing cabinets—Christ, when did he become the guy who owned filing cabinets?—and there, spread over his desk, is lunch. A small charcuterie plate, two cups of coffee, and the sandwich that she knows he likes from Nelson’s, with the thick, crispy bread and extra sauces on the side.

“Shit, Karen.” He laughs, dragging her in for a proper kiss this time. “This looks incredible. Thank you.”

The meal he’d slapped together from grocery store cold cuts that morning pales in comparison. He tells her as much, opens the mini fridge behind his desk to show her, and finds a six-pack of beer stowed inside by his food.

“For later,” says Karen.

He squeezes her hand. “You’re a godsend, you know that?”

The pile of papers on his desk isn’t getting any smaller—in fact, he’s almost certain it’s grown since he last saw it this morning—but he figures it will have to wait. He’s starving, and she’s looking so irresistible to him, with her smile, and his hard hat knocked slightly askew on her head.

He kisses her again, pulling out an extra seat for her before walking over to the other side of his desk.

And then Karen picks up her work bag and pulls out her laptop.

“Is this okay?” she asks, seeing him blink in surprise at her. “I know you’re behind on your work—”

He scrubs a hand over his nape, feeling sheepish that she’s caught him out. “That obvious, huh.”

“I have a deadline anyway,” she tells him, with a rueful smile of her own. “But it would be nice to at least be in the same room as you.”

Fuck, if he wasn’t so damn in love with her already.

“C’mere,” he says gruffly, and leans over his desk, their mouths meeting somewhere in the middle. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about it,” she says, nudging him gently away and powering on her laptop.

They settle into an easy rhythm, a silence that’s so comfortable he almost forgets they’re in his office and not at their dining table back home. He practically inhales his sandwich before chugging down his cup of coffee, and then he starts snacking on the charcuterie plate as he flips through a stack of ledgers and bank statements.

Karen’s typing away on her computer, brow furrowed together under his hard hat. She’s slipped off her shoes, resting her feet on the edge of his chair. They’re a little chilly, so he pulls them into his lap to warm them, massaging her calf as he works. She makes a small, satisfied sound, shifting forward in her seat. Otherwise, the only indication that she’s even aware of him being there is to reach across his desk and brush a few crumbs from his beard before returning to her keyboard.

At some point, though, she stops typing.

Frank doesn’t notice right away—she’s still staring intently at her screen, and he’s just managed to untangle some confusing orders for extra plywood. But he does notice when she presses her toes to the inner part of his thigh and starts rubbing small circles into the denim.

He glances up at her.

She’s still clicking around on her screen, a piece of fruit in her other hand. She hasn’t lost that look of intense concentration she always gets when she’s researching a piece, but then her foot ventures closer, and there’s nothing unintentional about that, either.

He scratches some updates into a ledger, and almost drops his pen when Karen sneaks her foot the rest of the way between his thighs. His blood rushes south, pooling heat straight through to his dick, and this was—fuck, if this wasn’t what she’d been planning all along.

“Karen,” he cautions her lowly. His voice sounds hoarse, even to him, thick and rough with desire that he hadn’t meant to give voice to.

She finally looks up at him then. Without breaking contact, she parts her lips around a strawberry, biting slowly down.

“Something wrong?” she asks him.

He moves his hand up her calf, cupping under her knee. His chair wheels slightly forward with the motion, bringing her foot that much closer to him. She curls her toes around his hardening dick, and he swallows.

“Thought you had work to do,” he says.

She smiles. “Just multitasking.”

And then she turns back to her goddamn computer, and starts scrolling.

Frank stares blankly down at his ledger, trying to remember where he’d left off. Plywood or some shit. Yeah, that sounds right. He retrieves his pen, poising it over the page. He blinks through the haze of desire, the clenching ache of his growing arousal as Karen kneads more firmly at his crotch. But the numbers continue to swim out of order before him, refusing to take any more enlightening form.

His other hand is somehow halfway up the back of her thigh now, gripping harder than he’d realized. As if he’s drawn to her, he wheels his chair closer, sliding his palm further, and further, and—

“Oh!” says Karen, her knee knocking up against wood when he winds up bringing his chair in too close, crowding her legs beneath the desk.

“Shit. Sorry.” The moment jolts him back enough to clear his head a little, and he’s wheeling away, putting some distance between them. “You okay?”

She crosses her legs and gives him an amused kind of smile. “I’m fine, Frank.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t seem able to manage out more than one or two words at a time. He’s hard as nails, jeans tight around his erection as he gazes across the table at her. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and she’s biting into her lower lip as she turns away.

She’s not unaffected by all of this. Not by a long shot.

Shit, if that doesn’t make him want her even more.

Her gaze remains carefully fixed on her laptop screen as Frank stands up. He walks over to the trailer door, turning the lock into place with a click. She still has her back to him when he turns around, but her body is poised as if waiting for him, the air between them thick with anticipation.

He bends his mouth over the curve of her throat.

There’s an audible hitch in her chest, and she sounds breathier than usual as she tells him, “Frank. Some of us have work to do.”

“Didn’t you say something about multitasking?” he murmurs, tonguing a kiss to her jawline. The hard hat takes some navigating around, but he’s loath to remove it just yet.

“Mm. I guess you have a point.” She inclines her head toward him, lips parting into his kiss. He tastes strawberry on her tongue, and the bittersweetness of their coffee. He half-pulls her up from her chair, and she rises to meet him, their bodies pressing fully together.

Karen pulls back for a second. “You’re sure no one’s going to—?”

“Nah,” says Frank in between kissing her. “They know not to bother me when I’m doing the, uh—” his throat bobs as she puts her hands on his belt buckle, Christ he is so hard for her “—the paperwork.”

“Right,” says Karen, teasingly. She undoes his belt before starting in on his jeans. “The paperwork.”

He kisses her back up against one of the filing cabinets, groping around her waist for her zipper. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s ruined one of her skirts by being overeager, so he tugs it off of her as patiently as he can manage before making quicker work of her underthings.

Frank leaves her blouse on—the fact they’re about to do this at work is not lost on him, so this seems like a fair enough compromise. He slides his palms beneath the silk fabric to glide over her ribcage, under her bra to cup her breasts as she gets his pants down past his knees.

A full-body shudder courses through him as she takes his dick in hand, stroking him up and down. He squeezes her breast, moving his other hand down to slip in between her thighs.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he groans into his mouth, and eases two fingers inside.

She gasps, and the hard hat knocks back against the top edge of the filing cabinet. Her hand flies automatically up to adjust it, another soft, moaning sound working its way out of her.

“Here, I got it.” Frank replaces the hat and palms the back of her head instead, feeling the cool cabinet metal against his skin. “Really liked you in that, though.”

She hums out a laugh. “I could tell,” she says, and her breathing shallows as he rubs at her clit with his other hand, a quick, teasing stroke of his thumb that has her arching back again.

“You good?” he murmurs, kissing her neck and feeling her low, throaty yes in response. He removes his hand to take hold of his dick then, sinking the tip of it just between her folds.

He has to bend at the knees a little, and she stretches onto her toes as he presses in, and out, and in again. He rocks into her inch by inch, until he’s balls-deep inside her and halfway to breathless from the sensation of it. He adjusts his hold, cupping a hand around her bare ass to help brace her leg up before thrusting up inside her again.

The position is a little awkward at first, and it takes another few moments of adjusting their bodies to find a good rhythm. But then it gets—God, more than good—striking the perfect balance of movement between them, and Frank begins pumping into her in earnest, groaning softly against her skin.

She clutches at him with a sigh, pulling his mouth up to hers for a brief, tongue-filled kiss. The air goes thin between them as their lips part, and all they can do is gasp into each other as the pleasure between them mounts and mounts to something exquisite. Something that’s indescribably good.

Her leg starts to give just a little, and she grips at whatever she can for purchase, Frank’s body pinning her there to the filing cabinet with the weight of each thrust into her. The contents of the cabinet give a slight rattle behind them, in parallel with the other, softer sounds of their lovemaking.

Frank buries his face into the slope of her shoulder, feeling that telltale ache of heat spreading up through every nerve of his body. He pounds into her harder, listening for the snags in her own breathing, adjusting his angle until she’s clenching around him, tight, and hot, and close, so close—

“Frank—mm—oh, Frank—”

He braces his hand over her nape as she comes, her body stiffening and rocking back against the cabinet. Frank sucks a shaky kiss to her pulse point, thrumming with the need for his own release. He pushes into her once, twice, three times more before everything is splintering apart, and he’s coming with a goan, spilling into her.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there holding each other, hips still pulsing together as they chase those last few tingling moments of orgasm. Everything seems to stand still with them, including time itself. Frank leans half his weight into the filing cabinet, his arm still cradled around Karen’s head as their breathing finally slows together.

She eventually eases back onto both feet, and he bumps his forehead into hers, mouthing kisses over her skin while she retrieves a tissue from his desk and wipes them both clean. They help each other back into their clothes, Frank grazing a hand up the length of her thigh as he goes, reluctant to fully release her.

After they’re dressed, he reaches for her again, pulling her into his arms. “Hey,” he says.

Karen’s biting back a smile. “Hi,” she says back, touching his face, threading her fingers through his hair.

He lowers his mouth to hers, kissing her hard and slow the way that he does when they’re at home in bed together, when it feels like they have all the time in the world.

They could, he thinks. They do.

She sighs regretfully after a moment, putting a hand over his chest. “I should probably let you get back to doing real work.”

“Thinking about taking a half-day, actually,” says Frank, trailing his knuckles up her arm.

Karen tilts her head at him, unable to contain a full smile now. “Are you,” she says.

“Yeah, why not? Grab a beer, a patch of grass by the water…” He cups the side of her face in his hand. “You can bring your laptop, and uh.” He gives her a crooked smile of his own. “It can be my turn to distract you from your work.”

She looks at him with mock seriousness. “You say that like it would be so easy.”

“All right,” says Frank, stepping away, “well, I got a shit ton of paperwork waiting on me, so I better—”

Karen takes his hand firmly in hers, drawing him back for another kiss.

The paperwork can keep on waiting.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork #hard hat karen #i meant for this to fade to black but then i guess they had other ideas #hope you like it!

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willwriteforhugs · 4 years

Text

the boy in the bookstore (part one)

in which you meet a suspiciously handsome boy in your favorite bookstore- but are not cultured enough to know his true identity.

ateez scenario

yeosang x (fem) reader

word count: 1.5k

g: fluff, angst if you’re a sensitive bitch

warnings: none really, light kissing and possible innuendo in later parts

notes:

there are a few things that may turn inconsistent for you personally (aka the POV being american, bilingual, etc. nothing major tho!)

also: if you enjoyed this, i am 100% looking for requests. can be aus, scenarios, or whatever! (atm i can write for atz, skz, bts, and itzy)

happy reading!!

part one

the morning of november 12th is a dreary one. when you wake up, you have little to no motivation to go to work. it's a downcast, rainy day, and seoul looks as sad as it's probably capable of looking.

work is slow. you work on your current project, but writing today feels like this: you write out a sentence. then you delete it. and then you rewrite the exact same sentence. you do this for eight hours, and by the end of it, the air seems thick with your desire to leave.

as you leave the building, a few coworkers try to spark conversation.

“oh, y/n-ssi, you should come have soju with us later, we-”

“hey, y/n! do you want to-”

you don't let any of them finish. today had not been not your day. actually, when was the last time any day had been “your day?” you are exhausted, burnt out. you miss your family, who are busy living halfway across the world. you miss your father, long dead after a tragic accident when you were young. you miss the fleeting friendships of your childhood. you miss what it felt like to have someone greet you as you came home after a long day. you miss being loved.

as you begin your long walk home, a thought occurs to you. when had you last visited the bookshop? it had probably been a while since you’d seen mrs. seon… maybe you should stop by. after all, a trip to the 30 year old bookshop might brighten your mood.

twenty minutes later, you shuffle awkwardly through the front doors of “bookshop”, careful not to get your dripping shoes too close to the new releases. and yes, the store was called “bookshop”. in reality, the store had simply never been named, but everyone who visited it knew it as just the bookshop. you glance around, hoping to find mrs. seon, but she was nowhere in sight. that was alright though… more time to browse. you scrape the last bits of rain off your boots and wander towards the back of the store. this was your favorite part of the whole establishment, and that was saying something. the whole shop was filled to the brim with battered books- centuries old classics, modern literature, old journals of long dead men… and many of the books were not korean, but european or american. this was possibly the most diverse bookstore in seoul. you adore it. but the back of the store was especially amazing. this was where the seon family kept the american classics. authors like john steinbeck and f. scott fitzgerald lined the shelves, their colorful spines making a bold statement about the content within. most were old, beaten up copies, but many of them were in english- something you secretly love.

letting loose a small smile, you run your fingertips along the book spines. suddenly, you see a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye. you whirl around, swiveling your body to your left. and in front of you, not even six feet away, is a boy. a...a beautiful boy. you feel your breath catch. holy shit, he was gorgeous. pale blond hair frames a sharp, tanned face- the boy has sleek, judging eyes, and higher-than-god-himself cheekbones. for a moment you just stare. you can’t help it. but the boy doesn't look up. you lower your eyes again, shifting your attention back to the books. honestly, you aren't sure why you’d reacted like that. he hadn’t said or done anything. and though he is attractive, you are relatively uninterested. this is a bookstore, after all. this is where people came when they didn’t want to talk to people.

a few minutes pass quietly, and you continue to browse the books. after finally deciding on a collector’s copy of steinbeck’s east of eden, you look up again. and there he is. looking right at you. as soon as your eyes connect with his, though, his shoot back down to the phone in his hand. you blink, wondering if he needs anything.

another beat passes. he glances up again, and this time, you force him to hold your gaze, shooting him a small smile. you see his eyes widen slightly before you turn on your heel and head towards the front of the store.

by the time you reach the checkout counter, an employee is there to assist you. she smiles and makes small talk while bagging your new treasure, then sends you on your way. no longer thinking about the blond boy, you pull up your hood and leave to head home.

only a few minutes had passed since you’d left the store when it happens. you feel odd, like someone is watching you...at first you think you’re imagining things, but as you turn around, you are face to face with the boy from the bookstore. a small gasp escapes your lips.

“oh,” is the first thing he says.

you take a step back. "oh-uh," you stumble to find the right words. "hello."

without a word, the boy straightens his stance and reaches towards you. instantly wary, you take another step back. but his arm stops short. resting in his slim hand is a small brown wallet. wait- your wallet. you hesitate, then begin to dig through your shoulder bag. sure enough, the wallet is absent. you look back up into his brown eyes, startled by the intensity of his gaze.

"you- you dropped this." he says quietly.

his voice also startles you. it has a low pitch, but is painfully soft. it reminds you of something, but you don't know what.

"oh, wow. thank you so much," you manage, reaching for the wallet. as you take it, his long fingers brush yours; the lightest touch. his hands are freezing.

"your hands are so cold!" you remark, surprising yourself. talking to strangers in the street. what have you become, y/n?

the young man's pride must have faltered, and his ears turn an endearing pink color.

"it's getting cold out, you really should wear some gloves or something."

he raises his eyebrows. "you aren't wearing any either."

without missing a beat, you respond: "i run hot."

a smile plays at his lips. "well then, i guess i'll wear gloves next time."

up close, you notice he is even more beautiful than you had anticipated. he wears no visible makeup, and he has a big pink birthmark near one of his eyes. it's mesmerizing. by now, you've completely forgotten about your foul mood from earlier.

"by the way," he continues, still speaking quietly. "are you a regular at that shop?"

you pause. "i guess you could say so. i know the owners pretty well, too. mrs. seon is practically my mom here..." you chuckle.

he tilts his head. "what do you mean?"

"oh, it's just that my own family doesn't live here." you pause, and decide you need to elaborate. "i'm american."

his eyes widen, just the tiniest bit. "oh, are you? i wouldn't have known. your korean is amazing."

"well, it is my first language, so i'd hope so." you laugh a little. "but yeah, my family lives in america. i moved here when i was sixteen- i wanted to be an idol." you admit.

this seems to take him by surprise.

you continue without being prompted. "i was a trainee for a few years, but... it just.. it didn't work out. but when it was over, i realized i just couldn't force myself to leave korea. i love it too much."

he nods. "i think i know what you mean."

"so i'm just a student now. turns out i probably should have planned to go to school even if i had debuted... oops."

he nods again, his face remaining neutral and distant.

realizing how much you had just revealed, your body stiffens. "anyways. um, it was nice meeting you-" you pause. he hadn't told you his name.

"yeosang." he said, reading your mind. "my name is yeosang."

"oh. well, it was nice to meet you, yeosang, but i really should be going."

he hesitates, opening his mouth as if to say something. but he closes it and gives a small smile. "okay."

you give a small bow and turn to leave, but he catches you by the arm. "but wait, i want to know your name, too."

you glance back at him, into his eyes, which are shining with hardly hidden curiosity. "y/n." you say.

"y/n," he repeats, as if committing it to memory. "okay, now you can go."

and with that, the two of you parted, going back home to two very different lives.

edit: part two is up now. thank you for reading!!

#ateez imagines #yeosang x you #yeosang x reader #yeosang #ateez #ateez fics #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #yeosang scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kang yeosang #kang yeosang x reader #self insert #fanfic #bts #ateez angst #willwriteforhugsfics

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greenteabtch · 3 years

Note

16 for the physical affection prompt?

hiii thank you so much for your ask!! ;_; Literally had SO much fun writing this.

Kissing Knuckles

pairing: sebastian vael x f!hawke

rating: g

word count: 1516

genre: fluff :)

“Do we all have to go in?”

“Yes,” Helena clipped.

A deep scoff sounded. “But we’re covered in blood. They’ll kick us out the minute we enter”

“Or they’ll just start screaming,” Aveline offered.

“Nothing new for you then, eh Junior?”

Carver sputtered, Helena sighing but choosing not to intervene as she climbed the steps to Kirkwall’s Chantry. Its spires reached towards eternity alongside the gilded statues of Andraste, like holy spokes against a gray fresco sky. Absently, she rubbed her fingers together, feeling dirt from the coast pill and disintegrate in the wind.

It took the entire weight of her body to pull open the doors, something she scowled at Varric for snickering at. Incense and cool air whispered through the opening, and very suddenly Helena found herself stepping back.

Hand fingering her combat vest, the mage looked towards her companions. “Go first. I’ll follow.”

Their puzzled expressions were obvious, but it only took a moment for them to shrug and continue on their way. Helena watched them start to disappear into the dark interior, breaking her vision away to dust off as much of the evidence of a fight as she could. The dirt was alright enough, but the bloodstains were another story. Regardless, once Carver’s black hair had been swallowed by the dark, it was her turn to enter.

Helena straightened her posture, taking a breath as she began her walk into the Chantry. Her chin lifted against ensuing whispers from the sisters that watched her entrance, nervous chills dropping down her spine. Whatever their opinions, she knew that her mission lied not with the red robed clergy today, but instead, a prince in white.

“Hawke!”

She had been found.

“Sebastian,” she acknowledged, nodding awkwardly in her approach.

As handsome as the last time she saw him, Sebastian Vael walked toward her through the scattered groups of faithful. He met her halfway, offering his hand with a charming smile.

Hesitation gripped her as she stared at his soft unmarred skin. Beautiful uninterrupted swaths of sepia shone like velvet in the red candlelight, his fingers well kept despite the few callouses she could identify. By the time she blinked she realized it would be more than rude to decline, so she submitted, taking his hand in hers for a shake…

Which never quite occurred, given that in one deft movement he had coaxed her fingers to lie neat inside his grip while he brought his lips to the surface of her hand.

A flush tore through her. Helena’s vision was glued to the sight, the heir to the throne of Starkhaven kissing her knuckles. Knuckles that were blistered with the efforts of her twirling her staff, nicked from stray slashes of mercenaries who pressed too close. Her surroundings spotted black.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said, releasing her hand, which she tucked to her chest. “I’m hoping that your arrival brings good news.”

“Y…” she mumbled, eyes frozen before she shook her head. “Yes. Right. The, uh, mercenaries—“

Sebastian’s eyebrows raised expectantly. “The Fl—“

“—Int company! The,” she cleared her throat. “Flint company. As you requested, we have eradicated their presence from Kirkwall.” Helena fumbled for her belt loop, finding the prepared bag of collected badges and offering it to Sebastian. “Your proof. Sixty five badges for sixty five mercenaries.”

He wasted no time opening the canvas pouch, fingers combing through the clacking metal.

“You did all of this…” he met her gaze, snapping her out of the dream like haze she had dipped into while her fingers caressed her still-warm hand. “Thank you. I can’t emphasize enough what this means for my family.” The starting lines of frustration were fading into his skin, eyes falling. “Lives for lives, and yet, these people will never know what they stole. All I can pray is that my family wasn’t made to suffer.” His voice wavered. “Still that doesn’t seem like enough.”

Helena’s brows furrowed, heartstrings pulling at the sight of the man before her. “It’s a beginning.” she eventually offered. “That’s more than many people get.”

He looked up, eyes glossy. “I suppose.” A small tilt pulled his smile. “Well, in any case. Your aid has eased my spirit, and hopefully my family’s. As promised.” He produced a coin purse, which Helena accepted.

The second she felt its weight her brows shot up.

“This is more than the listed reward.”

A hissed ‘just take the money’ came from behind her, to which she sent a bone-chilling glare over her shoulder.

Low chuckles drew her back, Sebastian’s picture perfect smile warming her skin like the sun. “Please. The Vael’s coiffeurs run deeper than I’ll ever have a use for. Besides, it reassures my troubled heart to know someone is making good use of it.”

Her eyes were wider than saucer plates. “Thank you. Really.” She swallowed, heart-thumping while she pocketed the gold. “You’re… going back to Starkhaven now?”

“For a time, at least. I have some affairs to sort out with the remaining councilmembers,” his speech slowed, a pause blanketing between them. “I do plan to return to Kirkwall after, though.”

Helena’s skin felt electric, her fingers curling around her lower face. “Oh. Well. If you… ever find yourself in need of services again…” she tried not to pinch her eyes closed at the snicker behind her. “Or, if you want to come along with us— you seem very handy—“ Wait. “With your bow.” Sigh.

She was ready to give up and break into a full sprint out of the chantry, her brother’s ‘what is happening right now’ and subsequent chuckles from Aveline detrimental to her situation. The archer, though, was forgiving, a smile crawling over his face as his brows raised.

“Thank you for the offer. I… it would be nice to have friends to return to once business has been settled. I have to admit, it’s been difficult to find comfort amongst the Chantry as of late.”

“No, please. We’d be lucky to work with you again.”

“Perhaps as partners next time?”

Rose covered her skin as she looked away, then back, letting a smile slip.

“It would be a fortunate match.”

Again, a light chuckle left him.

“I’ll send a letter when I return then, ah— Maker forgive me, I haven’t even asked your full name.”

“Oh, no it’s… it’s fine. Helena. Hawke.”

“Helena.” He smiled when he said it.

She thought she might melt in his stare, yet another blush creeping up her neck as she fiddled with her hair. To break the silence she attempted to ask about his skills, but was interrupted by her brother walking up and planting his feet beside her, arms crossed.

“Well, thanks for the job. Good luck in Starkhaven!” He waved to Sebastian, before whispering as an aside “let’s go sister.”

She all but shoved him away, casting a tight-lipped smile towards Sebastian.

“I’ll see you.”

And just like he did before, Sebastian took her hand in his and swept it to his lips for a kiss. Ears burned as she marveled at the sight again, her lips creeping up at the tingles that ran through her body.

When he parted from his kiss, he laid another hand over hers, clasping her palm in a firm embrace.

“Walk in the Maker’s light, Helena. I pray fate allows our paths to cross again.”

“... Thank you… and good luck.”

“To us both.”

It was disappointing to leave the Chantry after that, but there was hardly anything she could do to prolong her stay. Besides, she had made enough of a fool of herself for a lifetime. Carver made that clear after they crossed the threshold.

“So that was…”

“We don’t need to talk about it.”

Carver raised his brows beside her, “No, that was weird. I have never seen you smile like that before.”

“I wasn’t smiling!”

“Okay, now I’ve never heard you defend yourself like a thirteen year old boy.”

Helena let out an exasperated noise, increasing her speed to stride ahead of the group.

“And… now you’re running away.”

“Oh, let her go Carver. She’s clearly smitten by prince charming.”

“Who kisses hands these days? This kid’s got to update his literature.”

“Not everyone wants to have their bedroom broken into for a meet-cute, Dwarf.”

“So you HAVE read my books!”

The rest of their conversation tickled Helena’s ears as she walked, but their voices soon flowed into the musical hubub of Hightown, leaving her with her thoughts. In hazes of red and pink, her mind replayed the scene at the chantry. Clutching her hand close, she couldn’t help but blush.

Would she see him again? Would the prince remember the refugee mercenary who aided him through a difficult time? Would he kiss her hand just the same? And would they be different…

She didn’t know. She couldn’t.

But maybe… this moment would be enough until she did.

Till then, she held her hand close and decided to keep an ear out for her charming prince from Starkhaven, with the hopes that someday their paths might have the good fortune of crossing again.

#THANK YOU AGAIN this saved my creativity and cleared my skin #my writing #sebhawke #fanfic #asks #oxygenforthewicked #ship: wings sprout from broken backs #helena hawke #sebastian vael #da2

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nekoannie-chan · 4 years

Text

Trick

Pairing: Surprise! Is tricky.

Word count: 1064 words.

Summary: You, Brock, Wanda and Pietro joined the Avengers after what happened to HYDRA, are you really part of the good guys?

Warnings: Death of character, betrayal, nightmare.

A/N: This is my entry to the @tansypoisoning‘s Spooky Challenge with the prompts list 1 #4, list 2 #4 and list 3 #6.

Reader is a mutant and also enhanced by HYDRA’s experiments.

The nightmare is in italics.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @saiyanprincessswanie @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @adriannajackson

You took your bracelet and put it on your arm, and then you looked at your reflection for the last time in the mirror before leaving your room and going to the kitchen.

"Good morning, are you ready for our training today?" You said to Wanda.

You two were best friends since you were at HYDRA. When HYDRA's uprising began, Brock immediately went to the facility for you, Wanda and Pietro to take you somewhere and were safe, in the end, the four of you joining the Avengers.

"Of course I do, but first eat the pancakes I cooked," Wanda replied.

"Pancakes? I'm surprised Pietro didn't eat them.”

"He's on a mission with the others, they will be back soon.”

Brock entered the kitchen at that moment and came up to you.

“Let me see what you have.”

“A knife!”

He raised an eyebrow when he saw that you and Wanda started laughing after what you answered, he shook his head.

"Pancakes, do you want?” Wanda offered.

Halfway through the training, the rest of the team made it to base, you and Wanda looked each other.

"It's time," you said, she nodded and you held your hands.

Steve opened his eyes, didn't even remember when he had fallen asleep or if he was tired after the mission. Did he come to see you? If he didn't, you'd probably be mad at him.

A scream caused him to leave the room with his shield, something had happened, perhaps some intruder had entered the base – that sounded ridiculous and almost impossible – or Pietro had eaten all the food or left everyone without breakfast again. He heard murmurs in one of the offices, something telling him things were wrong, he hastened the step to get there when Natasha stopped him.

"No, Steve, you better not come in, we're going to find the responsible...”

Steve pushed her away, he didn't even notice who was at the door, just pushed them, never in his life had imagined a scene like that, and your body lay on the floor... you were dead.

How had it happened? Nothing made sense, he had to find the person responsible, and somehow he had to figure out what had happened.

Desperation…the desperation in Steve was growing and you felt it increase every minute, you were enjoying what was going on. You smiled when you realized the feeling Steve was having, you were achieving your goal, every time you sensed despair, anger, any kind of negative feeling, you felt stronger, it was like a source of energy for you, the more feelings of that kind they had, the longer you would get them to be having nightmares, so you could take them to the facility and complete the plan.

You bit your lips, maybe you had to make the nightmare worse, anything that kept them inside it, when they woke up everything would be different, the mission would be successful and you would obtain the recognition that you desired.

Steve had lost the track of time, took his mobile phone, wanted to see the last photos that were taken together, when he opened the gallery he discovered some very strange photos, maybe he took them before falling asleep... maybe they were clues about what happened and so they could find the culprit. He went to Tony's office to check the evidence.

As soon as Steve told him what happened, Tony started analysing his mobile phone, a few hours later he called everyone into the boardroom.

"Cap, there's nothing on your mobile phone, there are only the last pictures you and Y/N took," Tony said.

“B-but… I don’t understand…”

“We have checked the security footage three times and found nothing. There are also no signs of forced entries. No fingerprints.”

“-My phone! I took pictures, I know I took-!”

“We found nothing on your phone, in the SD card, or the Cloud. There’s nothing.”

“That’s impossible!”

“We searched as much as we could. I’m sorry, but… are you sure-”

“I know what I saw! I know it! Look again!”

“You aren’t imagining things. It couldn’t have been your mind. It couldn’t, it couldn’t, it couldn’t”

"It's not true, I know what I saw...”

“You must accept the fact that Y/N is dead!” Tony speculated.

"There's another situation," Nat interrupted, the fight was starting to get worse and it would probably end badly.

“What?”

"Someone kidnapped the twins, maybe it was the same person who murdered Y/N," Natasha continued.

"Perhaps Y/N wanted to stop them from being taken away or tried to kidnap her too”.

"Hey, come and watch this," Tony asked. He had found some files with recordings from the night before, the problem now was that such recordings, Steve was who committed the crime.

Brock finally entered the gym, knew he had to give you time and space so that they could execute the plan, however, he believed that enough time was enough, if something went wrong he had to inform himself, although he had an alternative plan, he had to admit that he was surprised, he never thought it would be so easy.

"Did you manage to subdue everyone?”

"It was easy, I never told them all my powers," you replied as he put his arm around your waist and kissed your neck. “They thought you were in love with Rogers.”

"With my powers, it's a very simple thing.”

"Are they unconscious?” Pietro questioned coming in.

"Not exactly, they're in a deep sleep, they won't wake up until I want to, while they're living a nightmare, Wanda’s courtesy.”

“Sinthea will be very happy," Wanda said.

"Deceiving the Avengers has never been easier," you said as you watched Pietro and Brock start getting others into the van to take them to the place where he would continue experiments. “We should make sure they can't escape if they wake up for some reason.”

"They thought they were done with HYDRA," Pietro said as he began to tie them up.

"No one suspected ‘the poor victims of the experiments of the most tyrannical organization in history’, though I must admit that Brock's story was very moving.”

"I've had a question for a long time, why Brock wasn't jealous when you were with Steve?” Wanda questioned as you got into the vehicle.

"Because the plan was designed by Brock and me," you replied, and Brock started the vehicle.

#TansySpookyChallenge2020 #steve rogers x reader

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jamies-overalls · 4 years

Note

Hi, can you write a oneshot where Dani faints because she hasn't eaten all day, Jamie finds her and she is worried and as soon as Dani wakes up she first "forces" her to eat and then "scolds" her because she hasn't taken care of herself and made her worry? Thanks ❤

I love protective Jamie. Thank you for the prompt! TW for not eating/forgetting to eat.

Some days with the children were busier than others. Weekdays were especially busy because the children had lessons and Dani was to teach them. Oftentimes, she simply forgot to eat or was kept on her toes by the children and didn’t get the chance. Of course, she made sure that Miles and Flora got their meals, but she often spent mealtimes planning activities or lessons for them and forgot about herself.

One particular day, she hadn’t had much to eat for breakfast before getting distracted, and she’d only really had dinner the day before. It was autumn and flu season, so when she started feeling a bit off halfway through the morning. Figuring she could ignore it, Dani continued the lesson she was teaching and helped the children through activities for another hour or so. It wasn’t until she stood up from where she was kneeling by Flora’s desk and felt the floor moving beneath her feet that she realized something was very wrong.

“I, uh... I think it’s time for a break.” Dani said quietly, holding tight to the back of Flora’s chair. “Why don’t you two... go play. I’ll come get you when it’s time for... lessons.” The room seemed to be spinning now.

“Miss Clayton, are you alright? Should I go get Hannah?” Miles asked with a frown. Dani shook her head a little too quickly.

“No, no... I’m just a bit tired. Go on and play.” Dani said softly. The children shrugged and headed off, not knowing any better.

Dani closed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths, moving to sit in the chair next to her. It was no use. She ended up missing the chair completely and falling to the floor as she passed out.

She woke a few minutes later to a worried Jamie leaning over her.

“Dani? Dani, are you alright?” The gardener asked, her hands gentle as she helped Dani sit up.

“I, um...” Dani shook her head. “I don’t know, I just sort of... passed out. I think I’m okay, though.”

“Passing out is not an indicator of being okay, Poppins.” Jamie said, checking her over for bruises where she’d fallen.

“I’ve been feeling odd all day, I’m not really sure why.” Dani shrugged.

Jamie touched Dani’s forehead gently. No fever, nothing to indicate any visible illness like a cold.

“You slept pretty well last night, didn’t you?” She asked gently. Dani nodded. She had, she’d slept like a rock. she usually did if Jamie was beside her. That ruled out sleep deprivation. Then, Jamie looked like a realization had hit. “Have you had breakfast? I don’t remember seeing you eat at all today.”

Dani paused, then sighed. “I had a few bites of an apple, maybe. The kids sorta distracted me. I had to plan a lot of stuff today, so I didn’t really eat.”

“Are your days usually like this? I only really see you at dinner...” Jamie said gently, looking increasingly worried.

“Yeah...” Dani admitted. She expected something of a lecture from her girlfriend, but was met instead with the gentlest of hugs.

“Oh, love... Why didn’t you say something? If you need time to plan things at night, I’ll leave you alone, or I can watch the children for an hour a day so you have time to plan, whatever you need. I’m sure Hannah wouldn’t mind helping, either.” Jamie’s tone wasn’t anything but kind and supportive. She wasn’t judgmental at all. Dani wondered briefly how she managed to finally be with someone who simply cared for her, no matter what was going on.

“I don’t know... I didn’t want to bother you. You’ve got work to do, just as much as I do. And so does Hannah. I didn’t want to have to bother you all with it.”

Jamie kissed her forehead gently. “I’m always happy tp help, with whatever you need. And if you need an hour away from the children you so can plan lessons and things for them, I fully understand and I will do whatever I can to help.”

Dani just nodded, not sure what else to say. Once she was feeling a little better, Jamie helped her downstairs to the kitchen where Owen made her a nice meal. While she ate and Jamie kept an eye on her, Owen himself went to go check on the children.

“I love you so much, Dani...” Jamie said quietly after they had sat in silence for a few minutes. “And I know you didn’t mean to, but please don’t scare me like that ever again. I came to look for you because Miles told me he was worried, so I went up to the room and you were just lying there... And after everything that’s happened here the past few years, I got scared that something had happened, that you’d been hurt, and I--” She cut herself off, just shaking her head. Dani paused her eating for just a moment to reach for Jamie’s hand.

“Hey... I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll get better at the eating, too. You’re right, I do need to make time for it. I hadn’t realized how much it was affecting me.” She said softly.

And things did get better from there. It wasn’t always easy, but they all made an effort to try and make it work. Owen even made her snacks and things to have with her during the day in case she did miss an actual meal. And Jamie, her beautiful endlessly supportive Jamie, sat with her while she made lesson plans each night, just keeping her company and making sure she got the work she needed to do done. Dani had never felt so loved by her family before. And they were her family, though none of them were related to her by blood. They were her family, through and through. And they were the best family in the universe.

#tw eating #tw forgetting to eat #the haunting of bly manor #dani clayton #dani and jamie #damie #not sure if this warrants a trigger warning but i can see why it might so here we go

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malumsmermaid · 4 years

Text

Summer Days

Part of the 5SOS writer collab headed up by @h0tsos and @maluminspace

Based on the prompt “I don’t know if you noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.”

Camp Counselors Malum

Writing Collab Masterlist

Warnings: None! All Fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

After a semester of student teaching for one of their college courses, it was time for summer, and Calum and Michael had decided to stay in town and hold down the apartment for their other two roommates who were electing to go home. Once finals had wrapped up and they said goodbye to the classes they’d been working with they began looking for jobs. They were both sitting in bed together when Michael found an available job working a summer day camp. The pair talked about it for a few minutes before applying, assuming playing games and mainly supervising kids would be easier than lesson planning and having to actually teach things. Plus they were excited by the possibility of seeing some of their kids again, so Calum pulled out his laptop and they sat side by side as they applied.

After about two weeks it was clear that this was different. For one thing, due to low staffing, the kids were all split up into three groups instead of one group per grade level. So now, even though Michael and Calum recognized some of the kids in their group, some of those kids who were bearable during the school year now had some slight sibling drama. Then there were the parents, something Michael and Calum had yet to deal with. Half of them were fine, nice people who cared about their kids and were happy to hear about their day during pick up. The other half, however, was a mix of Karens and Beckys, some of them stay at home moms who were just getting the kids out of the house so that they could go have margs with their girl friends and have a spa day to wash away the stress of the thought of them actually being parents. Some of them even had Michael wondering if he should go to the pharmacy and get a second flu shot for that year.

However, despite some of the parents they had to deal with and the occasional drama, both sibling spats and between groups of friends, Michael and Calum were really enjoying their summer job. They kept up their school year tradition of every other payday one taking the other out for a date night, whether it was as simple as going out to dinner and a movie, or a sunset picnic, or a nice night in the bowling alley.

It was five weeks in, and even with kids coming and going with the weeks, some just disappearing for a one week vacation, others having other camps to go to, things had steadied. It was a rainy Friday at the start of the Fourth of July weekend, so attendance was low to begin with, some kids leaving early. A few of the kids who were there were upset over swim time being cancelled on account of the thunder, but Calum had run down to the gym, claiming it for their group as a replacement for the hour of swimming.

Calum gone to set up the games and the crafts set up on the counter to dry until parents came, Michael and the other leader started a round of Heads Up Seven Up to keep things quiet and calm until Calum said he was ready. Finally, Calum radioed down that everything was ready and Michael got all the kids lined up, hovering to the back of the line as they made their way through the rec center to the gym. Once in the gym, the kids all gathered around Calum and he smiled saying, “Ok, since it’s a small group today, we’re doing stations. We’ve got two boxes of four square, two spots for basketball games, and then some jump ropes and hula hoops. I’m gonna put on some music and whenever it stops you have to move to a new station, alright?” The kids all cheered and Calum smiled continuing, “Alright, I’m going to give you each a number and that’s going to be the station you’re starting at, ok?”

Once the kids were all split up into groups and ready to start, Calum made his way over to the radio, pulling up a Kidz Bop only playlist on his phone that was already connected to the AUX jack and hitting play. The two men hovered around each other, eyes on the playing kids. After a few songs Michael hummed, “Can’t wait to go home and make dinner with legitimately any other playlist on.”

Calum smirked, hand coyly reaching up to rub Michael’s back, “Bold of you to assume that I won’t overtake the speaker and put this right back on.”

Michael shot his boyfriend a sharp look, filled with a threat that he couldn’t voice at work. Calum just bit his lip in response, pausing the music before a fifth song could play and calling out “Time to switch!”

They made it through three station changes before one of the kids from Michael’s class earlier that year came running over, “Mr. Michael!!! Come play HORSE with us!!”

Michael gave Calum a wide eyed stare as the other kids in the group came running over, grabbing him by his hands and dragging him over to their half of the basketball court. He ended up making the first few easy shots, but then one of the kids made a shot from beyond the foul line. Calum could read the anxiety in his boyfriend’s face when it was his turn, silently begging the younger man to change stations early to rescue him.

Calum, however, remained strong, knowing an army of upset kids was worse than Michael missing the shot. At least, until he watched the blonde’s feet slip out from under him as he shot, toppling backwards onto the floor as the basketball fell to the ground halfway between him and the hoop.

Calum quickly jogged over, phone left on top of the radio. He helped Michael to his feet, the pair holding on maybe a second or two longer than necessary before Calum pulled away, “Need an ice pack?” he teased lightly as Michael rubbed the back of his head.

“Nah, I think I’ll live,” the blonde returned, smiling as the kids checked on him too. “Besides, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do, but especially with sports stuff.”

The kids all giggled at Michael’s response and Calum hummed. “Fine, I guess we can swap, then. Mike, you run the music and I’ll play HORSE. We’ve got until the end of this song before they need to switch again.”

Michael gave his boyfriend a teasing salute before going over to the music, tapping the screen to see how long until the song was over. He hummed as he saw texts from their group chat with Luke and Ashton. As soon as the song was over he paused the new one and made the switch stations call. Once the kids were all moving in the same direction, Calum getting pulled into four square, Michael opened the texts, using Calum’s passcode. He skimmed the latest line from Ashton, something about one of his plants. Michael just opened Calum’s camera, pulling the phone super close to his face for a picture.

Can’t talk, working right now. Plant update t-minus 3 hours.

As soon as the message sent Michael put the phone back down, watching on as Calum tried to take it easy on the kids, even if none of them returned the favor. Calum ended up trapped at four square for the rest of the time in the gym, Michael jumping when he realized it was ten minutes past when they were supposed to be having afternoon snack. Calum gathered a kid from each group to help him get everything back in the equipment room, everything going away much quicker than it had come out, and soon enough they were back in the classroom.

Two hours later and there were three kids left out of all the groups, other leaders leaving Calum and Michael to wait with the kids in the game room while they cleaned the classrooms before clocking out. Calum was sitting in one of the chairs in front of a tv, a kid next to him in another chair as they played minecraft. Michael was sitting at the table with the other two kids, signout book by his elbow as he colored with them. Soon enough the two kids with Michael were going home with their stepdad and Michael picked up the crayons and extra sheets of paper. Once they were back in the closet he picked up the binder and meandered over to the xbox station.

Calum let out an exasperated sigh as Michael leaned up against the back of his chair, knocking down a stair block again. “Julien how do you get the stairs to go upside down like that dude?”

“You jus gotta fly over and like, plop a block and then aim for the top.” Julien explained.

“Oh gosh, I keep forgetting that we can fly right now...how do I do that again?”

Michael snorted and Calum spun around, giving him his best puppy eyes as he pouted, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.”

Michael chuckled softly as Calum repeated his earlier statement back to him. He shoved down the temptation to kiss the pout off of Calum’s lips, instead turning to look at Julien, “Are you enjoying explaining how to play Minecraft to Mr. Calum, Julien, or would you like some actual help with your treehouse?”

Julien’s face lit up as he looked up at Michael, “Please??”

Calum just shook his head in defeat, handing the controller over as Michael pulled up another chair, setting the binder in Calum’s lap as he leaned forward, listening as Julien explained his vision for the treehouse project.

Right as Calum was about to call the main office to let them know that there was still one kid at their site, Julien’s mom came running in. They chatted for a minute, Julien excitedly telling his mom about beating Michael at HORSE “because he fell down and Mr. Calum had to take over.”

Once Julien was sure he had all his stuff and they’d cleaned up, Michael and Calum went into the office, signing onto the tablet to log their hours for the day before making their way to the car. As they sat in their seats, Michael queuing up music for the drive home, Calum turned in his seat asking, “Does your head still hurt from knocking against the floor, Mikey?”

Michael hummed, glancing towards his boyfriend and then the ceiling as he pretended to think, “Maybe a little…”

Calum grinned, leaning over, gently pushing Michael’s head so he could smooch the back of it. “Better?”

Michael smiled, shaking his head no and tapping his cheek next, then his nose, and then his lips, each one following a new kiss from Calum in the previously tapped place. Michael sighed when Calum broke the kiss to his lips too soon for his liking. “More kisses when we get home, I promise.” Calum teased easily, finally pulling his seatbelt over his shoulder.

“I can live with that. Want me to teach you Minecraft after dinner, or were you enjoying Julien telling you what to do?”

“Maybe if you can properly motivate me I’ll learn it.” Calum said, wiggling his dark eyebrows at Michael.

“So long as you don’t forget afterwards,” Michael said, grin spreading his cheeks as he put the car in drive and began the route home.

Writer Discord: @cashtonasfuck @kingcals @koalacal @loveroflrh @goth5sos @irwinkitten @5-secondsofcolor @5sosnsfw @punkrockpreferences @gigglyirwin @fallinluke @calumcest @catearscliffo @mermaidcashton @spicycal @sublimehood @shal-pal @queer-5sos @mysticalhood @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @castaway-cashton @jae-writes-fanfiction @sexgodashton @vipclifford @adoringlrh

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#calum hood #michael clifford #malum #calum hood fluff #michael clifford fluff #malum fluff #5sos writing collab

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blooddrop-palace · 4 years

Note

148 Vergil and f!reader

(Thank you!!! And apparently I can’t keep anything within drabble length... haha. I realized halfway through that I really didn’t need to do elaborate setup every time I write these, but too late! I already got carried away! And I probably shouldn’t have written this until i was more awake but... what’s done is done! P.S. I am happy to take more prompts if you see any others on the list that interests you.)

148. Are we lost or do you know where we are?

[Note: idk probably not entirely canon, so insert this where you wish on a timeline. Pretend there’s some “bigger picture” problem going on in the background of this fic that’s keeping our hunters in town for a long time, like how the plot of the anime accumulated into one big thing. Vergil needs a better alias than Gilver for goodness’ sake. I hope my readers like or at least get a laugh out of what I chose for him. (I initially picked it out for a little special something else for another DMC project~) ]

You first saw him at one of your father’s fancy dinner parties. The entire back room of an expensive restaurant was reserved, and this was one of the nights where you had attended.

This particular dinner party was simply another celebration of another successful quarter gone by for your father’s company. A blessing, seeing as something odd had been afoot in the city recently. Vandalism, reports of indescribable incidents, and even people getting hurt by what they claim were monsters.

But this was hardly something quite on your mind as you mingled with the guests.

Today, however, you noticed that there was someone new among the crowd. You would have remembered if you had met someone like him before:

In terms of both looks and demeanor, he not only stood out but stood on top. Tall, ethereal, like moonlight dressed in a midnight blue suit. He piqued your curiosity both with his sharp demeanor and with his looks.

Eventually, you had a heart-stopping chance to to meet this stranger, as your father noticed you lingering close, and beckoned you over with a hearty smile: “(Y/N), (Y/N)! Come, meet Caesar Redgrave. Mr. Redgrave, this is my daughter, (Y/N).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Redgrave.” You didn’t stammer, but your voice came out just a bit meeker than you would have liked.

“I believe the pleasure is mine, Miss (L/N).” Oh, he didn’t exactly sound the way you expected, but his voice was still lovely in its own way. When he greeted you with an open hand, palm facing up, you recognized that he wasn’t looking for a handshake, but something a little more... old school.

And you fought a blush as your gingerly placed your hand in his, heart elated that anyone would be so gentlemanly to grace the back of your hand with a light brush of his lips.

The blood rushing through your ears and the pounding of your heart drowned out whatever else your father was telling you about his new acquaintance. Something about new security detail.

You didn’t hear much of a word as your head was in cloud nine for the rest of the dinner.

-------------------

The next time you met Mr. Redgrave, it was less than a week later. You were stopping by your father’s company near his usually lunch hour, one of the uncommon moments where you would spend a brief moment of time in a day with him when your mother was otherwise preoccupied.

Mr. Redgrave, dressed in grey slacks with a lovely cerulean vest over a white shirt, was just finishing a conversation with the front desk. It was the same front desk you were needing to stop by to let them know that you were there, so that they could page your father for you. (You didn’t want to simply barge in, being the well-mannered daughter that you were.)

He wasn’t the only one at the front desk today. Beside him was another man, in similar clothing but with a red vest instead. They were undoubtedly related, though clearly with significantly different demeanor. The man in red was more lax, and didn’t bother with a tie as he left two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned.

“Ah, Miss (Y/N) (L/N). I hope you are doing well.” Caesar greeted.

“And the same to you, Mr. Redgrave...” You greeted back in kind, but your sentence tapered off as you glanced over to the other man in red, who was clearly related and probably shared the same last name.

“You may simply call me Caesar. This is my brother, Anthony.” The introduction Caesar gave you was plain and simple.

Tony smiled at you: “Just Tony’s fine. Didn’t know a fine young lady like you worked here.”

“Tony, use your head. Miss (L/N) is the company president’s daughter. Don’t let yourself get distracted.”

A small part of your heart sunk, knowing now that Caesar already placed that invisible glass plane of “associate via business” between the two of you. It’s a shame.

But that didn’t stop you from smiling and telling them: “Just (Y/N) is fine. And no, I don’t work here. So even more reason to drop the formalities.”

“Why, that’s very lovely, but also a shame that we won’t be seeing you around often.”

“Tony.”

“Right, right. Duty calls.” Tony shrugged and proceeded towards the door.

Before he left with him, Caesar said to you: “Do stay safe. There have been... incidents of concern, about the city, lately.”

You couldn’t help but hold his concern close to your heart.

-------------------

Despite the odd happenings about the city, you paid them no mind, as the following week, your father hosted another soiree. This time, both Caesar and Tony were present.

It became clear, early on into the gathering, that Tony was more of the social butterfly, whereas Caesar was more content to watch the crowds from the sideline.

So, at the right opportunity in the night, you casually made your way towards him, stood by him, and smiled while commenting: “Leaving the tiring socialization to your brother?”

He hummed in acknowledgement. “He’s always so easily distracted.”

To your slight disappointment, he did not look at you as he spoke.

You fished for something to say that wasn’t too awkward: “Well, I suppose that keeps most of the more obnoxious attention off of you, doesn’t it?”

“...A silver lining, perhaps.”

For a long while, he remained a silent watcher on the sidelines.

You were content to stand near him, unbothered.

Eventually, he asked: “Do you not care much for these gatherings?”

“Not as much as others would think. Only when it suits my fancy.”

There was a long pause, before you heard him say: “Pity. I was informed by the company president that there would be quite a few more of these to attend in the near future.”

There was no further conversation between the two of you that night. But you wondered if that was a subtle sign of hope.

-------------------

Some of the incidents in the city were coming and going. There’s been a few reported deaths.

At one point, Caesar reminded you to stay safe when going about the city. This was said to you in the presence of Tony, who gave you some sort of look that you couldn’t place, before he glanced over at his brother with a sly smile.

The next time you met the curious man in blue outside of a public gathering, you had managed to snag just a little of his time to go to a cafe. It wasn’t quite something you could call a date, but you secretly hoped it was one.

You were pleasantly surprised, the next day, when you arrived to spend another lunchtime hour with your father, that the front desk manager informed you that a drink was left there for when you arrived.

It was the same thing-- your favorite-- that you had ordered the day prior at the cafe.

Suddenly, for the next two months, these little incidents and your little cafe meetings became a common occurrence.

Each time, you were able to further a little bit more conversation with him, and learn about each other more. You hoped that his rare little questions about yourself were something akin to interest.

So, you attended the next few gatherings your father had planned.

Each time, Caesar was there. Sometimes with Tony, sometimes without.

It was reiterated to you that he and Tony were hired as security, out of the concern of what had been happening around the city lately. That was about as much as you were told. You secretly wondered how he’d look when in action.

One time, when you mused out loud on whether or not you’ll attend the next event, he told you: “It would be a bit disheartening for you to miss out on it.”

The next gathering had a social dance involved. You usually avoided those gatherings, but you went with one hope and one hope only. You were not disappointed that day, when he took the time to ask you for a single dance.

You rather hoped this meant you two were quite close, as he hadn’t asked anyone else that night. At the very least, you could call what you had with him to be a friendship of sorts.

But there was a little something that seemed... off. Something you couldn’t quite place your finger on. A mystery. You just don’t know what exactly it was, nagging the back of your mind.

-------------------

So came the third month, and this party was larger than the previous one. To your (hidden) elation, Caesar was there again. Well dressed as usual, you noticed this time that Tony was not there, even though it would have made sense for him to be present at such a large event.

Eventually, you went outside, far into the gardens, to catch your breath a little. A slight fatigue was getting to you, reminding you that this was why you only enjoyed such “luxuries” sparingly.

Something nearby shuffled. It startled you. You wondered if perhaps someone at the party was already drunk and bumbling about. Deciding you didn’t want to get caught in a bad mess, you left to make your way back towards the building. From far behind you, you heard something loud: a noise you couldn’t place that sent chills down your spine.

Should you investigate? Or should you run?

Suddenly, you were startled when someone was suddenly beside you: “Escaping the crowd for a bit?”

“Oh!”

You didn’t expect him to have followed you, but something in your mind thought that it was very sweet of him.

“Yes, I... don’t really fancy too many of these gatherings. I get a little too tired from them when they run for so long.”

“Perhaps I would admit that I’d rather prefer being at home with a book on nights like these. But one has to go where work is...” He mused, and gently guided you down the path you were already taking, back inside but to the side hall of the building where it was away from the bustling main hall.

It was so rare, to have a moment away from crowds and public spaces with other people in it, to just be beside him. So nice, that you shyly admitted: “I understand what you mean. I usually don’t come to the larger parties, but I knew that you would be here tonight...” You blushed.

You expected him to conversationally sidestep your little admission, but was surprised at how he seemed to smile a little, and told you: “Our usual little outings do always seem so short. It’s a shame we don’t get to see each other more outside of those, or outside of these bothersome gatherings.”

From where the two of you were, in the secluded hallway, where the closed doors led to many of the empty rooms of the building, you could still hear from the main hall, the clinks of glass and the dull hum of people talking through the soft music.

You weren’t too far from the main event, but you were just far enough, that this would be considered a spot to the two of you, alone.

You tested the waters a little: “I wouldn’t be lying if I said I wouldn’t mind finding more time to spend with you.” Anticipating his response, hoping that he was interested, you nervously chewed at your lip.

“Is that so...”

This wasn’t the first time you’ve seen his gaze grow contemplative. You’d seen it a lot in your conversations, as if he had something to say but decided against it. But this time, he didn’t remain thoughtful for too long: “You would be interested, even after my work here is done?”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant by that, but you were already kind of letting all of your thoughts out: “Of course, Caesar. Not just interested due to curiosity, but it’s been wonderful getting to know you. I really wouldn’t mind finding--”

You were surprised when he placed a finger to your lips to hush you. “No. That’s not... my name is actually--”

It was at that moment, he was interrupted by the tell-tale buzzing of a phone on vibrate. You were a bit disappointed, very curious and somewhat confused about what he was about to say.

He answered the call, and in the mostly quiet hall, it was hard not to hear what was being said on the other end: “Hey! Vergil, where are you? There’s a small pack of trouble out here, and you’re missing out the fun?”

“By ‘small pack of trouble’, do you mean it’s something you could simply handle without me?”

“I mean, sure, but since when did you simply stand by to let me have all of the spotlight, bro?”

“Dante, answer the question. I’m rather preoccupied within the building right now.”

You suddenly realized something: Caesar and Tony weren’t their actual names. You didn’t know why they would be using different names, but somehow, that made things all the more interesting to you.

“Oh. What kind of preoccupied are we talking here?”

“Just call me if you’re actually in trouble.” And with that, he hung up.

You felt just a bit breathless at this turn of information. “So...” You started. “Vergil, is it?”

“I hope the use of an alias for all the time we’ve gotten to know each other isn’t... an issue.” He stated. “I am being genuine when I say that... your company was always nice, and I was a little disappointed that I only got to meet you while I’ve been under the cover of work.”

“What is it that you do?”

“Something related to both security and private investigation.” Vergil responded cryptically. “Though I will admit, I have been a little sidetracked from the job...”

“Is it me? I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t be keeping you from work...” You smoothed out wrinkles in your gown that weren’t actually there, nervously hoping that you didn’t actually have to end this conversation.

“No, (Y/N). It’s fine. It’s nothing my brother can’t handle. If anything, I hardly think I’ll be required tonight. Besides...” He seemed just a bit sheepish, if that ever were an emotion you could place on him, as he continued softly: “Dante’s often telling me I could use a break and... enjoy something other than research and work...”

So, this was it. An opportunity. The mysteries may have only compounded somewhat, but he was offering you the chance to actually get to know him better. So you smiled and said: “Well, it’s not a bad thing. To go off track a little. Maybe even get a little lost in something different.”

“Well, (Y/N)... tell me, are we lost , or do you know where we are?”

He held out a hand towards you. You could decide where to go from here.

“Let’s see then, shall we?” Was your smiling response.

#devil may cry #vergil #vergil x reader #prompt request #totally not proofread #shiranyaaww

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

Text

Another Year

Summary: Arthur’s birthday is coming up. Y/N wants nothing more than to make it great.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 3,892

A/N: This request came from the one-of-a-kind, fabulous @sweet-nothings04! Thank you for asking for this. I enjoyed writing it a lot!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open! Keep them coming!

Y/N hadn't realized how much she'd missed putting together birthday celebrations. Not until the unexpected serendipity of falling in love again. Her ex-husband had preferred not to make a big deal of them, had stated he hated getting older. (Considering he'd been in his twenties, she'd found that assertion silly.) As her father had slipped away, special events and gifts had gone by the wayside to focus on routines that wouldn't throw him off kilter. She'd been invited to her sister's and brother-in-law's parties but had only stayed for the hour or two she'd hired a sitter. And while she wasn't the most attentive aunt, she always ensured her nephews and nieces at least got a card and money for a treat.

From what she'd gathered, birthdays had never been an important facet of Arthur's life. That had become obvious upon learning his was 11/21/1946 by reading documents instead of from him. When she'd discovered he'd turned thirty-five and hadn't even told her. But unlike her ex, it wasn't because he didn't want them to be. It was due to neglect, isolation, and the inability to connect. As much sympathy as she had for Penny, for her own illnesses and suffering, for what had been done to her, the wounds she'd inflicted on her son hurt Y/N’s heart. There were so many lost years. She was determined to make-up for them by spoiling him.

The diner where Patricia and she often met for lunch was halfway between their two offices. A five- or six-minute walk for them both. Y/N arrived first. She sat at the white and gold Formica counter and perused the menu. (Though she'd already decided to get her usual pastrami on wheat, garlic pickle, and coleslaw.) Patricia strolled in as the waitress jotted down Y/N's order, and told the young lady she'd have whatever Y/N was having.

They caught up quickly. The Wayne Foundation case was going to have a preliminary hearing in three weeks. Y/N couldn't have rolled her eyes harder. ("Thank god I won't be there. They'd have to drag me off the stand.") Patricia listened with interest while Y/N went on about a dispute involving break violations at Ace Chemicals. And Patricia invited her to stop by the office soon, claiming Matt had realized he'd been stupid to let her quit. ("I'm sure he misses me being a pain in his ass.")

Y/N was picking at the crust of her sandwich when she changed the subject. “I need a favor.”

Patricia arched a brow at her. “Is this going to involve me lugging boxes of files to your apartment?”

“Only if you want the workout.” Chuckling, Y/N shook her head. “Arthur’s birthday is next Saturday. You bake the best cakes. If I’m left to my own devices, he’s going to get something out of a Universal Foods’ box.”

“Mine are out of a box. I just modify the directions and make my own frosting.” Patricia used the rest of her bread to sop up her coleslaw’s dressing. “How old did you say he’s going to be? Thirty-five?”

“Thirty-six.”

Swallowing her last bite, Patricia quirked up the corner of her lips. “I still owe you for running those supplies to the office when my foot was broken. What kind does he like?”

Y/N hugged her tight across the shoulders. After a short discussion, they decided on chocolate with vanilla cream frosting - a safe choice. It would be small, since it was only for the two of them. Arthur had a job the day before. That would allow her to take it home without him seeing. She’d just have to keep him away from the fridge the rest of the evening.

They talked about the other things Y/N had in-store for him, the reservation, the gifts. She giggled, pleased at having successfully hidden it all from him so far. “You’re putting a lot of work into this,” Patricia said. “What did you do last year?”

“I didn’t know about it last year. He didn’t mention it.” Though Patricia was already aware of some of Arthur’s past, Y/N had kept the details to a minimum. She tried to think of an elaboration, one that respected his privacy but was honest. She started in on her pickle. “With Penny being sick - with everything he was going through...”

Sipping her coffee, Patricia spun her stool to face Y/N fully. “You don’t need to say anymore. I remember. It was hard for you both.”

The empathy in Patricia’s gaze prompted a smile. And reminded Y/N how grateful she was for a friend who was frank but unjudgmental. “Back then, he thought needing or wanting anything from me was a bother. But he’s getting better at letting me love him.” Y/N put a hand on her chest. “And now he’ll never need to mention it. It’s locked in here for good.”

~~~~~

Yesterday had left Arthur in a funk. One that showed signs of adhering to his brain the way flies had stuck to the tape he’d had to hang from the ceiling of his old apartment every spring. He’d spent close to twelve hours dancing and waving a “Store Closing! Everything 50-70% off!” placard in front of Dave’s Pleasure Emporium in Gotham Square. (The city must really be fucked if its denizens’ finances were shitty enough that adult shops were shutting down.) It had been his least favorite gig in months. But the slow season was coming on, and the pay had been decent.

The dull ache in his lower spine, radiating to his hip, had made it harder than usual to sleep. And soreness was seeping from familiar spots to sinews he’d forgotten were there. Even the tips of his toes hurt. Two more ibuprofen tablets and acetaminophen went down easily. Carefully, not wanting to rouse her, he removed Y/N’s hand from his stomach, wincing as he shifted onto his left side to alleviate the pressure on his right.

Thirty-five was too old for this. While he loved performing for children, he should have made it as a comic by now. And he should have finished school. He’d be able to do more than be on his feet all day, then. Have more options. Opportunities...

Or maybe he simply shouldn’t have taken that particular job.

The ability to stop catastrophizing, adjust his way of thinking, was new. And rare. He made a mental note to write today’s accomplishment in his journal and share it at his next appointment. The therapist would be impressed with him. Dozing, he thought his funk might abate after all.

It could have been five or fifty minutes later when he felt the comforter being dragged down. Heard the zip of the shades being rolled up. But he was in that snug state between wakefulness and slumber and refused to react. Then there was a pinch on his chin, a light weight on his scalp. “What are you doing?” he mumbled gravelly.

“It’s someone’s special day today,” Y/N said.

Oh. That’s right. He was thirty-six now.

Squinting in the bright sunlight filtering through their sheer curtains, he propped himself on his forearm. She was half-reclined next to him, draped in a short, black nightdress. The one she found a tad tawdry but he liked. He rubbed his eyes, his forehead. Thin cardboard stopped him when he reached his hair. His fingers followed it, found it tapered into a point.

A party hat. She’d gotten him a party hat. He couldn’t hold back his snort.

In his line of work, birthdays were for kids. He’d stopped caring about his own as a teenager. Penny had seemingly been glad he was around. But she never remembered. Hell, he’d had to remind her of her own. But the last acknowledgment of it, the last one before meeting Y/N, had been by a teacher. He’d gotten an extra five minutes of recess and escaped punishment for inappropriate laughter for the day.

This was his first birthday with a person who saw and loved him. Understood who he was. Knew he was more than some image projected onto him. A person who appeared thrilled he existed and to be in his life. As a husband. Every sit-com and film he’d watched had clued him in: wives deemed them important. They hid gifts, cooked special meals, sneaked around arranging parties. There hadn’t been any sneaking on Y/N’s part, none that he could detect. He wondered what she could have planned.

The kneading of her thumb in the hollow of his hip, briefs slung too low as usual, gave him a good idea of her plan for this morning. The entangling of their legs confirmed it. “I got donuts. Coffee’s ready.”

“You, um-“ He cleared his throat, closed his eyes at the brush of her thigh against his length. Which was getting harder with each touch of her lips to the crook of his neck. “You didn’t make breakfast?”

“No.” Her chuckle was throaty, full of desire. “I wasn’t going to torture you with burnt eggs.” She was pulling at his biceps, trying to get him to settle over her. “Let’s work up your appetite, Mr. Fleck.”

But he flinched and halted her movements. The painkillers hadn't kicked in yet. His muscles burned. "We'll get to it later," he promised between languid, lingering kisses. The kind that made him feel safe. Loved. Famished for her. She guided him onto his stomach, stroked him affectionately. Breaths mingling, they chatted lazily until they both cooled off.

Once his stomach started rumbling, Y/N insisted they get up, despite his protestations that he wasn't hungry. That staying under the covers with her for hours would be fun. That they could eat in bed, crumbs be damned. His back would get worse if he continued laying like that, she told him. He needed to stretch and move. Although he grumbled, his experiences with injuries, whether from overwork, assholes, or sleeping on a couch most of his life, had taught him she was right.

Following a cigarette on the fire escape, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and did a double-take at the round table in the dining nook. He approached it in disbelief. He tensed as he ran his hand along the rectangular gifts and their shiny red paper. Squeezed the puffy, tan winter coat. Fingered the silver ribbon tied to the chair, dangling from an aluminum helium balloon. The lump in his throat forced a short laugh. But he didn't cover his mouth, not having to hide from her. He shook his head, wiping at the sudden wetness in his eyes. "All this is for me?" He did his best to sound normal.

"No. They're for my other husband, Carnival." She came behind him, hugged him around his torso and splayed her fingers on his chest. "You may have met him. Has a penchant for making balloon animals? Wears pants with the cutest patch on his bottom?" He grasped her forearm, held her tight to him as his shoulders shook with mirth.

It wasn't yet eight o'clock. And the day was already shaping up to be one of his favorites.

~~~~~

At the vanity on Arthur's side of the bed, Y/N was attempting to create the perfect oval eye with brown liner. The wide smile creeping onto her face wasn't making it easy. But it couldn't be helped. Everything had gone wonderfully so far. Had more than met her expectations. She hoped his had been met, too.

She'd been badgering him to get a winter coat since last Christmas. (His teeth had chattered almost the entire time they'd stood outside to watch Gotham's Christmas parade. The hot chocolate from a vendor hadn't done much good. A long bath had been necessary to finally warm him up.) The one she'd picked out fit him well, and he'd seemed to like it, hanging it by the door next to his tan jacket. And she'd known he was attached to his trusty, foil razor. But it was over fifteen years old, taped together, and on its way out. The new one had a rechargeable battery. He wouldn't be tethered to the outlet over the sink if he wanted to move around a bit.

The twitch of his nostrils, his hitched breath as he'd whispered, "Thank you," had compelled her to kneel next to his chair. The poignancy of his reaction had affected her keenly. Hollowed out her core and filled it with compassion and love. He'd frowned and wiped his nose with the back of his knuckles. "Sorry," he'd scoffed, glistening eyes darting to hers. "I don't mean to be weird."

"You're not, Arthur." She'd gently removed his black and red polka-dotted party hat, set it on the table. "You're being you."

After a quick lunch, they'd leisurely strolled arm-in-arm through the neighborhood, including a visit to the nearby park. Arthur had wanted to stop into the used record shop three or four blocks away. She'd caressed up and down his back, observing his content visage as he flipped through the LPs. It was lovely to see him treat himself to a couple without hesitating to worry about the cost for too long. At home, he'd settled on the floor by the record player and put them on. He must have been feeling better, because he'd kept his earlier promise: they'd made love on the carpet. Unhurried, sweet, and giggling like idiots.

The opening of the bathroom door broke her out of her reverie. She started blotting her darker-than-usual red lipstick with a tissue. "It was nice of Patricia to get me aftershave," he said.

She smoothed the lines of her champagne color, mid-length dress, adjusted its petal sleeves, then twisted around just as he entered the bedroom. Her movements halted. Would his handsomeness, his beauty, ever fail to stun her? Gaze roaming his slender form, she stared at him. He'd only worn his black and brown oxfords seldomly, saving them for special occasions. The wrinkled white socks didn't match his black pants, but they paired well with him.

It was the teal button-up, patterned with white circles of various opacities and sizes, that caused her to need a few seconds to process his remark. It'd hung in the corner of his old living room; she'd eyed it in their closet since he'd moved in. It was such a contrast to his usual conservative clothing. Quite unlike him, she'd assumed. But seeing him standing there in it, the way it complimented his lithe figure and brought out the light green of his irises, made him look a little less withdrawn, she realized she'd been mistaken.

"She thought it'd suit your new shaver." He gave a gentle hum in response, bashful smile appearing. Such gestures were unfamiliar to him. Eventually, they'd become such an integral part of his life he'd grow tired of them. Y/N would make sure of that. The idea prompted a grin and she stepped around the bed to approach him. "You look great. Are you ready?"

“Yeah.” The crook of his mouth, the furrow of his forehead alerted her to his nervousness. He rubbed the back of his neck, flitted his look to hers. “It sounds fancy.”

She kissed him soundly and he eased into her embrace. “You don’t have to impress me,” she said. “You already did that. Use whichever fork you want.”

The restaurant was in Gotham’s Little Italy district, only a block or two from Chinatown. Y/N had never been to Bamonte’s but her colleagues had given it good reviews. (One had said he and his wife went there every anniversary.) Arthur gaped when they went inside. She watched him survey the lavish, red curtains decorating the walls; the dim lanterns suspended from the ceiling; the faux-marble floor. Huffing, he turned to her, concern clear on his face. She grasped his elbow. “It’s all right. You belong here as much as anyone else.”

The maitre’d led them to a secluded table, behind its own drawn back drapes in the rear corner of the smoking section. Arthur traced the edges of the three lit, tulip-shaped votive holders. Caressed the cream color tablecloth as he sat in the fabric covered chair. An anxious chuckle left him and he smoothed his palm over his thigh. “I hope I don’t spill anything.”

Y/N assisted Arthur with the menu, explaining some of the more exotic-to-him dishes. He was interested in the antipasto, which wasn’t unexpected, since he always kept a jar of olives in the fridge. The gnocchi with tomatoes, spinach, fresh basil, and mozzarella was what he thought sounded best. She chose an old favorite, chicken in a mushroom and white wine sauce and a Caesar salad on the side. Arthur picked the least expensive Moscato on the wine list. When the bottle was opened and left on the table, he blinked at it, then shrugged and filled their glasses.

After a couple of sips, he crossed his legs and puffed on his cigarette. “I wrote a new joke. Well, I really just changed an old one.” He reached across the table to graze across the back of her hand. “Why didn’t the old man like having insomnia?”

Her eyelids fluttered, his gossamer touch setting her aflame. She ran her toes along his calf, his resulting twitch causing her to giggle in delight. “He wanted to sleep with his wife?”

Dark brows shot up in surprise, his eyes lighting up. Their fingers laced together. “How did you know?”

Leaning forward, she traced his crow's feet, prominent due to his beaming smile. Then her touch drifted to his jawline. “It was the first joke you ever told me," she murmured. "How could I forget?” Clutching her hand, he pressed a kiss to her wrist. He held her to his lips, hard enough to feel his teeth. And he grew quiet. “What is it?” she asked after a minute.

His eyelids shut. She could feel his pulse quicken together with hers. “I- I wanna sleep with you forever,” he breathed.

Out of anyone else’s mouth, she would have taken that to mean sex. From him, however, she knew it meant mountains more. Adoration welling in her chest, her fingertips weaved into his loose, chestnut curls. “You will.”

~~~~~

Once, in high school, Arthur had gotten a hold of some grass. It was supposed to induce giddiness and euphoria, make a person relax. God knows he could have used it back then; Penny had started declining and he’d had to learn to run a household. Plus, he’d thought at the time, it’d make him one of the guys. All the cool kids were doing it. Maybe he’d be able to connect with one and learn how to be popular. But all it had done was make him nauseous and paranoid. There hadn’t been one iota of the “high” he’d imagined. He’d thrown it out and never tried it again.

Now he wondered: was it possible to be high on a person? To be drunk on their presence? To feel their essence down to the cell? Necking on the sofa with Y/N, their coffee forgotten on the coffee table, he figured it must be. Enraptured, he wanted to capture her ragged breaths, take her into his lungs, make her a perpetual part of his being. Perhaps he’d stay happy naturally, then, like everyone else. Even if that didn’t work, she’d always be close.

Giggling, she pushed him off her and headed towards the kitchen. “Wait here. No peeking.”

Laughing softly, Arthur pushed his hair out of his face. She’d already gotten him gifts. Let him make love to her. Taken him to an eatery where he was totally out of place and managed to make it comfortable. What else could she possibly do? Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. He eagerly followed at the call of his name.

The loveliest cake he’d ever seen was on the counter. Dark chocolate shavings embellished its round border. And it was the perfect size for the two of them. Y/N was rushing to light a mass of candles on it. “Quick, make a wish before wax drips onto the frosting.”

He mused for a moment. He no longer needed to pine for daydreams and delusions of companionship - he had Y/N. In spite of the icons his mother had had in every room of their apartment, he’d long ago stopped praying to what he suspected was nothing for his conditions and illnesses to go away. Then it occurred to him. Bending to blow out the candles, he wished for his innate comedic gifts to be recognized. To be validated as the stand-up he knew he was. And to provide for Y/N. To be what she needed. To make her happy.

Although he was grateful for Patricia’s thoughtfulness, and he knew Y/N’s baking wasn’t better than his own, part of him had wanted her to be the one who made the cake. But he tried to push that aside and appreciate it regardless. The slice she gave him was far too generous. He ate it all, anyway, because it was delicious. The sponge was fluffy. And the chocolate could actually be detected, instead of a vague, sugary flavor. The frosting tasted finer than that on the grocery store bakery cupcakes he’d sampled in the past.

As he was rinsing off the cutlery, Y/N saddled up beside him and held out a bright purple envelope, inscribed with “Happy Birthday!” in her pretty longhand. He leaned his hip against the counter as he grasped it, intentionally brushing his hand against hers. Gingerly, he lifted the flap and pulled out the card.

The cardstock was a vibrant gold and white. Two mugs, one green and labeled, “Yours,” one pink and labeled, “Mine” sat on sketched coasters. The shiny purple letters underneath proclaimed, “You get me. I get you.” Pressing his thin lips together, he opened it. And sighed when he read the rest: “Hope you know how happy that makes me.”

One of his wishes had already come true.

The elation coursing through his veins made him shudder. He nearly missed the stiff papers that fell from the envelope. Y/N retrieved them and gently placed them in his palm. A wide smile spread across his cheeks as he read aloud. “‘Gotham Pops presents A Night with Gershwin?’” He double-checked the date. “These are for New Year’s Eve.”

She nodded. “I snagged them as soon as they went on sale. They’re orchestra seats.” Then she squeezed him flush to her side, bumped her nose to his. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you sing to yourself in the tub.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, eyes tracing the diamond pattern of the grey, linoleum floor. “I thought I was quieter.”

“I’m glad you weren’t.” Enthusiastically, her lips pulled at his before she grinned up at him. “Did you have a happy birthday? Was it worth getting older?”

Arthur’s answer came without delay. “Yes.” There wasn’t a way to explain what it meant to him, to explain that she helped him feel good to be alive. How full his heart was. That she patched cracks in his soul he hadn’t known existed. He longed to do the same for her. He cupped her jaw on either side, guiding her to his mouth and rasping, “I don’t mind getting older with you.”

~~~~~

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#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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