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cherrynojutsu · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 6/?: Roots

It's pouring rain by the time Sasuke awakens, a tempestuous sort of hush awash a village swathed in grey. He's gotten a very good night's sleep, only waking once around five to groggily hearken as the pitter patter of droplets began against the asphalt and metal of the roof. He'd watched the beads of liquid slowly connect to others, forming small rivulets pulled downwards by gravity on the glass of his bedroom window, before he made the decision to try to fall back asleep. To his bewilderment, it had actually worked; a rare occurrence, as it usually doesn't. No dreams, no nightmares, just blissful emptiness, like he was allowed for once to drink in the moisture of rest like a tonic, exuding into his being much like the precipitation trickling into the soil outside.

It's nine thirty when he rolls out of bed, reluctant to leave the warm requiescence of his comforter, but also wanting to give himself plenty of time to get ready. He'd like to shower before he heads over to Sakura’s, and he also wants to eat something light for breakfast first. He decides on ochazuke, because it’s relatively easy to prepare and he thinks he would like more tea; two birds with one stone. There are sesame seeds in his cupboard that he could sprinkle over the dish, at the end. He sets a portion of brown rice to boil before brewing a cup of the caffeinated green sencha to eventually seep over it.

It smells really good as it permeates into the hot water, earthiness propelling upwards and sinking into his nostrils. He'll have to thank her again today, now that he knows what her gift actually contained.

While he lets things stew, Sasuke considers the kitchen table, where he left the remainder of the gifts yesterday. Now is as good a time as any to find a place for each of them, he supposes. He makes quick work of washing the paring board before setting it aside to dry. The cough drops find a home in his bathroom's mostly empty storage behind the mirror; he takes the two lozenges left from the hospital and puts them there, too, to use before he opens any of the new packages.

He decides that the photo should go on the bedside table, next to the clock. He can always move it, if he changes his mind. It catches his eye for longer than is strictly necessary.

Eventually he returns to the kitchen, removing the strainer from the tea and stirring the pot of rice twice as he waits for it to finish cooking. The barrage has lessened since daybreak, not overly loud, but enough to create an ambient sort of background noise that is a nice change of pace; less of a storm and more of a quenched thirst for the earth, emptying from rooftops down the gutters and into the ground. Sakura’s building is older, too; it probably will sound much the same at her apartment.

He savors the ochazuke once it’s finished, a simple but enjoyable way to start the day, caffeine threading its way into his system gradually. Washing the dishes is his next task, followed by an extremely lengthy shower, temperature near thermogenic. The bruises from his two spars with Naruto are still sore, but not terrible; the heat feels good on the marred skin. Water drifts across more bruising that has bled into existence overnight on his shins, before it sinks between his toes and vanishes down the drain. He’s not sure why he watches it; it just seems compelling today for some reason, everything pulling downward.

When he’s dry, he throws on a comfortable pair of black pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt. He doesn’t want to read more of his book since he has a little less than half left of the one on kenjutsu, so he decides to complete some meal prep instead, testing out the paring board by chopping and slicing various produce; mushrooms, bell peppers, broccoli, carrots, tomatoes, green onions, and burdock roots are slowly removed from his fridge, cleaved into neat pieces, and then returned to their respective assortment of bags and containers. The small bits of metal attached to the board allow for cutting goods with ease, a bit ingenious. It works extremely well, much more efficient than the hassle of summoning a clone to simply stand there holding each item still. It’s not that he doesn’t have the chakra to spare, but it feels more dignified this way.

After enough time has passed, Sasuke pulls on a pair of grey socks, sandals, and his cloak before he leaves, library book concealed and protected by the black garment.

It’s marginally chilly outside, but not terribly cold like it would have been earlier in the morning. Petrichor overwhelms him, an aroma he is well acquainted with. He is reminded of the scent of the foliage the handful of times he passed through the Land of Rain, and also of drizzly days spent as a child here in Konoha. Every bit of vegetation he glimpses on the way to Sakura’s apartment complex is drinking up the liquid greedily, drop after drop of nourishment with which they will sustain themselves and use to grow.

The puddles are starting to join in their crevices, small streams of gentle cascades forming. It captures his attention like the shower drain did earlier, and it feels nostalgic for some reason, like there is some forgotten secret that the land beneath is whispering through the medium of interconnected pools, rippling outward until they touch more solid soil.

His hair is a bit damp when he arrives at her building just prior to eleven. Illumination flows from beneath doorways of variegated colors; everyone else is inside today, too. The tonality is similar to the harmony overheard at his own apartment, as he expected; he finds it comforting.

He knows he’s a little early, so Sasuke takes his time going up the stairs. Once he reaches the sage green of her threshold, he raps twice and waits, studying Sakura’s plants in their terracotta pots. There are a few amongst them that he doesn’t recognize, which is curious, given that he’s wandered so many places and has grown familiar with a vast diversity of flora. There is lucky bamboo pushed towards the back of the array, in the area that gets the least amount of light. A spider plant is to its left, and a golden pothos, along with a snake plant, are sandwiched to its right, towards the corner. A lilac moth orchid blooms near her door, a paler variety than he has seen anywhere else. Coral kalanchoe spill out the side of a taller planter, next to pink and pistachio mums, faded yellow butterfly ranunculus, and a small vessel filled with white daffodils, sunny insides flourishing outwards. There are succulents, too, tricolor lavender scallops sprinkled throughout several of the ceramic containers, along with a strain he doesn’t recognize.

Yarrow and jewelweed emerge from smaller pots on the edge of the spread, which makes him wonder if the few plants he’s unfamiliar with are being grown for useful purposes rather than decorative. Perhaps she keeps them for her work crafting antidotes; he knows that the roots of plants can often carry medicinal benefits. One of them is quite odd looking, now that he is peering down at it closely; dark plum-colored stems spread upwards with circular leaf-like shapes at the crown, trains of spiky white flowers budding from them. Another one he can’t identify has a tiny whitish yellow flower, dwarfed by the huge wrinkled leaves that surround it.

They appear as if they have been tended already, the loam damp as it is outside with no opportunity for warmth to dry them as of yet, though this verdure is more tame, less wild. She must water them in the morning. All of them are so different, yet they are all alike, too, stringy germinations and rhizomes expanding to suffuse through their similar planters.

Her door clicks open, and he shifts. Sakura smiles up at him, sunshine on a rainy day accented by a dimple, wearing an extremely comfortable-looking outfit: an oversized cream crewneck that slips off one of her shoulders a little, and a juniper pair of jogging pants that he thinks would be too long for her if not for the gathering at the ankles.

"Good morning, Sasuke-kun," she greets, eyes he loves radiant on his. "It's almost ready; come in."

He responds, “Morning,” and follows her inside, placing his library book on the console table momentarily, where her lamp is already switched on. As he shrugs off his cloak and toes off his sandals, she drifts back to the kitchen, something likely needing her attention there. He notices as she goes that there is an extremely fuzzy pair of beige socks on her feet.

As he hangs his cloak, he realizes that her apartment smells like roasted tomatoes and toasting bread, overpowering any vague notes of her tea cabinet in a way that makes his mouth water.

Sasuke reaches for his book from the console table and goes further into her living space, where the rest of her lamps are also turned on already; no hard lighting. He assumes they'll read on her couch, so he sets the text on the end table, closest to the side where he’d sat the previous night. There are two blankets thrown over the sofa now that weren't there yesterday, one appearing plush that is a color somewhere between mauve and lavender, and the other one a knit heather grey. It’s probable that they came from her bedroom; perhaps the walls are some variant of violet, a color he would not have expected.

As he turns, intending to join Sakura in the kitchen, his eye catches on a familiar photo, and he stops. Perched on one of the few empty areas of one of her bookshelves is their original Team Seven portrait, in a pale wood frame, near white. It's different in finish from the other frames adorning her walls near the kitchen, much lighter in color.

He is struck by it for multiple reasons; it wasn’t there yesterday, meaning it probably has also come from her bedroom, and it is very close in finish to the wood of the uchiwa fan he gave her as a birthday gift. He hasn’t seen it; Sasuke knows most women keep ornamental fans like that in storage for safekeeping. He vaguely recalls his own mother used to keep hers, though less ornate and made of paper rather than silk, in boxes, stored securely for future use at festivals and such in her closet. She’d shown them to him, once, and he’d seen her carrying them on special occasions, from time to time.

Sasuke studies the picture and the wood grain for a long moment, gaze softening. He wonders if she moved it out here to make him feel more at home.

He breaks his contemplation by making his way to her kitchen finally, where Sakura is flipping a grilled cheese sandwich over in a pan, one of two. A slow cooker lies atop the counter, lid condensed with moisture, with plates, bowls, and spoons laid out next to it.

It smells really good.

Green eyes fall on him, bright and filled with exuberance. "These are on their last minute, I think, so if you wanted to, you could dish up the soup while I finish them. There’s a ladle in there.” She gestures towards the drawer beneath the counter where the slow cooker rests. “It's tomato miso; I hope you like it. It should be done by now.”

His stomach suddenly feels tied in knots in the best sort of way. A gilding of warmth spreads throughout his entire being, veins and arteries and capillaries slowly immersed in something numinous.

“...I’m sure I’ll like it,” he murmurs, reveling in the blush that inks its way onto her cheeks, all the way back on her cheekbones to surround the freckle he’d touched yesterday. She looks away shyly, grinning like he has given her some grand compliment. The corners of his own mouth twist upwards.

Sasuke pulls the ladle from the aforementioned drawer, where it sits amongst other utensils, setting it in one of the bowls already placed on the counter. When he removes the lid, his olfactory senses instantly flood with a wave of savory miso; by the aroma, she must have used red, middle range, a perfect foil for the acidity of tomatoes. When he grabs the ladle again, he stirs it a few times; quartered shiitake mushrooms, kombu, scallions, and tomato chunks - he thinks they are of the plum variety - circle the pot, filling it near to the brim just below the surface. Sakura has made a considerable amount of it, much more than is needed for a single meal for two.

He shifts the plates closer to the slow cooker, bowls set atop them, before ladling soup in, careful not to spill and making sure to get an even mixture of produce with which to fill the broth in each. He rinses the ladle clean, and she mentions that there are small plates in the cupboard to his upper left, to rest the ladle on; he grabs one as she moves to open a different cupboard behind him.

Sasuke returns the lid to its place to trap in the slow cooker’s heat, rotating the dial from hot, past low and into the warming setting. When he turns back to Sakura, she’s shutting the stove off and moving the pan to a cool burner. Both of the sandwiches are resting on a cutting board, sliced diagonally.

The sandwiches smell really good, too. She veers the halves onto the empty space of the plates using the knife, before leaving it, along with the paring board, in the sink.

They each grab a plate and spoon before heading to her dining table, in front of the northern window. The dangling market lamp is already turned on, and fat droplets are slipping down the glass.

It’s a calming lunch they share, a steady lulling of inclement background noise alternating between bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup as they watch the street below. The avocado is good in grilled cheese; it’s something he would have never thought to add. Sakura dips hers into her soup, so he tries it, too, and finds he likes it even better that way. The soup on its own is something else, though; filling and savory, near perfectly spiced. She’s a good cook.

“It’s good. Thank you,” he compliments halfway through as she chews and swallows a bite.

She beams at him. “You’re welcome.” She studies him before adding, “There’s enough for leftovers, if you’d like any more.”

He nods and takes another mouthful, looking out the glass thoughtfully. The residential buildings across the way are also lit up, soft light blurred through the fractals of raindrops.

“Do you think Naruto’s doing his homework on a day like today?” Sakura asks eventually.

“Tch.” He turns his gaze to her. “I doubt he’s even awake yet.”

Her grin is mischievous. “You’re probably right. It's his weekend. No Hinata around to wake him up? Definitely still asleep.” She sighs exaggeratedly. “Kakashi-sensei will be so disappointed. Though it’s better than copying someone else’s, I guess.”

“...Did he used to copy yours?” He’s more amused by that prospect than he should be, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

Sakura furrows fine pink brows as if she knows that he knows the answer, too, but she’s still smiling. “He used to ask if he could. I was too good of a student to let him.”

“...Figures.” A ghost of a smile overtakes him, a cleansing sort of sentimental fondness for bygone days during which their third squad member was at his most annoying.

“I think Shikamaru used to let him. It was too much effort to say no that many times.”

Sasuke exhales through his nose, a rendition of a laugh as she takes another bite of her sandwich, dipping it first in the soup and looking amused. Nara would.

He also takes another bite, and mulls over his next words.

Swallowing beforehand, he inquires, “...What’s in Suna?”

Sakura blinks in surprise, analytical eyes quickly working out that he’s referring to her comment yesterday at Ichiraku’s. She turns to the window, smirking and chewing her food as if considering something of great importance. The dimple sinks in and out as her mouth moves; he averts his eyes back to his plate before he gets caught staring.

When she swallows, she’s quiet for a long moment, then says ambiguously, “I’m not sure I should say anything. Insider knowledge.”

Interesting. Sasuke is sure she has the same friendly camaraderie with Nara that she has with everyone else, but he assumes the insider knowledge must have actually come from Ino; she is the type to know everyone’s business, given how much she apparently shares her own with Sakura, and she is Shikamaru’s teammate, though they're both Jonin now.

“...No hints?” He presses, pinning her with a stare. Now he’s more curious; it must be something good, if it’s a secret of this magnitude.

She bites her lip, still grinning, then bites into her sandwich, watching precipitation race down the glass.

“One,” she finally acquiesces, as if it’s a monumental conspiracy. He raises an eyebrow in anticipation.

“It’s in Suna sometimes. Other times, not.”

He narrows his eyes and suppresses an urge to twitch, because that could really be anything, given their line of work, but based on her bemused expression, he’s not going to get more than that. He settles for studying her until she looks elsewhere, a shy giggle escaping her throat as if this is very funny.

“Sorry. Not mine to tell.” She raises another spoonful of soup to her lips.

“...But Kakashi knows?”

She swallows. “Oh, yes. He might have known before anyone else caught on.”

“Naruto?”

Sakura appears to be deliberating. “...Mmm, he’s more observant than when we were kids, so he might. I kind of doubt it though. They’re pretty good friends now, but…”

Sasuke hadn’t known that. He waits for her to finish her thought, staring at her pointedly. Her gaze flicks back up to his after a second.

She shrugs, then. “He’s a good strategist. I kind of think he’ll hold a higher-up position, once Naruto becomes Hokage, if Kakashi-sensei doesn’t promote him before that. He’d be an asset as an adviser.”

Shikamaru became the chief coordinator of the Shinobi Union, after the war. That type of advancement would make a lot of sense. He would be well-suited to assist the Hokage even now, moreso in a few years. It speaks to Naruto’s increase in awareness, Sasuke thinks, that he would be planning ahead to compensate for areas he is less strong in by appointing sensible counsel. A clan head is an astute choice, especially one who has put in efforts to make peace.

It’s odd, to think of the roles everyone in their generation has come or will come to fill, the more he considers it. Distinctively different plants with roots distending into analogous vessels, like the terracotta ones on Sakura’s doorstep.

“Nara’s a good choice for that,” Sasuke finally says, realizing he should respond.

Sakura inclines her head before lifting her bowl to her mouth to drink the last of her broth. She’s finished her sandwich now. He’s about finished with his, too.

This is nice, he thinks as she smiles at him before glancing outside again. “It’s really coming down now, huh?”

It’s the type of question that doesn’t really need an answer, but he nods anyway, because it is. Meager ponds are collecting in the street, rills tracing pathways over the awnings of the building across the thoroughfare. Pitter patters on the roof have grown in intensity to rival those of the early morning. It reminds him almost of the summer monsoons Konoha tends to get, though this clearly isn't one, still being in the throes of spring. Moisture is good for roots, he supposes.

He sips the last of the broth from his bowl, and she looks back to him. “Would you like another bowl? Or maybe some tea? I can brew some while I do the dishes.”

Sasuke considers the offer. It was a pretty filling meal, the soup piquant and packed with produce as it was. “...Tea would be good. I can help.”

Sakura seems like she’s going to protest, so he adds, “Thank you for the sencha… and the rest. I didn’t have loose leaf yet; I like it.”

She flushes, smiling at him softly. “You’re welcome.”

A silence filled by drizzle passes in which they regard each other, and then she’s standing to collect her plates, so he follows her example and grabs his own before trailing behind her to the kitchen.

It’s early enough still that they can have caffeinated tea, so she cycles through the loose leaf options she has as the sink fills with suds; matcha, chai, ginger peach, white monkey, and rose bouquet white. “The white monkey isn’t as sweet as it usually is; I think I got a unique batch. It’s more woody and peppery than anything; I’ve been mixing it with matcha.” There are the pre-packaged versions, too, but she doesn’t read them off, since they have more specifically sweet flavors, like caramel vanilla, banana dessert, and strawberry shortcake.

He picks white monkey at her recommendation of it not being too cloying, and she grabs one of the banana dessert pre-packaged tea bags for herself. Sakura makes short work of setting the water in the kettle to boil before procuring two teacups and siphoning some of the white monkey blend into a small strainer she pulls from another drawer.

Once she’s done that, she unplugs the slow cooker and reaches for something from a lower cupboard - two hand towels - to put on the counter; he assumes one is to utilize as a dish mat and the other is to actually dry with.

“If you really want to, you can dry… But you’re a guest, so you don’t have to,” she murmurs, expression affectionate in a way that makes his neck warm.

So Sasuke helps. She washes and rinses - her dish soap is lemon-scented - and strategically sets each piece atop the first towel he’s laid out. He dries one side of the plates and bowls, then flips them over one-handed to dry the other, stacking them on the clean expanse of counter to his right. It doesn’t take very long with them working together. When she goes to empty the sink, she gives it a scrub and a rinse with the soapy sponge she’s been using, efficient as always, before rinsing any remnant suds from her own hands.

“I can show you where everything goes,” Sakura says, so Sasuke helps her put things away, too, mentally cataloging what’s in each cupboard for future reference. Her storage system is well thought out, organized in a way that makes the most sense for the layout of the space.

When she reaches upwards to put the cutting board back in its place, the sleeve of her top slips further to one side, gravity pulling the fabric downwards on her slender frame and exposing some of the skin of her upper back. There is a dusting of tiny freckles just above the interior portion of her left shoulder blade that he hadn’t known was there. The way they are scattered reminds him of serpens caput, missing only one of the constellation’s general equivalent of stars. He forces his stare away, ears reddening, when she turns to remove the pot from the slow cooker.

“Thank you for helping.” Sakura adds coconut creamer and sugar to her own cup of tea, stirring. “Would you like lemon with this one?”

Sasuke thinks, still a little distracted by dainty freckles, before shaking his head. If it’s woody and peppery, he’ll probably like it fine on its own. She pushes his teacup towards him on the counter with a look that tells him to test it, so he does, and finds he was right; it’s herbaceous, with a scant amount of woodiness and pepper lurking underneath. Maybe the tiniest hint of sweetness, but barely.

“It’s good,” he tells her quietly, before taking another sip.

Apparently the grey blanket is reserved for him; she takes the lavender once they head to the living room, curling up on one end of the couch with it, tea and her book on the table. Based on her bookmark, she’s about halfway through hers. Sasuke does the same on the other end, mirroring her pose, back propped towards the side of the couch with feet extending to the middle rather than going off the front. He keeps his knees slightly bent so he doesn’t invade her space too much, though he doesn’t think she would mind.

He steals one last glance at her before opening his own book to get lost in the different ways to wield a blade. The rain on Sakura’s roof is ataractic, accented by the pleasant smell of tea, the sensation of a full belly, and a warm blanket that smells like her, though it’s more raspberry this time than any lingering antiseptic.

It’s nearly three by the time he finishes his book, mind swimming with descriptions of sword forms. Sasuke peeks at her and sees she’s almost done, too, so he rereads the more engrossing passages, the ones that were particularly well fleshed-out. He’s so relaxed that he thinks he could fall asleep despite the caffeine, if he closed his eyes for more than a few minutes; focusing on rereading should help him stay awake.

Sakura closes her book after a bit; he looks upward at the sound, meeting green.

“How was your book?” She asks, lips twisting upwards; she must have noticed he finished his, despite still reading her own.

"...Good."

“Learn anything?”

“...A bit.”

Her smile widens as if she is amused; maybe he should elaborate, but he’s not sure if practical applications of swordsmanship are something she’s interested in.

Evidently they are, because she questions, “Care to share?”

Sasuke begins explaining the concept of iaido, derived from iaijutsu, the samurai skill of drawing one’s sword and cutting in the same movement, rather than cutting from an assumed stance after already drawing the weapon. It’s a simple idea, one he’s experimented with in the past, but there had been illustrations on a few of the pages showing different forms, and two of them he has never attempted. The pictures helped; he thinks to himself when he visits the library again, he’ll seek out one containing more visual aides.

He expounds upon the chapter on dual swordsmanship, too, primarily utilizing one sword to attack and another to defend; the defensive stances detailed are some he would like to try, specifically tailored as they are to be used with one arm. Some of them he’s already used intuitively, but one of the forms captured his attention, involving a slight variant sweeping of the blade to repel an attacker that would situate them at a more advantageous angle. It could be useful, if he ever needs to draw an enemy into a trap.

“Interesting,” Sakura remarks, and it seems genuine. Maybe it is interesting, in the case of someone who has, at least to his knowledge, never used a sword. He would like to ask her about medical ninjutsu sometime. “So it was a good read?”

He inclines his head to indicate yes. “...And yours?”

Sakura grimaces. “It… wasn’t terrible, I suppose. I didn’t really like the author’s writing style. Ino and I differ in that regard. She reads things more for the story itself than the way it’s told, so sometimes this happens.”

Sasuke raises an eyebrow so she’ll clarify. She shifts slightly, bringing a finger to her chin in thought. “It was too… straightforward. Limited and repetitive vocabulary, not a lot of dialogue structural variation, though it’s well-researched; I’ll give it that. It takes place during the second Shinobi War. A civilian woman’s husband going off to battle, they have to evacuate the area, the costs of conflict, that sort of thing. The ending was sad…” Her voice trails off, punctuated by the plunk of deluge, then she adds, “I guess it makes sense that the protagonist would think in limited language given the rudimentary basic education structure of everything back then, but it’s not very… poetic. It was like the author felt nothing as they wrote it, a kind of detachment from the whole thing.”

He suppresses an urge to smirk, reminiscing on her letters and extensive vocabulary. “...You like poetry.” It’s just an observation, but it’s something he hadn’t known about her, prior to now. Very Sakura.

Color floods across her cheekbones, and she looks at him with an expression that is very tender, as if there’s something else she would like to say. He could stare for hours, entranced by her as he is. “...I do.”

Sasuke wonders, then, if any of the books on her bookshelves are poetry books. He hasn’t read the titles carefully. It occurs to him that she might have more books in her bedroom, now that he’s thinking about it. When he was younger, he used to keep many of his own in his room, too, sorted by genre.

“Did you finish your other book already?” Sakura asks him, then, expression inquisitive.

He nods, eyeing her as he contemplates what he would like to say. He decides not to phrase it as a question this time; he wants her to offer, so he knows he's not requesting too much. Give her an out. She trains with Ino in the morning on Mondays and has lunch with her after, but she hasn’t said anything about her plans for the afternoon.

There’s still something in him that’s nervous, tightening as he speaks, careful to specify time. “...I was thinking of going tomorrow afternoon to get some new ones.”

Her smile unfurls slowly; Sakura really can read him well. “...I was, too.”

His chest rushes with warmth, anxiety released in a single relieved breath; it's not too much, then. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and that seems to encourage her, because she adds, “Ino and I are usually done with lunch by around one. It’s supposed to be nice out, I think. We could…” Her voice trails off, as if she’s considering. “...We could meet at the library around one thirty, and then maybe… take books to a quieter area to read, after. If you want. I... think I know a spot that should be fairly dry by then.”

“...I can meet you here,” Sasuke offers in a low voice, a confession he's more comfortable with now. The way she glows in response as she agrees is captivating.

Sakura invites him to play go with her, after. He agrees, because he wants to, and also because he doesn’t want to leave just yet. They set up the board on her dining table, a gridded battlefield of sorts beneath the market light.

She absolutely demolishes him in the first round, carefully surveying the board before each play of her white stones with careful calculation and syllogism. It’s to be expected, because she has always been smarter than him, but also because he hasn’t played in years and is woefully out of practice, ill-prepared to deal with this sort of onslaught. The second round is closer, but he still loses. It’s a challenge, as he knew it would be; Sasuke finds her moves to be quite roundabout, more about the long haul tactics of trapping than any short and quick route to victory. There are times where he realizes he unknowingly played right into a ruse more than five turns previous.

It’s four thirty by the end of the second match. Sakura’s attention flashes to the clock once as she puts away the board; he helps, sorting his own black pieces into their respective container. He will have to head out soon, though he’s not looking forward to it. He is quite comfortable here, with her.

“It’s still coming down out there,” she muses as she rises to store the box, peering through the glass before turning to make her way to the bookshelf she’d retrieved the set from earlier.

“...It is.” He gazes out the window, distracted by the puddles and their ripples below them in the street. It feels almost as if something is tugging on him to focus on them, suggesting something orphic, beyond simple rainwater.

The soft clicking of teacups and small plates being collected from her coffee table resounds behind him, so he turns to her, thinking he could offer to help wash them.

“I made enough soup for leftovers, so if you want to take some home, you can.” Sakura says, before the words make it out of his mouth. Outwardly he remains blank-faced, but something in him sighs. He’s not really sure what he's going to do with the rest of the day. Sparring with Naruto would be unwise on a day like today; he’d probably catch a cold. He could go by a store and buy a book to read, he supposes.

Being back in Konoha is odd like that. He used to just… walk, if he didn’t have anything to do on his journey, or read her letters, but now that he has had the opportunity to spend time with her, he selfishly just wants more of it. Time spent alone seems dimmer in comparison.

He would like to take some soup back to his apartment, though. It was kind of her to offer; he should probably say something.

She looks contemplative when he looks to her, though, carefully clutching porcelain, and thank you lingers in his throat, unspoken.

“Or… If you would like to stay for dinner, and do something after... you could.”

The faintest of stings begins behind his retinas, something long in the tooth stirring, aged roots buried so deeply he had perhaps forgotten they ever existed in the first place. He thinks it is the feeling of being wanted, of having a place in someone’s home.

He hopes she’s offering because she genuinely wants him to stay. She has a mountain of responsibilities, he knows, although it is her day off.

“...You’re sure?”

Pink brows furrow as if she’s confused how he could ask such a thing; she shuffles her weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Of course.”

An interlude passes in which the torrent measures time, the beat of a ballad that is very old. Her next words are hushed, pianissimo lyrics that he’s sure she has no idea just how much he has yearned for; she’s biting her lip and peeking at him from beneath pink lashes as she says them.

“I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.”

The daunting prospect of a lonely evening evaporates completely. His tongue feels tied up in his mouth, but he nods, hoping she can read in his eyes his gratitude; he’s fairly certain that if he spoke, it would come out hoarse, not at all suitable as a response to the song she has just offered to him.

Sasuke thinks that she can see it just fine, because she gives him a breathtaking smile that could sustain him for a long time, a drop of honey added to an overflowing teacup in which he sips the surplus, with a tinge of an aftertaste that isn’t too sweet for his liking.

The dishes are tackled together. After they finish, she reheats tomato miso soup and cooks two more sandwiches for supper. Another meal is shared at her dining table, overcast skies overlapping into evening, the lights from the windows of Konoha glowing more and more as time passes. It’s just as good the second time, flavorful and filling.

They watch a geology-focused documentary on her television about lava, earthquakes, and landslides. Sakura questions him afterwards about the little time he was in the Land of Volcanoes, south of the Land of Mountains. He hadn’t stuck around for any extended time due to the extreme heat, but what time he did spend there is seared into his memory due to the intensity of it. He had come rather close to one of the region’s volcanoes, within sight of a smoking center mere miles away with lava tendrils trickling outwards, in the process of cooling but still alarmingly hot.

It makes him feel more appreciative for the rain here today, recalling it. Here in Konoha, he could touch the streamlets if he wanted to; he doesn’t need to keep a distance.

They follow up the documentary with a movie after; this time he tells Sakura to pick one. It’s unique, including some fantasy elements, about a struggle between the gods of a forest and the humans living on its edge that consume its resources. The protagonist is cursed by an animal attack, and seeks out a cure from one of the deities. While traveling, he sees other areas in which humans are ravaging the earth and warring with the gods of nature, a thought-provoking contrast considering they’ve just viewed a program detailing the inner mechanisms and wrath of volcanic eruptions, much like gods of nature in their own rights. The conclusion is open-ended; though the hero tries to broker a peace between humanity and the spirits, there is no feeling of resolution or success, no guarantee that one side will mediate with the other. It isn’t quite what he expected it to be, but he notes that the characters were quite realistic, allowing for the viewer to identify with them and better experience what they must be feeling secondhand; it was not told in a detached sort of way as she’d said the book from earlier had been.

Sakura makes earl grey tea, after, and they visit for the better part of another hour, quiet voices awash in auriferous lighting, relaxed by bergamot malt and lemon slices. She inquires about his travels, which places overall were his favorite in the four other great nations. The way she looks at him as he answers makes his heart thump, as if she is hanging on his every word.

It’s near eleven at night by the time he rises for the entryway. The kiss they share before he leaves feels like the drizzle of the rainwater outside, mellow collections grown slowly but surely deeper from time spent together, inexplicably telluric like submerging into soil.

He steps in a few unavoidable collected pools of moisture on his way back to his own apartment, drenching his socks. It makes him feel strangely nostalgic again for some reason, a reminder of a place’s capacity for change, to absorb something and thrive again.

Sasuke has seen many parts of the world now, absorbed as much as he can through his brother’s eyes, and has just relived his favorites by describing them to Sakura. She didn’t ask him about his favorite place in the Land of Fire, though.

It may easily become Sakura’s apartment.

XXX

When he sinks into slumber, he is pulled further downwards into a memory from a very long time ago, something quondam that has since dissolved.

The recollection is hazy in the ways that dreams are, slightly murky as if he is viewing it through a puddle tinged with the loam of Konoha, but perhaps there is something about Sharingan vision even unactivated that embeds the visual acuity into one’s optic nerves, to live there in perpetuity for eventual retrospect. It is one of his earliest memories, he thinks; he would have been maybe four, meaning Itachi had to have been nine or ten, though there is no one he can ask to confirm.

There had been a summer monsoon, perhaps the first one he was old enough to remember, water temperate enough to exult in without catching cold. Their mother warned them not to be outside too long in the storm, and occupied the covered porch, observing them to make sure they heeded her will. There had been no precipitation for a while prior - he thinks there may have been a drought - so the moisture was welcome. Plashets collected in their sprawling yard, causing Mikoto Uchiha’s prized white lilies to appear as if they were emerging from small lakes. She had expressed concern that they may drown upon Sasuke’s examination of them, framing the boundary of their home, but he, in that naive viridity that small children have before the world beats it out of them, thought they were strong enough to persevere.

“I’m sure you’re right, Sasuke,” his brother had said supportively, before showing him a path that allowed a step in every puddle on their family’s grounds. They had raced to the far end of their property and back; he had clumsily fallen at the end of the first pass, getting soaked, as if he wasn’t already from the warm rain coating both of them from the ashen sky above. Mud stuck between his toes, squelching and cushioning his fall while simultaneously making him filthy. It had sloughed off so easily back then in the deluge, corroding all at once and bleeding into the mess of their yard to immediate murky liquidity.

Itachi helped him up by his left hand, getting covered in his muck before the water rinsed their digits clean, and then he was being challenged to a second sprint. Sasuke emerged victorious this time, though now, looking back with eyes that are not his own, he realizes his brother obviously let him win, trained Shinobi that he was by that point. Coming to terms with that is horrifying, because he can see now that his brother was still just a child, wisdom beyond his years be damned. Sasuke is sure Itachi would have to have killed people on missions by then, completely at odds with the soft-spoken and gentle countenance he portrayed at home.

Eventually there was enough drizzle that miniature rivers of connected pools formed, capillaries of nourishment interlacing everything. Sasuke had been fascinated by the changing landscape, until Itachi had ambled up to the porch to speak with their mother. Disappointment swept into him like a tide; he had thought that his brother didn’t want to play with him anymore. But then their mother had risen and gone indoors, and Itachi motioned for him to join him at the edge, beneath the awning.

She came back carrying a small pile of paper, which confused him. He’d watched, enthralled, as Itachi folded one of the pieces into something reminiscent of a boat, simple yet perfect.

“If you put them by the gutter, the force will push them sailing across the yard,” his brother had said; he remembers the inflection so clearly, strange because it is from a time when Itachi was young enough to have the voice of a child, so unlike the rich timbre he’d held later in life.

He had trailed after his brother to the gutter, and sure enough, the paper boat was propelled by the rain streaming down from the roof; it took off as soon as Itachi let go. Sasuke had stomped after it with approximately zero grace, mud coating him up to his ankles, until it reached the boundary fence, saturated through and less buoyant due to the barrage of droplets dampening it from above.

The absolute joy he felt, when he had sprinted back to tug on his brother’s sleeve to ask if he would show him how to make one, and he’d agreed. They’d returned to the pile of paper guarded from the elements by their mother, and Itachi showed him each step, creating another one alongside him as an example. His small hands were not very coordinated back then; his boat hadn’t turned out as nice, all wrinkled sloppiness instead of crisp, clean folds.

“You just need more practice,” Itachi had murmured. “My first one was messy, too. I’ll help you.”

Larger hands had closed around his, creating skillful creases and shaping with dexterity. The second boat turned out much better. Sasuke had given his first one to his mother, then, so she could race, too. Remembering the smile, the genuine look of motherly gratitude she’d given him, bruises something in his soul, precipitation on frail roots entombed deep; it reminds him of the struggle of swallowing a gulp of water after traipsing through the desert, dry mouth making it almost painful, a gargantuan effort that takes everything in him not to look away.

She’d followed them from the porch over to the corner eaves, staying under the cover to avoid getting drenched, and the three of them had released their creations. Sasuke thinks they had to have given him a small headstart, surrendering theirs just after his, so his boat would make it to the other end of the yard first. He’d run after it, Itachi meandering along behind him at a slower pace, while their mother stayed beneath the awning.

His brother had smiled at him as he jumped puddle to puddle in glee. They’d grabbed the now-soaked paper boats at the conclusion of their path, and brought them up to the porch to set in a pile. Then they constructed and raced more, a veritable treasure of a late morning. For his last of the day, Sasuke had tried folding one on his own again, and it turned out better than his first attempt. Though a little lopsided, it hadn’t capsized, sailing strong in the current unaided just like Itachi’s.

Their mother had made them shower and then drawn them a hot bath after, to ensure they were clean and warmed. She had parted his toes to get the mud stuck there out, soil spiraling and dissolving down the drain as he watched. He’d splashed Itachi in the bath after, and folded one more boat with a piece of paper his mother brought him, so he could see how much time it took for it to sink without getting flooded from above, an experiment in buoyancy.

She made miso soup with rice for a late lunch, with something from their aunt and uncle’s shop as a treat after, some variety of warmed pastry. Itachi had let him try his in addition to his own; Sasuke’s had been strawberry, but Itachi’s tasted of peach, gooey sweetness to top off a perfect day that wasn’t even over yet. Their mother must have made herself some tea, too; he remembers the aroma of jasmine filling the space, warmed by lamplight cast on dark wood. When she’d told Sasuke it was time for a nap, he’d become extremely sullen, because he didn’t want to sleep; he’d wanted to spend more time with his brother. It wasn’t often he was home for a full day, prodigy that he was by then and always on missions.

Itachi had surprised him. “I’ll take a nap, too. It's important to rest sometimes. You can join me, Sasuke.” His refusal morphed instantaneously to greedy acceptance. Sasuke crawled into bed with his brother in his room, huddled in the comforter for warmth as the deluge continued for hours, the dousing on their roof and peaceful breathing composing a conciliating symphony with which to lull him to sleep. Eventually he'd succumbed, tuckered out and content, though he'd tried to stay awake as long as he could so he didn't miss out on time with Itachi.

Ten year olds don't usually take naps. His brother may have feigned sleep just to get him to do as their mother wanted. That realization is trenchant, too, sharp like a blade, because it’s a cycle that would repeat itself until Itachi’s end, Sasuke never understanding until the moment had passed, always a step behind and looking backward instead of forward.

When he’d awakened later in the evening, he’d smelled food cooking, miyabi soup and some kind of grilled fish. Itachi hadn’t been beside him anymore, but after blinking groggily, his brother had appeared like an apparition in the door frame.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Sasuke.”

Drizzle is still pummeling his apartment building when he rouses in a dark bedroom, alone. No one appears in the door frame this time as he blinks unsteadily, throat choked before the silent tears come, because this memory aches, haunting his heart like some kind of drowned spectre, dripping muddy stains onto clean floors. Sasuke moves to wipe them away with his left hand, the one Itachi used to help him up from the mire, until he remembers that he doesn’t have a left hand anymore. Making a paper boat now would take twice as long.

Everything in him hurts, marcid marrow writhing in his bones as if they are dead roots that have gotten a drink after a decade spent in drought, someone trying to nurse something deceased or rotting back to life. He goes to the memorial stone under the tenebrose cover of two in the morning, but it doesn’t feel like his brother is there. All he has of him are the eyes drowning in his sockets and excruciating retrospection, intermixing with the rain soaking him outwardly.

I miss you, he thinks as he tries not to asphyxiate on the memory, hoping that his mother at least hears his thoughts here, echoed in the ponds collecting around the stone that bears her name. He has to leave eventually, because he starts picturing white lilies emerging from miniature lakes, full of life and swaying with wind and torrent, instead of cold and motionless grey granite, and he thinks he is going to start sobbing.

Sasuke returns to his apartment after the better part of an hour and stares out his living room window, nursing a miniscule cup of sencha tea, weak so as not to unsettle him too much. The weather lets up eventually, turning from a drench to a drip between the fine branches of the cherry blossom tree across the street. The puddles slowly begin to sink in, though there are remnants of dirt collected in the grooves of the pathways due to the overflow. The tree is starting to lose its petals; they float atop the collected areas of water, a hint of hope buoyant atop sorrow like a paper boat.

He isn't at all hungry, but Sakura said he should try to gain weight, so he forces down a very early breakfast of plain rice, tasteless, before he goes to rifle through the box in the closet. He averts his eyes as he lifts the lid, fumbling to turn the photo upside down without looking at it and moving it to the bottom of the container before sifting through Sakura’s letters.

He picks a favorite of his, one she wrote to him while he was passing through the Land of Savanna, the first autumn season of his journey.

Sasuke-kun,

I was so happy to see your hawk on the horizon today. I gave him some water since he had a long journey.

The way you described the grasslands changing color in Savanna was lovely. The trees are changing here, too, shedding all of their leaves and making the roads a sea of color. Naruto slipped on a scarlet one the other day coming out of Ichiraku’s. He almost dragged Hinata with him, but thankfully no one was hurt. That's providence, I suppose, though it's not a red thread.

Soon it will be the season for chestnut-flavored everything. Stout squirrels come next, and Tsukimi will be happening, too. I've only ever seen it here in Konoha and once in Sand, while we were on a mission. You'll have to tell me if the moon looks any different where you are. Don't forget to make a wish.

The air is turning crisp here, like the leaves, so I imagine it will be there, too. Please stay warm.

I miss you.

-Sakura

Sasuke comes to the realization then that he’s sitting in damp clothes, and that he is kind of cold; he hadn't thought to grab his cloak earlier, too overcome with mourning. He carefully puts the letter back, and makes the decision to take a hot shower. The heat makes him feel incrementally better, thawing him from the inside out. It also makes him realize his mouth feels dry; he’s probably dehydrated, and needs to drink more than a weakly brewed half glass of tea. He prepares another cup, stronger this time.

A mission summons arrives around nine. He uses the mirror of his bathroom to make sure he doesn't look too disheveled - the shower helped, he thinks, though he’s slightly pallid - before heading to the Hokage’s office.

He's the first one of those requested to arrive, though not by much. Naruto is sitting in his designated chair with the scroll again, looking for all intents and purposes like he just woke up.

"Teme?! Eh, really?!" The dobe turns in his chair to glare metaphorical daggers at Kakashi, who pointedly ignores him. "You're seriously not sending me with?! Bogus."

Kakashi simply inclines his head towards him, not even sparing Naruto a glance. "Sasuke. Good morning. Ready for a mission?"

He nods mutely, wondering what it could be. Naruto whines some more, but Sasuke tunes him out. There's nothing like his teammate’s complaining that grinds on him in the morning, though he’ll inwardly admit it is helping to coax him back into some sense of normalcy.

His replacement walks through the Hokage’s door next, impassive as always. He inclines his head politely at Sasuke, so he returns the gesture. Naruto heaves a sigh. "Oh, come on!"

Sai doesn't miss a beat, turning to Kakashi, absolutely devoid of any kind of emotion as he delivers Sasuke’s favorite invective. "Is Dickless not coming?"

Sasuke barely manages to suppress a snort as Naruto guffaws, launching an entire container of pens at Sai. "STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Not all of Sai's nicknames are poorly chosen. He loathes the one he has for Sakura, but Sasuke doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing Naruto’s. It improves his mood measurably.

Shikamaru Nara saunters through the doors last, looking extremely apathetic already. Shrewd eyes flick to Sasuke’s momentarily, too quickly for him to read anything from them, then to Sai’s, then to the pens Naruto is picking off the floor, before settling on Kakashi.

Interesting. So it’s the escort mission, after all.

Naruto is outright mad now, glowering but past the point of saying anything as he returns to his seat in silence. It seems he at least knows when to give up, these days.

"Now that I have you all here, I'm afraid I must break the news that this won't be a terribly exciting mission. Simple escort to Sand for our diplomat tomorrow. It may be a bit… overkill, but there will only be three of you on the return trip, and my newest batch of missions didn't have anything terribly exciting in it. It's better to complete something useful with enough time to get back in case we need you for bigger tickets next week; it can't be helped." Kakashi shrugs, before adding, "Sending Sai should shorten the trip and make it less taxing, at least, flying birds and all. Shikamaru will lead, like usual."

Kakashi goes on to disclose that they'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow. Apparently it's only a four day round trip with his replacement's jutsu involved; this means they’ll leave on Tuesday morning and be back on Friday evening, should nothing go awry. It’s not likely that it will; Suna and Konoha are strong allies at this point.

“Any questions?” Kakashi asks at the end of the briefing. Neither Shikamaru nor Sai say anything; he doesn’t, either. An escort is simple enough, especially one of a fellow Shinobi.

His old sensei smiles in a way Sasuke feels is directed mostly at Shikamaru. “Alright, then. Dismissed.”

Nara strolls lackadaisically out of the office as Sai follows. Sasuke gets the inkling that this will be a rather silent journey, between the three of them. He’s a bit thankful he hasn’t been assigned a mission with more talkative comrades, at least not for his first one back.

“Teme!” Naruto pipes up as he turns to leave as well, so Sasuke lingers. “Wanna spar this evening?”

His brows knit together while Kakashi looks between them, as if amused. Sakura has not invited him over for the evening, but he thinks of soft words yesterday anyway.

I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.

“The day before a mission? You’re stupid. Pass.” Sasuke says, both because he’s hoping to spend the twilight hours with her, too, but also because he knows it will annoy the hell out of Naruto. They really shouldn't go all out the night before one of them leaves for a mission anyways; if one of them breaks something, Sakura will be stuck fixing it, and it’s supposed to be her day off.

Naruto looks miffed, a lone blond brow twitching, so he adds, “...Saturday, early morning. If you’re even awake. Dobe. ”

Before he turns away from Naruto’s spluttering, he catches an all too knowing gleam in Kakashi’s visible eye. Sasuke is suddenly sure that their old sensei is well-acquainted with Sakura’s work schedule. He can feel the hole being burned into the back of his head by blue eyes and a single dark one as he leaves the Hokage’s office, the dobe still struggling to come up with a response to his quick refusal.

He feels marginally better as he walks leisurely back to his apartment, noting along the way that more of the puddles are already beginning to dry up.

Sasuke fixes something more substantial for lunch, since he knows Sakura will eat with Ino; a chicken curry, fragrant with garlic and ginger and carrots, poured atop rice. He doesn’t have any potatoes, so he substitutes with other produce, a unique mix for curry; bell peppers, green onions, and burdock roots. It’s not bad, but maybe he’ll pick up some potatoes when he gets back from Sand.

He is looking forward to going on a mission again, he realizes as he eats. It’s probably going to be a rather routine one - it’s not likely that they’ll face any enemies in friendly territory - but it will be good to be amongst allies again, contributing to fulfilling a purpose, however slight. Sasuke thinks maybe he should make more of an effort to interact with Sai. It appears as though he and Sakura are close, if he’s been to her apartment; Ino was there, too, he supposes, but still.

Sasuke spends the remainder of his time doing the dishes and making sure everything in his fridge is wrapped well, to ensure it doesn’t spoil in the time that he’s gone.

XXX

Sakura’s hair is damp, pink more saturated than it normally is, when he meets her on her doorstep; she must have showered. The scent of mixed berries is renewed, and suddenly he is certain that it has to be some kind of soap, perhaps a body wash. She has her single fiction book in hand.

“Hi,” she says, grinning up at him with a disarming beauty that makes his heart skip. Her hair clings to her neck when she locks her door behind her; Sasuke focuses on a ranunculus bloom instead, noticing that there are two small cuttings of the flowers missing, taken from its rear portion, until she turns back around.

“...Hi.”

“How was your morning?” She questions kindly as they make their way down the stairs and out the glass door, spring sunshine filtering in.

He blinks once as he considers how to answer. “...Fine. I had a mission briefing.”

Sakura’s lips quirk upwards. “Anything exciting?”

He exhales through his nose, a shadow of a laugh. “No. Just an escort.”

Jade eyes twinkle. “Ah, I’m guessing… Sai and Shikamaru.”

“...Kakashi might listen to your squad suggestions more than Naruto’s.”

She chuckles a little. “No, it’s just that he usually sends them for that. You must have replaced Naruto; he’s the third squad cell member, most of the time. Sai’s jutsu makes it a quicker journey, especially with Temari’s fan techniques; she can create updrafts.”

Sasuke thinks he vaguely remembers a blonde woman who is Gaara’s sister; that must be the diplomat. The sibling of the Kazekage would be well-suited for such a job.

“...Maybe I’ll find out what’s in Sand.”

She smiles while biting her lip. She’s very pretty.

“Maybe,” she finally offers cryptically.

They weave through the road on their way to the library, taking care to avoid the water still lingering; it has sunken into the earth for the most part by now.

Sasuke checks out three books this time. One is another on historical samurai, this one with more illustrations as he’d wanted. The second is a historical account of the establishment of Nunogakure, in the Land of Silk. He had passed through the country twice, and had always been interested in learning more about its history, given the establishment of its hidden village by kunoichi and their record of hostility with the ruling daimyos. The third is a fiction book about an old man at sea, suggested to him by Ichika as she scans Sakura’s books, then his.

“It’s kind of proverbial, and not terribly lengthy. You seem like the type who would like it,” the librarian offers, so he adds it to his pile. It’s not quite an old lady giving him vaguely prophesying teacups, but it sounds interesting enough. He appreciates her kindness; not everyone in Konoha gives him this particular brand of easy acceptance after the debacle that was his past. Sasuke thinks perhaps showing up with Sakura helps. Ichika looks at his empty sleeve for a long moment this time; she must not have noticed the last time he was here, the unfilled end of it hidden by the counter.

Sakura says there’s a spot towards the slope of Hokage Rock that drains off the cliff, a hill that should be dry enough to sit on, so they meander upwards. It’s on the western side, just at the juncture where the grass begins to give way to harsher stone. A wild cherry blossom tree that he spotted from a half mile away is clinging to the precipice, a bit off the beaten path. It must have sturdy roots, he thinks, reaching deep into the dirt and bedrock to give it the strength to soar upwards even here on uneven ground.

As they near it, he observes that it’s losing its petals, too, late in blooming like the one across the street from his apartment; small green buds are starting to take the flowers’ place.

They read for a bit under its branches, sprawled out on the hillside. She was right; the ground is dry here, already soaked into the soil or run off the slope. It’s not too warm or cool out, an enjoyable spring day where everything is freshly watered. The book Ichika recommended is pretty good, full of oceanic metaphors, some of which he finds unnervingly relevant. Sakura might like it; it’s written somewhat artfully. He gets about a third of the way through its pages as the sun begins to hang lower in the sky.

It’s around four when he allows his focus to wander away from his book to her. He's been leaning up against the tree, in the only spot someone could; the rest of the area by the trunk is too asperous to sit comfortably, roots twisting ruggedly, but strong. Much stronger than white lilies, hardy enough to weather even the harshest storms. Sakura is on her back a few feet away, book open above her and pink hair settled in a halo on the grass. She looks extremely comfortable, as if lying like this in the small amount of shade offered is something she does all the time. Maybe this is a place she visits often.

Her book is titled Hazel Wood; he can tell by the cover it must be fiction, but he's not sure what exactly it's about. He's thinking maybe he’ll ask her later. He's also thinking maybe he should ask if she wants to do something after this; he would like to, if she's free.

She shifts slightly, and he slides his eyes to the skyline so he doesn't get caught staring, very suddenly becoming conscious of the fact that he’s been admiring her for the better part of a few minutes. When he looks back over warily, she is picking up a stray petal and situating it between the pages, sticking out like a bookmark to mark her place. Then she regards him, smiling like she's amused.

He arches a brow, unsure what could be funny, but she's setting her closed book neatly aside and pushing afoot to close the distance between them. He tilts his head up towards her as she walks to the tree trunk, and then she's reaching out. Two fingertips skim his scalp, and then she's handing him a cherry blossom petal that evidently had been caught there.

"A bookmark, if you want one," she offers, her expression saying she is incredibly entertained.

He blinks once before taking it, lone hand brushing hers for a millisecond. He's distracted by how soft her fingertips feel again.

"...Thank you." He puts the petal in his book to mark his spot as she straightens.

Now would be an opportune time to query her evening plans, but she beats him to it. "Would you want to stop by the market quick with me and then come over for dinner?" Comely green melts into charcoal when he looks up. "I was thinking of making teriyaki atsuage and cucumber salad, but I'm out of cucumber."

His agreement is immediate, insides twisting pleasantly.

As they head down the hill together to beat the evening rush, books in hand, a single crow passes overhead, swooping low towards the center of the village extending before them.

That’s providence, he thinks, though it’s not a red thread. He stares at it like he’s seen a ghost until it disappears.

He helps her cook this time. Sakura handles the cutting and chopping while Sasuke seasons and turns the tofu as it fries in one of her pans, mixing together mirin and soy sauce to create the teriyaki dressing while she slices cucumbers and tosses them with other ingredients; she loads the salad with peanuts, sauces, garlic, and red chile flakes.

It’s another gratifying evening together. They play three rounds of chess this time, and it’s just as challenging as go; she cycles through positions intuitively, sometimes with seemingly little thought involved. Sasuke thinks she might be analyzing her next moves in her head during his turns, having a few planned out and simply narrowing it down based on whether he moves a rook or a pawn. He comes close to winning the final match, at least. With more practice, he might win once in a while.

Sakura offers to make tea again, after. He accompanies her to the kitchen, and when she opens the cupboard, his throat closes, because two new jars of loose leaf sencha from the tea shop have mysteriously appeared, one for the caffeinated shelf and one for the decaffeinated shelf.

Sakura’s expression is tentative. “I thought maybe sencha this evening. I… picked some up on my way back from lunch, earlier today.”

He nods weakly, tongue-tied and endlessly grateful.

She makes some for the both of them, finishing off her own with sugar and honey. Sasuke watches her swirl the spoon in the now fading luster of her kitchen, thinking the way she takes her tea is like her very being, so sweet.

Verdant eyes peek up at him when she walks him to her entryway, hours later. He sincerely hopes that she’s enjoying spending time with him as much as he is with her.

Then, Sakura’s voice lilts up to him, a quiet murmur, "Will you… come see me, when you get back?"

He blinks, sugar and honey pouring into him now, because it’s almost an answer to the question in his head that he hadn’t vocalized. Then his brow furrows, because maybe he’s failed at conveying that he'll spend literally any amount of time with her that she allows him. Sasuke knows his communication skills aren’t the best, and he has never been in any sort of romantic relationship, so everything is new territory, stunted by his lack of practice.

Her gaze flits away from him. "Just… so I know you're okay."

Oh. She means coming to see her right after debriefing, so she'll know he's returned safe. Something pleasant pools in his belly, sinking to the extremities in a way that feels nurturing. He realizes he is taking too much time to respond; she looks nervous.

"I will."

Jade centers back on him, reassured now, and he's not sure how he's going to go four days without it, this limitless green that soothes him to no end.

"Oh. Good. Thank you." Her expression changes to one that is considerably more relaxed, a tender look directed upwards that he has never seen her wear for anyone else.

Sasuke presses his lips to hers for a long time before he departs, a soft goodbye he’s hoping will convey all the words that are caught in his throat, gratitude and affection that have been stewing there since they were thirteen.

He thinks he feels love press back from hers, a delicate flickering that makes him ache, and perhaps providence. Sugar and honey, too. Sweetness doesn’t hurt him like the recall of pastries does, when it’s experienced secondhand like this.

XXX

The mission goes smoothly. Sai's jutsu does speed things up considerably, and the Sand delegate, Temari, uses her giant fan to give them a boost in places that are lacking in higher gales. He rides with Sai on the way there, while Shikamaru and Temari drift on the other; Sasuke thinks the separation must be so she can use the jutsu, strategically getting behind his replacement's bird to give him a boost before Sai can control it and have theirs catch the subsequent updraft, too.

Sasuke and Shikamaru fulfill lookout roles, him scanning ahead and Shikamaru scanning behind. It is refreshing to see the land from above, giving way from forests to grasslands to the beginnings of desert edges. He finds himself thinking about what his hawk saw, all of the times he brought correspondence to and from Sakura. It’s not as hot this way, traveling through the air with breeze ripping around them, though they make an effort to stay hydrated, still.

Sai is quiet, but Sasuke is, too, so he can't knock him for it. He wonders, scanning the horizon for the upteenth time, if Sai knows what's in Sand that interests their squad leader. He would have to, dating Ino, but he doesn't feel comfortable asking him something like that.

They spend most of the first day in relative silence, only spying a single squad of comrade ninja from Suna traveling hundreds of feet below them, just leaving the desert. Towards the end of it, as they finally cross into the first area that is truly all sand as far as the eye can see, Sai surprises him by speaking.

"Beautiful says Ugly is stupid happy that you've returned. I am certain that Dickless is, too."

The effect the words have on him is a little jarring and complex. There is the immediate familiar disdain for Sai’s inaccurate nickname for Sakura, intermixed with immature amusement at Naruto's epithet. A feeling of brotherhood follows, and his heart blooming with something tender, vines twisting or perhaps not-so-dead roots getting another drink. Stupid happy doesn’t sound like a phrase common to Sai’s vernacular, leading him to believe it was Ino’s exact wording, likely after spending the morning with Sakura yesterday.

He thinks it over as they soar over the last bit of terrain for the day, sorting through the different emotions. His answer isn't hesitant; it just takes preparation for him to muster the gall to vocalize it to someone he's not terribly close to.

"...I am, too." It’s an understatement.

XXX

They arrive back in Konoha on Friday evening, as scheduled. No issues, just more lookout duty and enjoyable wind offering relief from the heat. Peacetime is nice; anyone they saw to or from Sand was an ally, no foes. They only utilize one of Sai’s creations on the return trip, Shikamaru still observing the rear but this time atop the same bird as them. It’s a slightly longer trip, without the diplomat to speed things up, but they still make good time.

It's a bit after six when they leave Kakashi’s office, mission report paperwork folded neatly into his satchel. Naruto wasn't there; Sasuke assumes he's either been sent on a mission or has gone home for the day already. He supposes he’ll find out tomorrow, if a banging erupts on his apartment door after sunrise. It must have stormed again recently; the soil is damp, and everything is faintly greener than it was before.

He finds he missed it, the smell just after it rains that was decidedly not present in Suna, even if it does bring hard memories.

“Good work,” Shikamaru says simply to both of them as they step outside, ready to go their respective ways. It’s not necessary for him to say it, but Sasuke appreciates the acknowledgement. He’s aware it is probably not easy to trust him, after everything. Not everyone has the same confidence in him as Team Seven does.

Sai nods towards Shikamaru, then turns to him.

"Tell Ugly I say hi." His tone sounds almost kind as he turns to part ways from them in the street. Shikamaru glances at Sasuke for an instant, expression not containing an ounce of surprise, but he doesn't say anything as he turns to head the other way.

Tentatively, Sasuke starts out in the direction of Sakura’s apartment. She should be home right now, if she didn’t stay late at the hospital. He wonders as he gets closer if maybe he should wait a bit; she might be in the middle of cooking, or eating dinner.

He wants to see her, though. He's missed her greatly, and she did say to come by; he tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

Soon he's knocking on a sage green door that is beginning to look familiar. The plants are still damp indoors, too; maybe it rained as recently as this morning. It has to have been overcast for a good portion of the day, for the sunlight through the diamond window to not have dried the moisture from her watering them just yet.

Sakura opens the door wearing a smile; it grows wider upon seeing it's him, like she can’t help it.

His heart skips a beat when she says his name. "Sasuke-kun."

"Sakura."

She steps aside while holding the door open, a silent invitation for him to come in, so he does. He stands in her entryway uncertainly for a second, until she offers, "I'm making tenmusu; there's enough for two. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Everything in him relaxes, any and all ambiguity dried by her kindness in an instant. "...I would. Thank you."

Little flecks of gold shimmer in the lamplight, facets atop something burgeoning with warmth. There is love there, in her eyes and upturned lips. He wonders if she can see it in his, if she has any idea of the true gravity of his feelings for her, all of the things that flare to life in his belly at the mere thought of time spent here.

It’s a break in routine, but there is something he would really like to do, something he has been working up the courage for over the past few days, so he takes the risk, pulse quickening; he hasn't kissed her anything but farewell yet, really, aside from their first, which was somewhere in the middle.

It is better than he imagined, vespertine devotion saying hello rather than goodbye. He skims the freckle on her cheek again as his lips brush hers, hand tender against her skin and silky pink locks. When she leans into his touch, he finds himself wishing there was a way for his soul to graze hers, to tell her the utterly selfish thing he wished for after her letter so many moons ago. Sakura’s soul would be warm to the touch, he thinks, like freshly-brewed tea or the flux of a summer monsoon, but much more illimitable, and endlessly ardent.

Her hands on his shoulders are becoming a familiar weight, grounding him like the roots of her namesake.

When they part, she blinks up at him once, and then suddenly her arms are wrapping around his center instead of his shoulders, pulling him close. His heart swells, and he hooks his lone arm around her waist.

She smells like home, he realizes. "...Tadaima," he murmurs against her hair.

"Okaeri," she responds, soft and sweet against his chest.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #2nd longest chapter to date idk how it got this long it just kinda happened lmao #also the paper boats scene was like one of the first four passages i wrote that ultimately became this fic #anyways that's providence

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jojoboisimagines · 4 years ago

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Josuke x Reader :: Promposal :: Ch. 5

previous chapter next chapter

summary: A strange new transfer student has enrolled in Budogaoka High School. Josuke falls head over heels for her, but has a limited time to win her over before the school prom.

.::.

The accusations thrown at Josuke by his baffled mother were hard to listen to, especially with your face practically burning from it and hearing only ringing in your ears from the shock alone and having to sit in the midst of the two arguing. You decided your best bet was to hurry, pack your stuff and leave. You’d maybe call him later to let him know why you left and tell him that your time together was great, lest he get the wrong idea.

It was easy to sneak past them. They did seem like the types to block everything else out when stubborn. Perhaps that's why some considered him and his friends delinquents.

.::.

About an hour later, you found yourself dialing Josuke’s number (or well, his house number) while lazily lying on the bed of your temporary apartment. He had written it at the bottom of his love letter, which you actually bothered to keep amongst all the other ones.

“Yeah, I see. Thanks for calling me instead of just leaving me hangin’.”

“No problem...I’ll see you tomorrow at school. Sorry for any trouble I’ve caused.”

“No no”, he was quick to disagree, “It’s fine, my mom just gets fussy like that sometimes, its not your fault at all. To be fair I should’ve been paying more attention.”

You frowned. He shouldn’t have blamed himself. You weren’t being entirely courteous as a guest either to fall asleep on him like that. He spoke up before you could say anything about it.

“Did you have fun though---er, get a good study in? I know I did. Cleared up a lot of stuff I was missin’ during class. Thanks a lot for that!” You could hear the grin in his voice. Admittedly, he had a nice voice to listen to. But you convinced yourself that was just a supplementary compliment rather than you starting to have a school girl crush on him like the rest of his groupies.

You wondered what drew them to him in the first place. Was it his hair? It would seem like he’d take pride in having groupies if it was for that reason, being so uptight about his hairstyle and all. Yet he would always look so annoyed whenever they came up to him, so that probably wasn’t the reason. His personality? No, they hardly let him get a word in whenever they bombard him. His height?

...Fair assumption.

“Hey, (Y/N), you there?”

Crap, had you been spacing out?

“Yeah, I’m here.” You replied, rubbing your eyes.

“Do you have time tomorrow for ice cream after school? Its totally cool if you’re not, I understand.”

You did have a bit of studying to do to keep your grades up (and to keep up appearances, but that was less important) but keeping Josuke happy in your friendship did also mean something to you. Skipping one study session wouldn’t be that much of a deal, you could skim through it once you get home anyway.

“Oh no no, I’m down for it.”

Josuke’s tone noticeably turned up an octave after hearing that. “Cool! You wanna come by my house or I’ll come by yours?”

After saying he could pick you up from your own house (especially thinking about how Tomoko would react) he joyfully lets out a ‘sweet!’ and you exchange your goodbyes before hanging up.

One thing you could safely say about Josuke at this point is that he was certainly...interesting. If you had to weigh your options between giving everyone that sent you a letter an opportunity to court you and just only giving Josuke a chance for the time being, the latter set well with you far more.

.::.

Classes had passed by rather quickly. It almost seemed like a blur but you didn’t mind it. At first the thought of instantly going home and looking over the notes you took to refresh your memory came into your head, before Josuke and Okuyasu voices behind you made you realize what you had planned already. You had recognized the other two, but hadn’t bothered to hold a single conversation with either of them.

As far as you knew, they were just ‘the guy who looks like he’s still in elementary’ and ‘the guy that looks like he’s committed a crime before’.

However you would withhold your assumptions for the time being and attempt to get to know them truthfully. They seemed excited to see you, anyway.

“Glad to see you waited for us (y/n!)” Josuke happily said.

You didn’t really. But you forced a smile as if you did anyway.

Josuke stopped behind you and contemplated putting an arm around you like he would his other buddies, but decided against it, thinking maybe the two of you weren’t at that point yet. You didn’t exactly seem like the touchy type either. Instead his hand firmly rested on your shoulder, his face offering a kind, genuine smile towards you.

Gesturing toward his friends, he began to introduce them. “(Y/n), this is Okuyasu Nijimura and Koichi Hirose. They’ve kinda been excited to meet ya ever since we started hanging out.” Josuke lets out quite the cute chuckle as his free hand finds itself sheepishly behind his neck now.

“Yo!” Okuyasu was quick to greet you with quite possibly the biggest grin you’ve seen anyone sport since you’ve gotten to this country. Koichi on the other hand seemed a little more calm and reserved, saying a simple ‘hello!’ with a wave.

They didn’t seem too bad now as you had thought before, but you’d keep your eye on them. After the introduction Josuke had mentioned that itd be wise to get to the ice cream truck as soon as possible, seeing that it might leave the neighborhood soon. You still were a bit unfamiliar with the area, so you followed behind the other three and let them lead the way.

.::.

When the four of you finally arrived to the spot of the parked vehicle, you had just noticed that you’d tuned out the conversation that was had on the way here. Now that you think about it, Okuyasu was pretty swift to wrap an arm around his taller friend’s shoulder and immediately start talking about something else. Maybe it was just your imagination, but you had thought Josuke would’ve been inclined to talk to you during the brief walk. That’s what you were invited for, right? Or is this just what he does with all his friends?

The lack of attention didn’t bother you that badly, as you’re generally used to it, but you still couldn’t help but wonder.

You had walked up to the window to get your own ice cream, before Koichi promptly stopped you, pulling out his own wallet.

“Hey, I can pay for your ice cream for you!”

You blinked, not exactly sure how you were supposed to respond to that. “It’s alright, you don’t have to.”

“No I insist! Don’t worry about it okay?” The small boy smiled at you, a face that was pretty hard for you to resist. Giving a slight nod, he proceeded to pay for it. You did get the biggest size they offered though, who’s to say you couldn’t after he graciously agreed to pay?

You and Koichi walked back to the others, already sitting down in the park with the ice creams and chatting. As you were making your way over there, Josuke looked back at the two of you, his happy grin melding into a guilty wide-eyed frown.

He turned back around when you and his other friend walked past the bench he and Okuyasu sat on to go to another one across from them. Without even glancing at him, you started to eat your ice cream. From the corner of your eye you could see the pompadoured teen lightly tap his clueless friend, motioning them to move to the same bench you and Koichi were.

Trying to prevent things from becoming awkward, Josuke immediately started talking to you as he sat down. “So, (Y/n), is that your favorite flavor?”

You nodded, not trying to get distracted from your melting ice cream.

“Cool, I like that flavor too. I really really like strawberry though, especially the kind they have at the truck.”

“Strawberry’s a good flavor.” Okuyasu chimed in. “But Koichi likes nasty shit, like pistachio. Bleh!” He stuck his tongue out to emphasize his disgust. The shorter teen was slightly offended.

“Hey, its good with the right toppings! At least I don’t bombard my ice cream with everything, if you’re careless like that, you’ll get a cavity!”

Oku dismissively waved his hand. “Whatever. I’ll just go to Tonio’s again and it’ll be good as new, so there’s no problem!” He grinned.

Koichi sighed, and you were left wondering what kind of place “Tonio’s” was.

“Oh right, we need to take (Y/n)-chan there someday!” Josuke added. “Maybe we should do a little tour thing of Morioh for you, would you like that?”

You happily nodded, almost at the end of your ice cream. The three of them had gotten along so naturally

Eventually everyone else got done with theirs and began to throw everything away. Koichi had started on his way home, saying that he was going to start on his studying before his goodbye. Thinking you should do the same, Josuke walked in front of you.

“Hey me and Okuyasu are gonna hang at my house, so we can walk you home first okay?”

“Okay.” Probably the first time you said something in about an hour. You saw Okuyasu about to walk up with Josuke again, but was stopped immediately and whispered something by Josuke. After which, he hung behind the two of you for the remainder of the walk.

When your apartment was reached, The boys asked if you enjoyed yourself and you happily responded with yes and that you’d love to hang out again, before going up the stairs and waving goodbye.

The two of them stood there for a while, making sure you were safe up until you got inside the house. As you closed the door, Josuke let out a groan and his head sunk into his hands. Okuyasu, obviously concerned by this, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Bro? You okay?”

Jojo shook his head. “Ughh..I can’t believe I let that happen. She must’ve felt so left out. I didn’t even pay enough attention that Koichi paid for her stuff..god..That didn’t look good at all.”

“Hey, you’re not obligated to treat her like a queen or anythin’. You’re still just friends right now right?” He tried to reassure his downtrodden friend.

“Yeah but...I still feel like a dick. I invited her there..Plus there’s also the fact that she’s got a limited time here in Morioh..” His blue eyes widened after saying that statement, the realization just now hitting him. It was so silent all the boys could hear was the slight breeze ruffling the trees.

“Huh, now that I think about it, why are you tryin’ to woo someone who’s a transfer student? Seems kinda rough to get someone to fall for you in a few weeks...unless you’re Yukako.”

“Goddammit Okuyasu, I don’t get to choose who I fall in love with!”

His fist balled up again, lips going dry as he resented saying things before thinking about them first.

“Woah...Josuke..”

Before he could say anything else, the teens noticed a slight shift in the window blinds where a light was on in your apartment.

‘Holy crap, i hope thats not her, i’d shit myself if it is!’

“C-C’mon Okuyasu, lets get out of here, I-I’ll race you!” He bolted down the sidewalk in the direction of his house, with his best friend in tow.

It was you who had peeked out the window from your living room, but only because you were startled by the sound of someone shouting. You didn’t see anyone when you fully pulled the blinds back, must’ve been your imagination. Putting the window back as it was, you returned to your studying.

#josuke x reader #Josuke Higashikata #josuke imagine #josuke higashikata x reader #jjba x reader #jjba imagine #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken

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nazyalenskyism · 3 years ago

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Let’s Get Married 1

Summary: A Zoyalai modern AU with fake dating in latter parts.

Ao3: Let’s Get Married

Excerpt: He raised a brow, easing back in his chair, “can I help you?”

“What’s this?” Genya exclaimed without any preamble, grabbing a paper off the top of the stack in David’s hands and slapping it onto his desk.

“Paper, I assume, darling Genya.”

“I mean what’s on the paper,” she snapped, “it says you’re married.”

“That sounds great. See you at noon tomorrow. Yes, Madraya I know how to get to the Palm Court. Yes, I promise I won’t be late. Okay, I’ll see you soon.” Nikolai gently placed the receiver into the cradle before dropping his head into his hands. He was lucky that it was a Friday evening, the firm was empty which meant no one was around to witness this. He was nestled away in his favourite hidden corner in the law library which was the perfect place to get his work done, though he wondered how productive he would be now that he had to create a game plan for the following day. He was practiced in making sure his mother didn’t spill any secrets which was often the result of wanting to spite his father and one too many drinks, but no matter how good he thought he was his mother always managed to surprise him. And then there was the matter of his brother and father. He wanted nothing more than for them to burn with their continual mistakes, but he couldn’t. Whether it was out of some strange sense of loyalty to people who only made his life more difficult or to protect his mother who always stood silent at their sides when they tormented him, he didn’t know.

The only thing he did know was that he was about 15 hours away from another lunch with his mother and her gossiping group of friends where his father would decide not to show up at the last minute because Vasily wanted to go golfing in the Hamptons where they would undoubtedly spend the rest of the weekend philandering. Another weekend where his mother pretended she didn’t know what was happening, deciding to drop as much money as she could manage, just to irritate her husband. Then it would be Monday again, where Nikolai was left to pick up the pieces from the damage that his family caused, wishing that he could close his eyes and disappear off the face of the Earth for just a second if it meant he could be left without responsibility over people who didn’t care about him.

“What are you doing?” From between the shelves stepped out another lawyer, not just any other lawyer, it was Zoya. Zoya Nazyalensky was a talented lawyer who had joined the firm a few years after he had, right out of law school. She was skilled, hardworking, and an expert in making the most egotistical men shrink by simply raising her brow. They had worked a few cases together over their time at the firm, but more often than not, they had their separate cases that they chose to work on together. Most days they could be found in each others’ offices, working silently for hours with only occasional requests for advice or lunch orders. Despite all the time they spent working together, Nikolai, who considered himself something of an expert when it came to others’ feelings, had no idea if Zoya actually liked him or if she simply put up with him because he was the least terrible person at work. He always welcomed her company though.

“What are you doing here so late?”

She raised a brow before crossing the space and sinking into the couch cushions next to him. “I could ask you the same thing. In fact, I just did.”

“I’m putting some things together before the weekend.”

“Was your phone call that bad?”

Nikolai wanted to wince, “you heard that?”

“You were on speaker.”

“Saints, as if I needed that broadcast to the entire firm.”

“Oh, there’s no one here. You and I are the only ones left,” she said as she pulled off her high heels and curled her legs onto the couch.

“You haven’t answered my question, why are you still here?”

“You first.”

He sighed, she’d already heard the entirety of his conversation with his mother, it’s not like he could ruin her image of him further. “The sooner I go home, the sooner the reality of tomorrow will hit me.”

“Is getting tea with your mother really that bad?” she asked almost hesitantly.

Nikolai threw his head back, “I love my mother, but these luncheons usually involve my father ditching at the last minute to go and break his wedding vows, while my mother pretends she doesn’t know what’s happening

“And you have to go?”

“Someone has to make sure she gets home in one piece, and I trust her friends as far as they can throw me.”

“Isn’t the saying that you trust them as far as you can throw them?”

“I excel at everything I do, naturally but they can’t say the same.”

“Ah, I see.”

They sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again, her tone hushed as if speaking any louder would shatter the calm. “Is that why you don’t work for your father?”

Nikolai exhaled, “that’s a part of it.” His father was C.E.O of Ravkan Industries, and unlike his brother, Nikolai hadn’t joined the family business right out of highschool. Make no mistake, he wanted to be a part of the company, he knew he needed to be a part of it to spare the world of further misguided leadership from his family. It pained him, but they were the worst thing to happen to the company, and he often feared that he was the only person who could stop the trainwreck that was his family from derailing.

She nodded, “I know a thing or two about bad families.” Her legs had been drawn up to her chest, and she rested her head against her knees, eyes trained on him, “I can’t speak about anyone else, but your brother is definitely a jackass.”

“You’re right, I’m sure everyone who’s ever met him agrees. Speaking of which, when did you?”

“I came to your office a few weeks ago looking for you. He was waiting for you, gave me a sleazy once-over and asked me out. He got offended when I said no, and I told him that I didn’t date men who look like the Walmart versions of their younger brothers.”

Nikolai shook his head in amusement, “I’m surprised I haven’t heard him complaining about that. You must have really wounded his ego.”

“What,” Zoya said, fixing him with the withering glare she dished out when someone was being incompetent, “like it’s hard?”

“Ooh,” Nikolai groaned, rubbing a hand over his chest, “glad I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of those.”

She gave him a small smile, picking at a loose thread at her sleeve, “how do you usually spend your Saturdays when you’re not cleaning up their messes?”

“Go on a run, get pastries and coffee from the bakery across the street, read a book with my cat, catch up on some shows…”

“That sounds…. surprisingly pleasant.”

“ What did you think I got up to?”

“I don’t know… peach picking or something?”

“Aren’t you allergic to peaches?”

Zoya looked startled for a second, “yeah, how did you know that?”

“That time that we helped Genya with her groceries because she broke her leg? You weren’t paying attention and grabbed them, 10 minutes later you got hives.”

The look she gave him was intense and assessing, had he said something wrong? As much as he liked to think he knew how everyone operated, Zoya Nazyalensky was a bit of an enigma to him still. “What about you? What are you doing tomorrow?” he said in an attempt to maintain the conversation.

“I’ll go on a run with my dog, get breakfast, do some work, get some flowers and do my laundry. The usual.”

“Have you ever had lunch at the Palm Court?”

“No, but my aunt took me to the champagne bar when I graduated,” her smile was small, “it was the nicest night I’ve ever had.”

“I can’t promise that tomorrow will be anything less than a disaster, but would you like to accompany me to lunch?”

Zoya fiddled with the chain around her neck, fingers running over the seams of the locket, as if she was contemplating opening it. “Would it be proper?”

“You said it yourself, you have nothing else to do tomorrow morning, you’ll get a ridiculously expensive and delicious lunch for free.”

“But wouldn’t I be intruding?”

“My father’s going to cancel at the last minute, remember?”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. He always does, and he is nothing if not a creature of habit.” His phone rang at that exact moment, “like clockwork,” he murmured. “Hello.”

“Tell your mother that I can’t make lunch tomorrow, Vasya and I are going golfing.” The line cut before Nikolai could reply, not that he’d been planning on it.

“So, Nazyalensky, are we on for afternoon tea then?”

She sighed, “fine. But it better be as tasty as you’re saying it is.”

“It’s absolutely heavenly. The Dom Pérignon really brings out the subtle undertones in the Pistachio Dacquoise Cake. And the Devonshire cream is absolutely to die for.”

“I didn’t understand half of that.”

“Don’t worry, after the first time, you’ll be begging that we go back.”

She raised a brow, “is that a challenge, Lantsov?”

He grinned, “when is it not?”

“This is a pity lunch, I’m not going because I actually care about you.”

Nikolai nodded understandingly, “of course, of course. This is strictly a pity invite too, since this brunch will definitely be more entertaining than a Saturday spent at home.”

“Great. So we’re on the same page then,” her smile was sharp and Nikolai felt his blood rush at the sight. Maybe tomorrow would be bearable.

***

“Anything I need to know before we go in?” Zoya crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at the façade of the infamous hotel the following morning, suppressing the urge to run home. Was she nervous? For what? To meet Nikolai’s mother? No, that couldn’t be it. She was nervous to lose her bet with him, that was it. He had called her early this morning to make sure that the terms of the bet were solidified, if she fell in love with any of the food, she had to accompany him to any future lunches, whenever he asked. If she won, he had to accompany her to any errands she wanted. She had thought about making him assemble all of her IKEA furniture for the foreseeable future on the way here and had nearly bumped into him while she daydreamed about him carrying her groceries every week.

“If a question doesn’t feel like a trap, then it is one. If it feels like it’s a trap, then it’s definitely a trap. If it feels like someone is fishing for a response, then that’s a trap.”

“So, everything is a trap?”

“Exactly!”

“And you do this every month?”

“More like every two weeks.”

“Saints,” she swore, “and you don’t get sick of the food or company?”

“Well, they do let a little bit too much slide about their husbands’ schedules, most of them are on the board of my father’s company, and if I can get on their good sides they might vote for me over Vasily to take over one day.”

“You’re always playing the long game, aren’t you?”

Nikolai raised a brow, “and you’re not? We both know your ‘favourite hangout spots’ are coincidentally the same places where you can poach clients from Fjerdan Holdings.”

“Wait,” Zoya frowned, ignoring him completely. “If your father and Vasily are both skipping, who else did you invite? I'm taking your father’s place and what about Vasily’s?”

“I’m honoured you think I’d be invited in the first place.”

“You’re not invited?”

“Only when Vasily cancels, which is every time.”

“They really don’t invite you to family lunches?”

“I’m something of a problem child to them.”

“Nikolai,” she said and he could feel her gaze on him, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Zoya. I’m sure.”

“Let’s get moving then, we’re about to be late.”

“Ruthless as always,” Nikolai sighed, pushing open the door.

“Punctual, as always,” Zoya retorted, following him through the lobby, “you should take a lesson or two from me on showing up on time.”

“Never heard of fashionably late, Nazyalensky?”

“That’s just an excuse people with no dress sense use to justify their inability to choose a functional outfit.”

“Ruthless.”

“Honest.”

***

“Kolya!”A blonde woman dressed in beige exclaimed, beckoning him over before pulling him down into a hug . Zoya looked down at her pale blue dress, was she too colourful for brunch? But no, Nikolai’s dress shirt was the same colour as her dress, surely that meant that it was okay. She’d forgotten the ultra-rich nature of Nikolai’s family and the way that high society acted. Sure she made good money at work, but this world, the world of her clients, was something else. She’d grown up eating lunchables when she’d lived with her parents, while she suspected that he had never eaten anything that wasn’t prepared by a gourmet chef before he went to university.

“Madraya, this is my friend, Zoya,” he said, pulling away, “she’s the one I told you would be joining us this morning.”

“Thank you for having me,” she smiled, trying to put on her most charming persona, The Nikolai, as she liked to call it.

Nikolai’s mother shook her hand enthusiastically, “Zoya, this is Svetlana, Kolya’s auntie. Please! Sit, sit.” The other woman assessed her slowly from head to toe and Zoya shot her a cool glance, a challenge, to which Svetlana turned away from. Off to a great start.

Zoya reached to pull out her chair, faltering when she felt someone else’s on top of hers. “Your jacket,” Nikolai whispered, “I can take it.”

She stared at him. What? She went rigid as Nikolai helped her out of her coat, the warmth of his fingers brushing against her skin, making her thoughts freeze too.

“You alright, Nazyalensky?” he murmured in her ear as he pulled her chair out for her. “You should stop staring, it’s rude.”

She rolled her eyes at him, whatever spell had fallen over her was broken now, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he winked in return, but she could see the surprise on his face. Did he really think she was so ruthless that she had no manners?

“So Kolya, tell us about how you and Zoya met!”

***

Lunch was rather mild, and nowhere near as horrific as Nikolai has mentioned. In fact, it was pleasant, certainly much more enjoyable than any meal she’d had with her own mother. Nikolai’s mother cared for him in her own vapid way, and once Nikolai had reiterated that Zoya was not his girlfriend, Svetlana had thawed considerably, both of the women asking her about her clothes, work, and life. The lies came easily, they always did when it came to her family. She wasn’t embarrassed by her past but she saw no value in mentioning the people who had conceived her but had done nothing more than that. Zoya was also not in the mood to be pitted by these women, and she spun them a web of what they wanted to hear. A girl from a rich family who grew up doing all of the things they had.

She told them details from trips she had always dreamt of taking with her aunt but that they’d never been able to afford, easily replying to their inquiries of, “oh, I love Paris! When you went, did you eat at the cafe 3 blocks east of the Louvre? With the 100 year old bakery? It’s a must!” with an exact order of their most deep-menu items. Zoya smiled as they tittered on about the delicacies, as if an evening dining there didn’t cost more than what a month’s worth of groceries had cost as a child. To them her weekends were spent at tennis practice at the local country club instead of split between doing homework, working at her aunt's cafe and in the mail room at the law firm across the street to earn a little money. She didn’t say this explicitly of course, but she didn’t deny it either when they acted like she shared their experiences.

She’d never spoken to Nikolai about her past, nothing beyond the fact that she was raised by her aunt and that she had a younger cousin. He’d never asked, not out of a lack of interest in her, she knew that— but out of understanding that she didn’t particularly care to share that information. In the world in which she now found herself, anyone that deviated from the norm was looked down upon and she refused to be a source of entertainment for them.

The conversation quickly turned away from her however, with a few carefully timed lines from Nikolai. He brought up childhood memories of his own that made everyone laugh, recounting his numerous hijinks through the years. He told stories about the more interesting cases he and Zoya had worked on recently, his flow pausing naturally to let her throw in her own banter as well. She learned of the multiple times Nikolai had nearly burnt their beach house down, how he once “accidentally” lured a hoard of sheep to chase his brother when they were visiting Scotland, and how he was the youngest in his highschool graduating class, finishing at 15 before going to university, and then sailing around the world for a year.

As enjoyable as seeing Nikolai’s nose scrunch when his mother recounted a particularly adorable story was, by the time the desserts rolled around, Zoya felt fatigued. How did Nikolai do this all the time? When he wasn’t charming his family he was charming clients, coworkers, whoever he needed to. She had enjoyed the afternoon a lot more than she had anticipated, especially the food which was heavenly, like he’d said. But in the end she was adamant not to admit defeat to Nikolai even if it meant more meals like this. She would rather stab herself with the salad fork than admit he was right— or was that the dessert fork? Why were there so many forks? She was granted a bit of a reprieve when the ladies saw another group of their friends and decided to go chat with them at their table. Then it was just her and Nikolai, who had gone unusually quiet and was staring at her empty plate quite critically. “What’s wrong?”

***

Nikolai had been right, inviting Zoya to lunch had been a great idea, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d genuinely enjoyed one of these lunches. She had been brilliant, with the way that she handled all of their questions and discussed topics that interested them, the way that she’d chimed in at the perfect moments in his stories to add a little detail that made the anecdote even better. Everything had gone better than he could’ve imagined, except for the fact that it looked like he might be losing their bet, and after today, he didn’t think he would hate these lunches if Zoya were attending them with him.

Af first he’d been genuinely worried that she wasn’t enjoying herself since her reaction to the food had been muted, but the longer he watched her the more he was able to figure out exactly what was going on. He knew she wasn’t touching the desert tower because she knew that it would be her downfall. Most of the sweets were exactly of her taste and she was desperate not to lose to him. What had she intended on making him do if he lost that she was fighting so hard to win?

“Try it,” Nikolai mumbled, pointing at the tea tower, “it’s delicious.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “you’ve said that about everything so far.”

“I’m serious, Nazyalensky. You’re going to love this.”

“I’m going to love it, or you’re convinced I should love it so that you win?”

Nikolai pulled a face, “why can’t it be both? Come on, it’s a dark chocolate cherry custard, that’s pretty much all of your favourite foods.”

Zoya peered at the dessert as if she was holding herself back, “it does look slightly edible…”

Saints, she would do anything to beat him, wouldn’t she? Nikolai smothered his grin, holding out a spoonful of the custard to her, “you know you want to try it.”

She let out an exasperated breath, taking the bite. Her eyelashes fluttered as she tasted it and she turned to him, scowling, “damnit, that’s so good.”

“I won’t say I told you so, Zo,” he laughed, as she smacked his shoulder with one hand, the other wielding a spoon that was digging into the custard on his plate. She hated that nickname.

“Well, Nik, or should I say Nikky? Or Niko? Or Nikola? Or--”

“Ah, that’s enough, dear,” Nikolai groaned, he definitely had worse nicknames.

“Whatever you say, Kolya.”

“Who would’ve guessed that brunch Zoya was a gloater?” His tone was teasing as he leaned in, brushing the bottom of her lip with his thumb to get rid of a chocolate smudge. “I certainly figured you were the modest type,” he trailed off, realizing what he’d done.

“Me and gloat don’t belong in the same sentence,” Zoya said, but her voice was low and her eyes were trained on his fingers. Nikolai repressed the urge to sit on his hands or flee from the table, but she said nothing and neither did he.

“Kolya, sweetheart, be a dear and wait for your father’s card.” His mother was back. Nikolai shot out of his seat, walking over to her. “We’ll be down the street at Svetlana’s daughter’s boutique. Zoya, hon, are you coming with us?”

“Oh, I’ll just wait with Nikolai,” Zoya smiled.

“Of course, dear.” His mother then pulled him aside, “you should bring your girlfriend around more often. It’s been so long since you’ve brought someone home.”

Nikolai looked at her, bewildered, “girlfriend? Zoya’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends. Not even friends, coworkers is probably a better descriptor for our fully platonic relationship.” Was he rambling? He felt like he was rambling.

Instead of replying his mother simply patted his cheek with an infuriatingly knowing look before she followed her friends out of the dining room. Nikolai shook his head out, walking back to Zoya as they waited.

“ ‘Not even friends?’I have to admit, that’s probably the best thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” Zoya said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I was just taken aback,” Nikolai protested, “of course we’re friends, okay,” he said, raising his hands in surrender at her pointed glare, “I consider us friends at least, I don’t invite strangers to the brunch from hell.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she scoffed, flicking a piece of lint from his lapel absently. “The food was good, and they were nice enough.”

“Oh, they’re not nice at all,” he laughed, turning to take the card from the approaching waiter, “you just knew how to handle them.”

“I suppose I’ve spent enough time with clients like them to know how to act,” she frowned, “I didn’t really have to think about it.”

“That makes you a perfect fit in their social circle,” he winked, holding the door open for her, “you’re clever enough to outsmart them all, they can’t get anything from you unless you want them to have it.”

“I thought being clever was your brand?”

“I’m okay with having a worthy companion in that bracket.” Nikolai jested, surprised when she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they began their way down the street. She probably just needed to keep her balance, he couldn’t imagine navigating the cobblestone path in the high heels she was wearing. He couldn’t recall her ever wearing anything but heels, now that he thought about it. Perhaps she would require further assistance walking in the future, he didn’t think he would mind that.

“But really,” she said, tilting her head up to look at him, “you’ve never thought about us?”

Nikolai turned away for a second, unsure of what exactly to say, and when he turned back to her, she was already looking away. “I can’t say I have. To be fair, I didn’t think you liked me until yesterday, or that you considered us friends until today.”

“Of course we’re friends,” she scowled, punching his bicep with her free hand, “we’ve been friends for years, you dolt. You think I waste my free time on people I can’t be bothered to tolerate?”

“Oh.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “yes, oh. I always knew I was smarter than you but this is pathetic on your part, Lantsov. What did you think when I gave you that scarf for Christmas?”

“I thought you were just being nice?”

She groaned, “take that back. I’ve never been nice a day in my life.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes before she spoke, “you really didn’t think, ‘hey, we do our work together at the office, we have the same friends, and I’m the only person in the office that Zoya hasn’t threatened to throw out the 29th floor window? so maybe that means something?’”

“You threatened to throw me out the second floor window 3 days into working at the firm.”

“Exactly!” she nodded, “you would probably survive that fall. That was essentially me telling you I didn’t hate you that much.”

“You work in mysterious ways, Nazyalensky.”

“Hold on,” Zoya put out a hand to stop him, “your collar is up.” She stepped towards him, fingers brushing his neck as she folded the fabric, her gaze intent upon him.

“If it weren’t for my newfound knowledge that you consider us friends, I would think you were considering strangling me.” Nikolai laughed, feeling her pause in her movements.

“That can certainly be arranged,” she teased, smoothing out the lapels of his coat, her hands resting on his chest for a second. Her eyes met his and she looked away quickly towards the boutique, freezing when she saw the occupants staring out the window at them. “Why are they looking at us like that?” Zoya murmured.

“I think that Svetlana thought she could get me to marry her daughter.”

“Aren’t you all about love, is it really that bad of an idea? She owns a boutique, that’s pretty cool.” She stepped back, shoving her hands into her own coat pockets, and Nikolai instantly regretted opening his mouth.

“I’m not really her type.”

“I thought you were ‘everyone’s type?’”

“Am I?” Zoya turned away from his gaze, and he thought he saw her face flush. “She dated Tamar a few years back, and then she was with my sister for a few months, but I doubt her mother knows if she’s dating anyone right now.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You have a sister?”

“That’s a story for another time,” Nikolai grinned. “It may cost you another lunch date.”

“If they have food as good as today’s, every Saturday is yours.”

Nikolai smiled as Zoya waltzed into the boutique, an elegant but disruptive storm in his life. She hadn’t flinched when he’d called it a date, hadn’t hesitated when he’d asked her to accompany him again, hadn’t protested at the fact that he’d won the bet. Despite all the good that had come out of the day, he felt something gnawing at his chest, ‘what, you’ve never thought about us?” and he doubted it would ever leave his head now. ‘Whatever’ Nikolai thought, trailing after her. It wasn’t like even if he wanted to, they would ever be together. There was no use in worrying over something that would never happen.

#zoyalai fic #my writings #zoyalai #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #kos #s&b #tgt #gv

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whatanoof · 4 years ago

Text

Luck Be the Lady Tonight

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Word Count: ~4.4k

Content: blood, violence, fluff, death, gods who like to fuck around with peoples' minds, oh did I mention swearing yet?

Prequel to I Wished For Your Happiness

Dawn filters across the sky like the coming of the tide. It pushes into the inky twilight gradually, so slowly that one doesn’t notice the changing colors until it’s in full swing. Reds and oranges and yellows and the slightest hint of pink streak across the clouds and chase away every memory of the previous night.

Not that you were awake to see it of course, Max made sure of that last night when he exhausted you with… um… certain activities. But shortly after the dawn, the door to the bedroom creaks, waking you from peaceful sleep to the drowsy world of the waking. The creak is the only warning you get before the seven-year-old boy equivalent of a mortar shell drops onto the covers, bouncing the bed violently and bringing weak protests from the man under the covers to your left.

You thank every star in the faded night sky that Max had the awareness to redress both you and him last night before falling asleep. Good luck.

“Good morning!”

Max groans sleepily and pulls the covers over his head, “Alistair…”

You smile and blink blearily, “Good morning, Alistair.” You stretch under the covers luxuriously, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Come on, come on! We have to go soon!” Every other word is accompanied with another bounce on the sheets, and you wince. Ali is pretty much situated completely on top of the Max-sized lump under the blankets, and that can’t feel good.

“Okay,” You laugh, sneaking out from under the sheets. “Come on, let your dad sleep in just a little bit more. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Silvia usually makes eggs,” You nod. Silvia is Alistair’s nanny that accompanies him back and forth between his parents, but you had given her the weekend off. It was her twenty first birthday, and you only turn twenty-one in America once.

So you decided to take time off too, and to take Alistair for a day on the town. Max had been more reluctant to take the day off, but you’d pestered him until he’d given in. And you’d promised him a weekend of nighttime fun in return, so who was he to deny you? “But I want pancakes!”

You laugh, “Pancakes it is! Chocolate chip, or strawberry?” You don’t even have to ask, you already know that Alistair is going to pick chocolate. That child is just like his father: a ridiculous sweet tooth and too adorable for you to say no to.

You’re halfway through the mixed pancake batter, and Alistair is most of the way through his second pancake by the time Max stumbles into the kitchen, hair mussed and eyes half-open without coffee. It’s a struggle to hide the giggle that threatens to burst from your throat, but you manage and pass him the steaming mug that’s been sitting by the stove to keep warm.

“Woman, you are a true goddess.”

“I know. No need to feed my complex.” You smile as Max hugs you from behind and buries his nose into the crook of your neck before going to sit beside his son.

“Big day planned?”

“Yep.” You flip the last pancake onto the plate. It’s a little crooked, but passable considering your normal amount of cooking talent. “Sight-seeing, museums, walking around…”

“And parks!” Alistair interjects, “And the airplane museum!”

“Of course the airplane museum!” You place the dishes in the sink and pick up your own plate, “You coming, Lorrie?”

“Have some work to do, but I’ll be done before noon.” His shoulders hunch even as you stare him down. “Promise, baby. Something came up right before I left the office last night. It’s urgent.” You raise a single eyebrow at him, and he raises his hands in mock surrender, “I didn’t plan on it. Bad luck, that’s all.”

“I--” You level the dirty spatula at him, “--will take your word for it, Lorrie.”

He grins and stands, taking the kitchen tool from you and gently placing it in the sink. “Thank you, my love.” He folds your hand into both of his and kisses the tip of your nose, and you giggle as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Gross!” Alistair claps both of his hands over his eyes. You and Max laugh together as he detangles himself from you.

“I am going to get dressed.” Max grins at you rakishly before walking over to his son, who still has his hands covering his face. “And you--” He taps Alistair on the nose, and Ali giggles as Max leans in and gives him a hug. “--have a good day at the airplane museums.”

---

The minute you step into the Metropolis Space Museum, Alistair is heads over heels in love. You truly can’t believe that it took the kid seven years to get to the most iconic airplane museum in the city that he grew up in, but his childhood wasn’t exactly normal. You understand Max’s work ethic and schedule all too well, having parents who were workaholics as well. So when you’d first met the starry eyed little kid, you’d silently promised yourself that he was going to have a better childhood than you. You’re not his mother or his nanny, but Max is a dedicated father. And you’ll be dedicated to this kid too.

Alistair sprints through the museum with all of the speed of The Flash himself, and it’s all you can do to keep up with the little ball of energy. You wonder how he’s able to even take in the aircraft with the combination of the speed and his small stature, but this is his day, and you’re just the chauffeur.

He finally hits a wall when he reaches the astronaut exhibit. You’re walking among the space shuttles when you find Alistair gazing up at the Artemis I craft.

“See something you like?” You stop beside Ali and grin down at him. He hasn’t ripped his eyes away from the craft, and you can see the fluorescent lighting reflecting in his dark eyes. You turn to admire the shuttle again.

“That.” Alistair only speaks the one word, and you raise an eyebrow down at him. He’s pointing, “I want to be able to fly in that when I grow up.”

You chuckle, “It’s possible. You work hard, and you can be an astronaut when you grow up.”

“Work hard like Daddy?”

“Yes. Just like your Daddy.” Your gaze softens as you look down at the boy, seeing shades of his father in his determined expression. You check the time on your phone, “Speaking of, he should be meeting us soon. Wanna grab a snack, then we can go see him?”

You can see Ali’s obvious reluctance to leave the exhibit. “Alistair, ice cream…” You trail off with a teasing grin as Alistair turns.

“Yes please!”

You grin, “Alright! Come on.”

Alistair speeds ahead yet again, and your phone buzzes. You take it out, and it’s from work. You send a text off to your partner as you reach the stairs.

Your heel hits the edge of the step wrong. Your heart drops in your chest as you pitch forward, your arms wheeling in the air. A scream lodges in your throat as you fall forwards down the steps.

You land hard on your chest and you feel a stabbing pain in your chest as the air is knocked clean out of your body. Alistair screams your name, and you roll over to find the gazes of dozens of concerned strangers fixated on you as Alistair rushes to you.

“Are you okay?” A woman crouches over you.

You chuckle dryly, the air coming back to your body in small increments. Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, “Yeah, missed that last step. Bad luck, huh?”

“Good luck that it was the last flight. Could have been much worse.” She straightens and extends a hand to help you to your feet. “Anything hurt?”

“Besides my pride? No, I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.” You accept her help and stand, wincing at the residual pain in your chest. You remember what you’d distracted with that led to the misstep, “Where’s my phone?”

Alistair holds his hand out with a solemn look on his face. He’s holding your shattered phone, “I think it’s broken.”

You sigh. Bad luck. “Thank you Alistair. And thank yo--” You turn, but the woman is gone. Huh. Interesting. You look all around you at the bustling crowd, but no one looks familiar, and all of the gapers have gone back to their business. You prop your hands on your hips, “Well. How about some ice cream now?”

---

Max’s brow furrows as he stares down at the glinting ring. A twenty-four karat gold band, platinum setting with tiny obsidian studs and a diamond the size of a pistachio. The ring is exactly his style, and it’s the ring that he always imagined himself buying for the hypothetical girl that he would have if he ever got his work done. But ever since meeting you, he’s been learning to remember that his likes aren’t necessarily the likes of the others.

For example, you don’t like flashy. Which is ridiculous, because his entire existence is flashy, so he can’t begin to imagine how you ever were attracted to him. The memory of your first meeting draws a grin to his lips. But now he knows better after a couple of botched Valentines and anniversary gifts. Your look of horror at the massive bouquet of flowers and yards of chocolate will be forever seared into his mind. Flashy and gaudy is a big no no, though maybe he can make the proposal a little more to his tastes. His gaze is drawn to another ring to his right.

“Excuse me?” The sales associate comes over to him. “Can I see that one?”

---

“Alright, you don’t tell your dad, and I won’t tell either.” You plop the massive ice cream cone into Alistair’s hand before settling down next to him with a cone of similar size.

Alistair grins mischievously at you, “This is a lot of sweets for one day.”

“Ah!” You hold up your free hand, effectively silencing the kid, “Snitches…?”

“Get stitches!” With that, Ali digs into his chocolate fudge cone with sprinkles, and you start with yours, gazing at the city across the water. The beach is empty on an early spring day that is much too cold for swimming. Seagulls screech across the sky, and the sand looks fun and inviting, but Ali seems content to sit beside you on a bench and look across the water at Gotham City.

The sun is shining, the water is glowing in the afternoon sun, and it’s a perfect afternoon. Until an explosion rocks the building that you’d been admiring in Gotham City across the bay and the miniscule figure of a supervillain appears as a shadow in the dust. You sigh. Bad luck. “View ruined.”

Alistair shrugs, “Pretty. Big booms are cool.”

“Since when do you like explosions?”

Alistair looks up at you, and makes a zooming motion with his hand before mimicking a takeoff with massive engine explosions. Oh. Right.

You finish your ice cream and reach for your phone to check the time before remembering that it’s broken. “Hey, Ali. What time is it?”

He shows you with his little digital watch, and it’s half past noon. Max is probably looking for you. You rummage in your pocket for some change, and pull out the coins to count them. Oh good, you have a quarter left over from the ice cream cones.

“Come on, we’re going to find a pay phone.” Alistair stands and follows you off of the beach and towards the street.

Only, I shit you not, a chunk of building hits the water with a boom near shore, and water explodes into the sky like a geyser. Debris scatters the beach, and you wince as you see the amount of rocks that hit the bench where you had been sitting not five minutes before. You stare for a split second, then over at Gotham, where you can see the supervillain hefting cement chunks over his head and lobbing them at a speck in the sky. That’s an interesting combination of luck that you’re not sure you want to dissect mentally at the moment.

Alistair whines, “How did we miss Superman in the sky?!”

---

Max walks out of the museum, squinting in the sun as he fumbles in his pocket for his phone. You’d said that you would be at the museum until afternoon, but he’d waited at the entrance for an hour and you and Ali never came out. He calls you, but the line rings to voicemail.

The little velvet box weighs heavy in his breast pocket. It almost feels like it is burning a hole in his chest with how hyper aware he is of the promise pressing on his chest. He can’t even remember when he woke up feeling like this. Well, of course he only recognized the feeling today, but he’s been feeling it for sometime now. That swelling in his chest when he looks at you, the one that seems to increase everytime he sees you with Alistair, or when you’re laughing, or when you raise that single infuriating eyebrow that communicates every feeling of skepticism within your body. It’s been building over the past years, it’s not new. The label is new, it’s the one that he realized this morning after you got up and promised Alistair pancakes for breakfast.

He’s ready to make this promise. He’s ready to swear to spend the rest of his life with you. Now, if only he could find you. Bad luck, it would seem.

His phone rings right as he pulls it out of his pocket, and he glances at the caller ID. It’s you, and he swipes the ‘answer’ icon excitedly and raises the phone to his ear.

“Hey, I’m at the museum, where are you?”

You sound a little harried, “A payphone near Stryker Beach. Sorry, my phone’s busted up, so I couldn’t tell you that we left the museum.”

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll come get you. Give me an address.” He swipes around on his phone until he gets to his maps, but he’s interrupted by a resounding boom on the other end of the line. “What was that?”

“Nothing. There’s another Gotham villain, and Superman is fighting him over the bay. On second thought, you probably shouldn’t come here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two could be in danger.” He already has the car keys in his hand when you cut him off.

“Lorrie.” Your voice is every bit as intimidating over the phone as it is in real life. “Stay there. Traffic is awful over here anyway, we could walk to the museum and back twice by the time you get through it. See you in a few.” He can’t wait, excitement thrilling in his chest even as worry tamps it down a little.

---

His palms are sweating. Why are his palms sweating? He hasn’t been this nervous since his first kickstarter campaign for Black Gold Corporations. He’s scanning the crowd for any sign of you and Alistair, though he’s simultaneously dreading your appearance as much as he’s anticipating it.

There! He sees a flash of your hair through the mass of people, and then you’re standing on the other side of the major street, gorgeous and windswept and smiling at him while holding Alistair’s hand. Cars whizz through the intersection, but even the minor interruptions in his line of sight to you can’t detract from your beauty. Fuck, he’s nervous,

So nervous, apparently, that he fumbles his phone and drops it on the sidewalk. As he bends over to pick it up, the velvet box slips out of his pocket and falls to the ground with a small thunk that may as well have been the impact sound of a meteor.

His gaze darts up nervously at you, and your eyes are glued to the small black box. They flick back to his, and read the nerves as clear as the day. Understanding floods through your face, then shock, then your mouth falls open and he can hear your joyful laugh from where he crouches twenty feet away.

Shit. He had wanted to do it differently. Maybe by the massive fountain, or on the Ferris Wheel by the bay. Something that brings a little bit of pizzazz and flash and romance, something that is distinctly him. But he sees the giddy look in your eye and everything else falls away.

The pedestrian sign flicks on, and the rest of the crowd starts moving across the street, pushing you and Alistair with the flow of people. Your hand still firmly grasps Ali’s as you move across the street, and his heart fills at the sight of your love for his son and steadies his hand as he picks up the box and opens it towards you. His knees bend, and he sinks to the hard concrete, awaiting your approach.

His knee is centimeters away from the sidewalk when a swoosh echoes overhead and Superman rips through the intersection. The crowd tracks him with a rush of murmurs, but you’re still watching Max and walking forward with a spark in your eye.

Then the gunfire starts. Everyone ducks as Lex Luthor’s latest mech suit flies overhead in pursuit of the flying hero. Bullets whizz through the air, pinging off of telephone poles and shattering windows. You’re only a fraction behind the crowd, your eyes widening in panic as you finally notice your surroundings. Max is frozen in time, watching you cover Alistair with your own body. Bad luck.

Then the spell breaks, and everyone is running and screaming, and Max’s heart rises into his throat. He loses sight of you in the middle of the road, and he stumbles to his feet and begins shoving through the crowd.

“Alistair!” He screams your name too, but his voice is lost in the surrounding noise.

Finally, finally, he catches sight of your hunched form in the middle of the road. Right as he sees you, your head raises and begins scanning around you, and he allows himself to breathe. Good luck.

He grabs your arm and yanks you to your feet, his other hand securing around Alistair’s upper arm. Then he’s moving and dragging you to the other side of the street. You’re almost there, you’re almost safe when the explosion happens.

It’s small, a stray thermal charge that’s miniscule compared to the previously witnessed destruction. But a shudder passes through your group. Max’s heart sinks in his chest and he turns to look. Alistair is staring up at you with a look of complete horror on his face. Your hand lets go of Max’s, drifting up to your chest where a bloodstain is rapidly spreading over your chest. Your eyes meet Max’s, and then your eyes roll back in your head and you pass out.

---

The ambulance ride is a blur. Alistair is crying into his chest, and it’s all Max can do to keep it together while he holds your hand. You’re still unconscious, but the ambulance had gotten there fast, and you’d been one of the only casualties in the intersection. Hope. He has to hope, because he has to hold it together for Ali.

Words float around his head from the paramedics, words like random, ricochet, shrapnel, and bad luck. Bad luck. Fury swells in him. Your life is worth more to him than simple bad luck. Villain or hero, how can it matter? Who gave them the right to leave charges in public places, to scatter bullets like rice on a wedding day?

But what can he do about simple bad luck? What can he do about super-powered people who hold the power of gods in their hands? The answer is nothing, not right now anyway, because Alistair needs him, and you need him, and he will bide his time.

---

You wake up when the ambulance gets to the hospital. The gurney jostles as they lift you down from the ambulance and he wants to yell at the paramedics. But he holds himself back. Your voice echoes in his head, ‘They’re just trying to do their jobs, Lorrie. Leave them alone.”

So he does, clinging to you as your eyelids flutter. “Lorrie?” Your voice is a painful rasp that hurts in his own chest. You tighten your grip, bringing your interlocked hands up against your chest, slightly to the right of the roughly bandaged wound.

“I’m here.” He grips your hand all the more tightly, pressing a kiss to your knuckle. You murmur something, and he doesn’t catch it the first time. He leans in, “What? Say it again, baby.”

“Yes.” You whisper into his ear. With shaking hands, Max takes out the little black box and puts the ring on your bloody finger. It’s a simple gold band, curling around a teardrop onyx gem. Perfectly you and him. You only have time to lift your hand to gaze at the ring before you're whisked away to surgery. Max is left standing there with empty hands, feeling like the world has been yanked from his grasp.

---

When you wake up again, the world is sterile and cold and Max is gone. Your hand instantly flies to your chest, where the phantom wound throbs. But your hand grazes over nothing but your own skin and clothes. A glance downwards confirms your suspicions. The wound is gone, the ugly shrapnel vaporized as if it never existed.

But the glance down confirms another suspicion that only just started brewing in the back of your mind, one that you hadn’t dared to confront.

“Am I dead?” Your eyes widen in shock, and you reach to touch your lips. They hadn’t moved, and yet you had heard your own voice echoing into the void. You whip around, your toes hovering above the surgical table where your body rests. Surgical tools scatter around the trays, and the monitor emits a continuous, flat tone. Doctors lay down their tools, taking off their masks and caps with an air of exhausted defeat. Your body is still, covered in tubes and sheets so that you can barely see a hint of gray skin. Fuck, Max is going to be devastated.

“In a way.” The voice is wonderfully melodic, and you look to find that one of the doctors is staring at you while the rest look right through you. Her mask is still up, but there is a familiar air about her that you can’t place. “You are caught in-between right now, unable to move on, but unable to return.”

“So, purgatory?” Again, your disembodied voice speaks the words directly from your mind.

She laughs, and the tinkle settles somewhere deep in your soul. “No. Powers of another sort, past the Catholic tradition.”

You work your jaw, testing it before mouthing the words along with your voice. It just feels right, more natural. “I don’t understand. I’m trapped here?”

“Not trapped. Suspended, perhaps.” Her eyes are a piercing gray. “The Lords’ refuse to let you go. One might say that it’s luck. Good or bad, depending on if you are scared of what’s after. I hear you and Maxwell like to keep count.”

You blink. She’s right. You and Lorrie had a running joke that bad luck seemed to follow the both of you wherever you went. Today had been especially heavy with bad luck. “And if I’m not scared?”

“Luck is entirely dependent on perspective, child. But, I will admit, your death was more accident than anything.” There’s a cold, callous tone in her voice as she remarks about your death as no more than a minor inconvenience. “Couldn’t have been avoided, and that’s true bad luck.” Her brow furrows, then it lightens and she claps her hands, “But, good luck now! You get to go back!”

Your spirits lift. Back to Earth. Back to Alistair and Max. Max. You bring your right hand up in front of you. The ring is gone.

“Missing something?”

Your gaze darts back up to the woman, and she’s holding the ring to the false light, examining it closely. You try to keep the tremor out of your voice, “That’s mine. Give it back.”

She gives you a long side-eye, “You do not command me, girl.” You shudder at the tone of her voice, vibrating through your non-existent body and threatening to dissipate it. You grit your teeth, and continue to stare her down. She raises an eyebrow, and you think that it’s a look of approval in her eyes. “But, I suppose it is yours. Catch.” She tosses the band back to you, and you snatch it from the air. She continues, “Consider that my token to you. A favor from luck itself. Not many mortals ever gain such an item.”

“I don’t care what it is to you.” You only care about what it means to you and Max. It’s a promise. There had been a shared understanding in the emergency room, that you probably wouldn’t make it. And that understanding had been correct. But he promised anyway, and you’d promised him right back. “Who are you?”

“Lady Luck, at your service.” She winks, pulling her mask down finally. It’s the woman from the museum, but there’s a different air about her. An air of power that didn’t exist back on Earth hovers in her every word and motion.

A chime echoes through the air, and Lady Luck straightens. “That’s my cue. Don’t worry, you won’t remember this encounter when you wake up on Earth.”

“What was the point of this conversation if I’m not going to remember it?”

She looks back at you with a hint of humor in her eyes. “There wasn’t one. Just me testing out my wisdom on a mortal. Don’t get much chance for that anymore.”

“Any last wisdom then?” Your lips twist in a wry grin.

Lady Luck regards you, “Luck isn’t everything. But it isn’t nothing. Remind your Lorrie of that for me.” Then she turns and waves her hand, and the world filters to blackness around you.

A/N: This made me sad, but it was actually pretty fun to write and play around in the DC universe. I don't get over there much, it's mostly Marvel over in Oofville these days. But yes, now I'm expanding this universe as well too, because it's not like I don't already have enough WIP yet. It's fine, it's all going to be fine.

But Max's planning for the engagement?! Gave me life, it made me so happy.

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross

#maxwell lord x reader #death #angst #sad feels #fluff #gods are kinda bitches in fake universes

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armandyke · 4 years ago

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Look at all my trials and tribulations

Summary: Instead of going their separate ways after the light supper with their father, the siblings pick each other back up and spend some quality time together.

Word Count: 1450

Square Filled: Ice Cream

Characters: Five Hargreeves, Luther Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves, Vanya Hargreeves, Reginald Hargreeves

Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, season 2 spoilers

A/N: The seventh of nine entries for @tuacreatorsbingo

You can read it here, or on my AO3

“No skin off my teeth, old man.”

Five necked the brandy in his glass in an attempt to quell the uneasy feeling in his stomach. It had been a long forty-five years since he’d last felt his father’s eyes boring into him, regarding him with an expression you would expect more from a scientist observing their experiment than a parent looking at his child. It had been forty-five years, but right now he felt thirteen again.

Clearing his throat, he hopped down from the barstool, feeling the same twist of anxiety in his gut that he’d felt the last time he left his father at the table without being excused.

“I need to get my family out of this timeline,” He said, in answer to a question that hadn’t been asked. “And it looks like I’m gonna have to make a deal I really don’t wanna make.”

“Seems as though you’d be better off without them,” His father observed as he made his way towards the elevator.

Five paused, clenching his jaw. For the briefest moment he considered the unthinkable, that right now he had the upper hand on his father. Right now he didn’t understand the full extent of his powers. One well-timed jump and maybe he could… No, idiot, he was here to fix the timeline, not mess it up even more. Shaking his head, he squeezed his fists and jumped back to the ground floor before he could do anything stupid.

He’d expected his siblings to have already dispersed, returning to whatever nonsense they’d been caught up in before their father invited them to supper. Instead, he found them all huddled together on the steps outside. Klaus was sprawled out across one step with his head in Vanya’s lap, groaning faintly and looking up when Five nudged him with his foot.

“Oh, good,” He said, grunting as he lifted his arm in a sad attempt at punching the air. “The gang’s all here.”

“Klaus, can you have your breakdown a little more quietly?” Luther mumbled, sat on the step below Vanya and not bothering to look over his shoulder at them.

“Christ, would it kill you to stop being an asshole for a few minutes?” Klaus managed to muster enough energy to smack Luther’s arm, though he didn’t even seem to register the touch. “Five’s here.”

This time he did look over at them, giving Five a small nod of acknowledgement.

“What did dad say?” He asked as Five perched himself on the step next to him.

“Nothing of any use.”

Five leant forward to look over at Diego, who was sat with his arms folded tightly and his head down, slumped against Allison’s shoulder while she stroked his hair soothingly.

“Is he okay?” He asked, frowning when Luther shook his head. “I guess family dinners didn’t change much after I left.”

Sniffling, Diego wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand and looked up at him, fixing him with a hard stare.

“What did he say to you?” He demanded.

“Nothing. I literally just said that.”

“Bullshit.”

The others all looked at him expectantly and Five sighed, leaning back on his hands.

“Fine. You wanna know what he said? He said I’d be better off without you idiots constantly getting in my way.”

Klaus snorted. “Of course he did,” He said, sniggering hysterically.

“What did you say?” Vanya asked.

Five considered spinning some tall tale for them, about how he’d cussed their dad out left with the final word. It was a lie they’d all told each other countless times as kids. One of them would get scolded and then leave with their chest puffed out bragging about how they’d given dad what for, and the rest of them would pretend not to notice their red eyes and shaking hands.

“I didn’t say anything,” He admitted, looking down at his hands. “I just left.”

They all fell silent at that, hanging their heads in collective defeat.

“So, what do we do now?” Allison asked after a moment, and they all looked at each other, waiting for someone to pipe up and give them some kind of direction.

“You know, I could murder a lemon sorbet right now.” Klaus grunted as he sat upright. “Who’s in?”

They all looked at him with varying levels of disapproval until Vanya piped up beside him.

“There’s an ice cream parlour not far from here,” She told them. “I sometimes take Harlan there when he’s having a bad day. It usually cheers him up.”

“Yeah, because he’s eight, Vanya,” Luther argued and she shrugged.

“Do they serve alcohol?” Diego asked, and Allison laughed at the absurdity of the question but Klaus grinned.

“I have alcohol.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

“Diego’s in!” Klaus clapped his hands excitedly. “Anyone else?”

“Yeah, I’m game,” Allison agreed, Luther gave a somewhat reluctant nod, and Five suddenly found himself faced with the expectant faces of all his siblings.

He didn’t really have time for this. He needed to find The Handler. But then, when it came to The Handler and the Commission, he had all the time in the world.

“Alright,” He said with a shrug. “But if one of you pukes, I’m out.”

The ice cream shop was a small, independently owned place, tucked between a bank and a hair salon, and the woman behind the counter watched them with wide eyes as they walked through the door. She opened her mouth to say something when she saw Allison, and immediately shut it again when Luther walked in after her.

“So!” Klaus said, putting his hands on his hips to try and assert some kind of authority. “What’s everyone having?”

“Wait, are you paying? ” Allison asked incredulously and he waved his hand at her.

“Pfft. I’m a celebrity, Allie. Celebrities don’t have to pay for stuff.”

“How many people are in this ‘cult’ again?” Diego folded his arms, cocking his head curiously at him while Klaus started counting on his fingers.

“Uh, about twenty now.”

“Twenty? Klaus, that’s not a cult, that’s just a group.”

While the two of them bickered, Allison rolled her eyes and walked up to the counter. There was something about the way she was able to instantly recall all of their favourite childhood ice cream flavours that filled Five with a warm and comforted feeling. Mint choc chip for Luther, toffee for Diego, raspberry for her, lemon for Klaus, chocolate for him, pistachio for… Allison paused, glanced over at them, and scrapped that order, and vanilla for Vanya. Klaus and Diego huddled behind the table together like school kids, pouring whatever mixture of drinks Klaus had in his flask over theirs, while Luther and Allison neatly divided their portions in two so they could share, just like they always did as kids. Next to him, Vanya was watching them all with a small smile on her face.

“I’m guessing we didn’t get to do this much as kids?” She said, noting the giddy, excited looks on everyone’s faces.

Five chuckled. “Dad wasn’t a fan of ice cream.”

“Or fun,” Allison added.

“Hey! The guy had his moments,” Klaus said, pointing his spoon at her. “Remember the dignified chuckle he used to do at dinner parties whenever someone made a tasteful joke.”

He proceeded to do a frighteningly good impression, raising his ice cream cup in place of a glass, and they all burst out laughing. Diego, who had already finished his ice cream and was now nursing Klaus’ flask in his hands, let out a loud, snorty laugh that Five hadn’t heard since they were nine, and they all turned towards him.

“Di, are you drunk? ” Luther asked with a look of mild amusement on his face.

“Of course I’m not- woow.” Diego tried to stand up and immediately had to grab on to the table to steady himself, slumping back into his seat and looking at the flask in his hand. “Klaus, what the fuck am I drinking?”

“Iunno.” Klaus shrugged.

“How are you alive?”

“My doctor has wondered the same thing for years.”

Diego stared at him incredulously for a moment before dissolving into another fit of giggles, and soon they were all laughing again. It occurred to Five that this was the first time they’d all done something normal together since he was thirteen, and that it was the first time since returning that he really felt like he’d gotten his family back. Vanya slumped against his arm, laughing so hard she could barely breathe, and he smiled. Their father had been right about a lot of things, annoyingly so. But there was one thing he had gotten wrong.

Five was definitely better off with his family.

#the umbrella academy #tuacreatorsbingo #my fics #tua fanfic #five hargreeves #tua2

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purrincess-chat · 5 years ago

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Will You Be My (Fake) Lover? CH6

Finally finished! This one clocked in around 5.6k, so it’ll be pretty even with chapter 7 which is where the really good shit happens imo. This one is cute too, but yall better get ya anti-cavity toothpaste ready for tomorrow. And btw, you’ll want to have In the Rain ready on standby for the last scene. You’ll know when you need it ;)

Read on AO3

Chapter 6

“It was a lot of fun going on a double date with you guys,” Alya said as the two waited for Adrien and Nino to return with their ice cream. “It’s so great that you two are finally getting to go on a proper date. It’s awesome that you’re together and all, but it’s not the same if you barely get to spend time together.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s hard, but Nathalie has been making a lot of extra arrangements in his schedule for us, so I guess that’s nice,” Marinette said, flicking her gaze to her lap. “I’m just really happy to be with him, so I try not to complain.”

“I know, and I’m sure you guys will work through it. I mean, seeing the way he looks at you…I can tell he really cares about you,” Alya said with a smile that made Marinette’s cheeks warm.

“Does he really look at me like that?” She asked, biting her lip.

“Girl, he looks at you the way my dad looked at my mom in all their wedding photos. He’s so smitten with you. It’s honestly precious,” Alya chuckled. “I have a feeling you two are gonna last. No matter what.”

“Ice cream for two pretty ladies,” Nino said as he and Adrien paced down the steps.

Marinette locked eyes with Adrien who offered her one of those soft smiles that made her heart race as he took his place beside her. Those smiles had often seemed so genuine to her, but she’d always chocked it up to wishful thinking. Though as of late, his affectionate behavior came with less hesitance or stiffness perhaps because they’d finally gotten used to this whole fake relationship. She really doubted that he felt any differently about her now then he had at the beginning but hearing Alya say that it looked like he liked her did make her a little happy.

“Hope you like peach and pistachio,” Adrien said, scooping a spoonful for her.

“Yum.” She smiled before taking a bite.

Adrien draped an arm over her shoulders as they shared their treat, and Marinette noticed that soft look in his eyes that Alya mentioned. She knew Adrien was a good actor, but it did look awfully convincing.

“Can I tell you something?” Adrien asked, licking ice cream from his spoon.

“What?”

“You’re cute,” he said with a smile, and she shot him a playful glare.

“You’re cute,” she shot back, but he shook his head.

“No, you’re cute.” He nuzzled his nose against hers.

“And I’m trying to enjoy my ice cream without getting nauseous,” Nino said, and Alya elbowed him with a smirk.

“How come you never tell me I’m cute?” She asked, placing a hand on her hip, and he faltered a little at that.

“I-well, I mean, you’re cute!” He stammered, and Alya leaned her head back with a laugh before resting against his shoulder.

“You’re cute too. Now leave them alone. It’s their first real date,” she said, shoving a tiny spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

“Sorry, I just can’t help myself around Marinette,” Adrien said, flashing his friend a grin before turning back to her. “She’s my Cinderella.”

“And you’re my Prince Charming,” Marinette said, leaning up to touch her lips to his just before his phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket with a sigh.

“It’s Gorilla. I didn’t realize it was already 9,” he said, offering her the last bite of the cone. “It seems that we’re turning into pumpkins early tonight, my love.”

“I’m just glad we got to come out,” Marinette said as he stood and offered her his hands to pull her up.

“Yeah, whenever you can, we should all go out together like this again,” Nino said, and Adrien smiled, touching their fists together.

“I’ll beg Nathalie,” he said, offering Alya a small wave before taking Marinette’s hand.

“Bye, you two!” Alya waved, flashing Marinette a smile as they headed up the stairs to meet Adrien’s bodyguard.

Adrien opened the door of the car for her and helped her in before moving around to the other side. Once inside, he slid into the middle and buckled his seatbelt before draping an arm around her as Gorilla started the car. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, lingering close with a contented sigh.

“Tonight was fun,” Adrien said pressing his forehead to hers, soft lips brushing gently against her own as he spoke. “I want to have more nights like this.”

“Where you get to hang out with your friends?” Marinette asked.

“Where I get to hang out with you,” he said, and she felt her heart jolt.

“What about Nino? He’s your best friend,” she said as he caressed her cheek with his thumb, tilting his head ever-so-slightly.

“He is, but I don’t think Alya would appreciate it if I kissed him,” he said pointedly.

“I’m starting to think you only like me for my lips.” She narrowed her eyes with a playful smirk, and Adrien let out a breathy laugh.

“I like you for a lot more than that,” he said, touching his nose to hers. “I like how genuinely sweet you are. The way your eyes light up when you’re happy, or the way your eyebrows furrow when you can’t figure out a problem for our maths homework. The cute way your purse your lips when you can’t make up your mind, or the sound of your laugh. I like a lot of things about you, Marinette.”

He gave her another one of those soft looks, and for a moment, she swore it actually seemed real. She didn’t doubt that he meant all of those things in some capacity platonically, but such sweet sentiments weren’t really hers to claim. After all, they weren’t exactly alone in the car. Adrien’s bodyguard might not say much, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t listen in. It only made sense for Adrien to play the part of the doting boyfriend considering they were on their way home from a first date, and she supposed that it was her turn to play the flirtatious girlfriend fueled by an intimate evening with said doting boyfriend.

“You just want me to kiss you,” she said, brushing his nose with her finger.

“Fine. You caught me,” he sighed, leaning in close again. “But for the record, I always want to kiss you…if you want to.”

“I want to,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, and she felt his lips curl into a smile before closing around her own.

Acting or not, she wouldn’t complain about getting to kiss Adrien for the duration of the car ride to her house. Especially not when he cupped her jaw in one hand, pulling her in closer at the waist with the other. His lips were gentle and soft, and she felt that blissful numbness clouding her mind. If fake kissing him felt this good, she could only imagine what it would feel like to kiss him for real. To kiss him knowing that he loved her back.

Maybe Alya was right. Maybe Adrien was falling for her, and maybe she really was one step closer to her happily ever after. She seemed to think so as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, twisting strands of her hair around his fingers as his lips met hers with eagerness every time, and she considered for a moment that maybe Adrien genuinely did want to kiss her. The thought made her heart skip, and she quickly dismissed it for fear of the lasting damage of heart palpitations.

It was all just acting. Really, really good acting. And a delightful amount of tongue. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to having him kiss her like this, but she’d certainly enjoy it all the same. Of course, he was far gentler now than he had been the night of Nino’s party, but the passion behind his lips was all the same. And it still made her just as dizzy.

“There’s never enough time left when I kiss you,” Adrien sighed, and Marinette realized that the car had stopped again. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

Marinette blinked a few times as Adrien unbuckled his seatbelt before swiftly doing the same. No matter how many times they made out, she still found herself disoriented for several minutes afterward, and she was grateful that at least in this instance, she was heading up to her room immediately after.

Adrien walked her all the way up to the living room door, pausing outside with a timid smile.

“I really did have an amazing time tonight, and I’m glad that you’re the girl I’m getting to experience all of this with first,” Adrien said, taking her hands in his. “Thank you, for everything.”

“I’m really glad that I’m getting to do this with you too, Adrien,” she said, and his face softened again before he pulled her in for a tight hug.

“I don’t wanna let go,” he murmured against her shoulder, nuzzling into her neck before reluctantly pulling away. “Good night, Cinderella.”

“Good night, my prince.”

***

Come over. I have a surprise for you.

Marinette read over the message again as she stood outside the Agreste mansion gates, patiently waiting for them to open. The small security camera popped out, examining her briefly before the gates parted in front of her, and she headed inside. Adrien was waiting at the door with a huge grin as she made her way up, and he stooped to kiss her in greeting.

“Come in, Marinette. Mr. Agreste would like to see you,” Nathalie said, interrupting their moment, but Adrien perked up with a suspicious giddiness that piqued Marinette’s curiosity.

“What’s this all about?” She asked as they paced across the foyer, and Adrien shot her a knowing smirk.

“You’ll see,” he said as Nathalie opened the door to Mr. Agreste’s office.

Her stomach churned with nerves, but she told herself that if Adrien was smiling then it couldn’t be anything bad. Maybe he’d told them about Lila and gotten her permanently kicked off of their photoshoots. That would make her happy.

“Good afternoon, Marinette,” Gabriel said without looking up from his screen when they entered. “Please, have a seat.”

“Okay…” Marinette said, curling her shoulders a little and sitting awkwardly beside Adrien.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, the Agreste Foundation gala is coming up in a week,” he said, and Marinette sat up a little.

“Yes, my mom and I were going to pick out a dress tomorrow,” she said, and Adrien smirked beside her.

“That won’t be necessary,” Nathalie said, and Marinette turned to her with furrowed brows.

“Oh, am I not going anymore?” She shot Adrien a worried look, and he took her hands in his.

“Of course you are,” he assured her, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles.

“If you are going to attend the gala with a fashion mogul’s son then you have to look the part, so I’ve had a gift made for you. I’m sure you’ll find its design quite familiar,” Gabriel said, motioning for Nathalie to remove the sheet from a mannequin at the front of the room, and Marinette felt her breath hitch in her throat.

“That’s-” She gasped, shooting up and pacing over get a closer look. “That’s my design?”

“Nathalie showed it to me when you left your sketchbook here, and I thought what better way to support my son and his budding romance than bringing your dreams to life,” Gabriel explained, clasping his hands behind his back. “Your designs show a lot of promise, Marinette, and I felt it best that you attend the gala in something of yours rather than something of mine.”

“But I- this is- I get to wear this?” She stammered, and Adrien suppressed a chuckle, jumping up to stand beside her.

“Yep. It’s a Marinette original,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist as she cupped a hand to her mouth. “Do you like it?”

She flicked her gaze between him, Gabriel, Nathalie, the dress. Her eyes stung with tears, and her throat closed with a dry lump. She wasn’t sure words existed to describe how she felt, so she simply nodded before turning to bury her face in Adrien’s shirt.

“Thank you,” she finally managed, and Gabriel nodded in acknowledgement.

“Nathalie will help you try it on so that we can have it properly fitted. Someone will delivered it to your house this week once it’s finished,” he said, and Marinette flicked her gaze over to Nathalie who gestured for her to follow.

“I wanna see you in it,” Adrien requested, but Nathalie held up a hand to stop him.

“You’ll see it at the gala. Right now you should go practice your piano,” Nathalie stated, her tone leaving no room for argument, so Adrien deflated a little, shooting Marinette a longing look.

“I’ll be in my room then,” he said, pursing his lips. “Can Marinette hang out for a while when you’re finished at least?”

“I suppose.” Nathalie nodded, and he smiled at that.

“Then I’ll see you in a bit, kay?” He blew her a kiss before retreating up the stairs, and Nathalie ushered her into the dining room.

It felt a little surreal putting that dress on, and she half expected herself to wake up before she could get a look in the mirror. She could hardly believe that Gabriel had actually made one of her designs. When she’d designed this dress, she never actually intended for it to exist. It was just a dream. A fantasy. A fairytale.

But she supposed that nothing was outside the realm of possibility in her life anymore. After all, she was fake dating the boy of her dreams to keep him out of the clutches of an evil witch, so she supposed every princess story such as her own came with a fairytale makeover.

“Adrien talks about you a lot as of late,” Nathalie said as she pinned her up. “He’s always requesting that I make time for him to see you. He really cares for you.”

“Oh.” Marinette’s cheeks burned at that. “I- thank you for always making arrangements for us.”

“I’ve known Adrien since he was born, and working for Gabriel, I watched him grow up,” she said. “I know he’s always wanted freedom to do what he wants, so I try to allot him as much as I can.”

“Is that why you talked his father into letting him come to school?” Marinette asked, and Nathalie lowered her gaze with a small smile.

“He was always miserable being cooped up in this house. After his mother disappeared, he stopped smiling for a long time, so I hoped that if he was allowed to go to school like he’d always wanted that it would cheer him up,” she said softly. “I’d say that so far it’s been a success.”

“You really care about him,” Marinette said, feeling her heart sink with a twinge of guilt.

“I’ve never had any children of my own. I guess you could say I’ve always been married to my work, but the Agrestes are family to me,” Nathalie said, sticking the last pin in the skirt. “Adrien took the loss of his mother very hard, and I’m the next female he’s close to, so I try to be there for him as much as I can.”

“You’re really kind, Nathalie,” Marinette said with a smile that Nathalie returned.

“Adrien says the same about you,” she said before moving around to help her out of the dress again. “It’s nice to see his face light up whenever he sees you. I’m glad he’s found someone that can make him happy.”

“Yeah…” Marinette lowered her gaze before stepping out of the dress and changing back into her regular clothes. “Thank you, Nathalie.”

“Thank you, Marinette,” Nathalie said with a smile. “Please continue to make Adrien happy for a long time.”

Adrien was practicing arpeggios when she entered his room, and he smiled up at her as she approached him, pausing his playing briefly as she sat beside him.

“How did it fit?” He asked, switching to a soft tune.

“Fine. It didn’t need very many alterations. Your father has a good eye for measurements,” she said, pressing her palms between her knees. “I kind of know how you felt at dinner with my family now.”

“What do you mean?” Adrien tilted his head, and she lowered her gaze with a frown.

“Nathalie really cares about you, and your father gave us his blessing…It just makes it kind of hard to lie to their faces when they’re so kind and supportive,” she said, and he turned back to the piano.

“Yeah, but it’s like you said. They never have to know it’s not real,” he said, bouncing from one melody to the next. “We should probably be careful talking about it though. They like to watch me closely, and we don’t want them to overhear anything that could give us away.”

“Lila would have a field day if the truth got out,” Marinette said with a sigh. “And we don’t want that happening.”

“No.” Adrien pressed his lips into a firm line, and Marinette drummed her fingers on her legs and pursed her lips.

“So, I’ve never been to a fancy event like this before. What do I need to do? Will there be dancing? Are there going to be photographers?” She asked.

“It’s mostly just to appease my father’s investors and clients. He throws them a fancy party, and they talk business. It’s usually pretty boring for me, but at least with you going I’ll have someone to talk to,” he said. “And I won’t have to dance with any stuck-up girls.”

“Oh, I didn’t know Chloe was coming,” Marinette said with a smirk, and Adrien threw his head back with a laugh.

“Thankfully not.” He shuddered a little, and Marinette pressed a hand to her lips to stifle a laugh.

“I’m not so sure I’m really a step up. You’ll be lucky if I don’t step on your feet,” she said, biting her lip, and Adrien quirked a brow at her.

“We’ve danced before, and you were fine,” he said pointedly, and she averted her gaze.

“Lucky, as I said.” He paused his playing and turned to her.

“Do you want to practice?” He asked, and she shrugged her shoulders.

“I dunno, Adrien, I don’t want to hurt your feet,” she said, and he offered her a hand.

“Dance with me,” he pleaded, sticking out his lower lip. “Please?”

“Don’t you have to practice your piano?” She tapped a key, and he flashed her a smirk then reached for his phone.

“I do this all the time,” he said, queuing up a playlist of recordings. “I record myself sometimes so I can goof off every once in a while.”

“Won’t you get in trouble if Nathalie comes in?” He flicked his gaze up to her with one of those smiles.

“I think you’re worth a light scolding,” he said, setting his phone in the speaker dock and offering her a hand again. “May I have this dance?”

“I suppose,” she sighed, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, pinching her sides as he pulled her in close. “Just follow my lead.”

Marinette took a breath as they waltzed in circles, those green eyes burning into hers with a gentleness that made her forget her nerves. Why did he have to be so sweet and charming all the time? If she didn’t love him so much, she’d hate him, but she couldn’t even fathom someone hating Adrien. He was just too kind and genuine of a person to hate.

“See? You’re doing fine,” he said softly, and her cheeks warmed as she smiled down at her feet.

See? Her point exactly.

“I guess you’re just good enough of a dancer to cancel out how clumsy I am,” she said, biting her lip.

“You’re just so fun and easy to be with that I stay relaxed. I don’t have to worry about anything when I’m with you,” he said, and her face burned hotter, effectively frying her brain into missing a step and landing her foot right on top of his.

“Sorry!” She jumped back, curling her shoulders. “I told you!”

“Hey, you’re fine.” Adrien pulled her back in and cupped her face. “No harm, no foul. Just relax.”

He pulled her into his arms, opting just to sway in time with the music, and she nuzzled against his shoulder, taking the opportunity to breath in as much of his scent as she could without him noticing. Relaxing around him a few months ago would have been an impossible task, but as he held her close, rubbing her back with his thumb, she felt the tension in her shoulders ease as she melted into him. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he welcomed it, tightening his grip around her waist as they circled in place.

“If all else fails we can just do this,” he said in her ear with a breathy laugh.

“I think I like this better,” she said, lifting her head to look up at him, and he touched his forehead to hers.

“I do enjoy being close to you,” he said, and she leaned against his shoulder again with a content smile.

“Can I ask you something?” She said, and he flicked his gaze down to her. “Nathalie told me that she wants me to make you happy for a long time, so how long do you think you’ll stay with me like this?”

“Hmm,” he hummed before shrugging. “I told you before that we would keep this up as long as we had to.”

“I know, but it’s been almost two months now, and we haven’t even considered stopping,” she said, and he seemed to consider that for a moment.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked.

“No, I’m not saying that, but I just- you’re probably getting tired of me I bet.” She lowered her gaze, and he stopped dancing, stepping back slightly to cup his hands to her cheeks.

“I’m not tired of you,” he said, eyebrows knitted together. “I’m really happy that I’m getting to spend so much time with you because I’ve always wanted to.”

“You have?” She blinked, and he squished her cheeks together.

“Of course. You’re only like the coolest girl in class. Everybody loves you, and you’re super talented and awesome. Why wouldn’t I want to be your close friend?” He chuckled. “I was just too shy to really approach you, and you never really approached me either, so I thought that maybe you weren’t interested in being closer than we were.”

“That’s not it at all!” She stepped forward, pulling his hands away from her face. “I just thought you were really cool, and I was too scared that you wouldn’t want to hang out with me.”

“Wait, really?” He seemed surprised by this fact, a small grin curling on his lips. “So, all this time we could have been really good friends, but we were both just too scared to ask each other?”

They held each other’s gazes for a moment in stunned silence before they broke down laughing, and he picked her up and spun her around.

“Why would you think I’m cool though?” He asked, setting her back on her feet. “I’m so lame.”

“Adrien Agreste, you’re cool.” She placed her hands on her hips, and he scoffed.

“I’m not cool.”

“You are cool.”

“So not cool.” He shook his head, and she shot him a scolding glare. “But I am hot.”

She covered her face with one hand and sighed.

“I’m gonna step on your foot on purpose at the gala,” she teased.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he shot back.

“Okay, you know what-” She crossed her arms over her chest, and his shoulders shook with laughter. “I’m gonna break up with you.”

“No, I take it back. Don’t leave me!” He pouted, tugging her back into his arms. “Stay with me.”

“For how long?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Forever,” he said, and she rested her chin on his chest.

“Forever?” She cocked a brow. “So we are going to get fake married then?”

“We’ll have a fake wedding and everything.”

“Are we going to have fake kids too?” She laughed as he laced their fingers together.

“Maybe,” he said then waggling his eyebrows added, “or we could have real kids and live a happy domestic life together.”

“You think you could stand me for that long?” She said, tilting her head to hide the flush of her cheeks.

“Definitely. You’re the cool one, remember? I’m just the hot one,” he said, and she glared back up at him, prompting a cheesy grin. “Can I be your trophy husband after you become a world-famous fashion designer?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, and he leaned into her face.

“Please?” He kissed her cheek, and she stepped back with a giggle, prompting him to follow, peppering her cheeks with more kisses.

“You’re gonna marry someone way prettier and smarter than me,” she said finally, and he gave her a skeptical look.

“I’m not sure such a girl exists,” he said, shaking his head.

“Don’t sass me.” She pinched his side.

“I’m not sassing you. You’re really pretty and smart, and I would happily be your trophy husband,” he said, holding a hand over his chest, and she rocked back on her heels.

“I suppose I could allow it. You are hot,” she said, pursing her lips. “And also really funny and sweet.”

He smiled at that, leaning down to kiss her softly.

“Then I guess it’s settled. We’re gonna be together forever,” he said, touching his nose to hers. “Sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”

“Darn,” she sighed, and he let out a breathy laugh.

“Whatever ends up happening between us for real, I hope that we stay friends when all of this is over,” he said, and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Of course we will. You don’t have to worry about that,” she said, and his face softened with relief.

“I’m glad. You’re someone I don’t ever want to lose, Marinette,” he whispered, and she bit back a smile.

“Yeah. Me too.”

***

Marinette stared across her bedroom at the poofy pink dress. She still couldn’t believe Gabriel had her design made! And she was going to wear it to an official Agreste Foundation gala tomorrow. Every time she looked at it, she felt a surge of pride, but it was almost immediately followed by guilt.

Gabriel had gifted her this dress as a sign of good faith in her relationship with Adrien. Her fake relationship. She told herself that no one ever had to know it was fake, but to receive such a gift under false pretenses made her feel a bit…wrong. Like she was using them even if she knew she wasn’t.

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. In actuality, if she thought about it, Adrien was the one using her to get out of dating Lila, so one could argue that she deserved such a gift as payment, but she didn’t like thinking like that. She wasn’t helping Adrien to get something out of it herself. Sure, she didn’t want Lila to get a hold of him, but that was less out of jealousy and more out of concern for his well-being. She really did want to help him, whether or not he fell for her in the end. It would be nice, but she was happy just to help him. Besides, this whole experience had brought them closer, so even after it was over, talking to him like a normal human being should be a breeze considering his entire tongue had been in her mouth on several occasions.

When her phone buzzed on her desk, she swiveled around to read the message, a small smile curling on her lips. Speak of the devil.

Hey cutie can you chat? I want you to hear something…

im in my pjs lol she responded

haha that’s fine. He said then a moment later, a video call request flashed on her screen.

“Don’t judge me,” she said when she answered.

“Why would I judge you?” He tilted his head to the side, and she gestured to her pajama and messy hair situation happening. “You look cute, as always.”

She gave him a look before setting her phone on a stack of books and resting her chin on her fist.

“What was it you wanted me to listen to?” She asked, and he perked up.

“Well, I may have kind of wrote you a song,” he said, biting his lip.

“A song?” Her eyebrows raised.

“It’s not finished yet, but I dunno. I sat down to practice yesterday, and I was just thinking about everything you’re doing for me, so I wanted to express my gratitude somehow…” He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“As if your father making me a dress I designed isn’t payment enough?” She said pointedly, and he let out a breathy laugh.

“Well, that was a gift from my father that I had nothing to do with. This is something straight from my heart,” he said, placing a hand over his chest. “It’s a little rough, but let me know what you think so far.”

Adrien set the phone on the piano gently before situating his fingers over the keys and taking a deep breath. As he started to play a soft melody, Marinette felt her breath hitch in her throat. Adrien had written such a soft melody for her. He’d spent time thinking about what she meant to him, and in that moment, her heart threatened to burst from her chest. How was it possible that she could still find new ways to love him even now when her heart was so torn?

Marinette closed her eyes as the melody picked up, layered on top of gentle harmonies and allowed herself a few moments to put her worries behind her. She and Adrien would figure it out in the end, and so long as Adrien was safe from Lila, she’d try not to let the fakeness of their relationship get to her. After all, Adrien’s feelings registered to her with every note, and it was clear to her that he cared for her a great deal. Even Alya could see it, so for now that was enough.

“Ah,” he sighed as the song ended abruptly. “I’m still working on the ending, but what do you think so far?”

“It’s beautiful, Adrien. Did you really write it for me?” She asked, blinking her eyes open.

“Well, yeah, I was just thinking about how far our friendship has come since we met, about how we weren’t exactly sure of each other at first, but as we’ve gotten to know each other more, we’ve become so close.” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Our friendship has really turned into something beautiful that I cherish deeply, and I’m so thankful for that.”

“Me too.” She leaned against her fist with a smile.

“So, ready for tomorrow?” He asked, and she shot her dress an uneasy look.

“I think so?” It came out as a question. “I’m nervous about walking in that big dress, but I’m really excited to attend something so fancy.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll catch you if you fall,” he chuckled then his face did that thing again, those gorgeous green eyes conveying hidden affection that she didn’t know what to make of. “Do you wanna stay up with me and talk for a while? We didn’t get to see each other much today outside of school.”

“Sure. I was just about to look over my history notes for our test on Monday. Quiz me?” She rolled away to retrieve her notebook.

“Yes, I need to study for that too,” he said, fumbling through his bag.

Adrien had brought up a good point. Having him see her so dressed down before would have sent her into cardiac arrest, let alone talking to him for several hours. They really had come a long way since that day in the rain, and she was really glad for that. And from what she could tell, Adrien had grown more comfortable around her since this all started as well, so maybe there was hope that everything would work out in the end.

“Marinette?” Sabine poked her head in a few hours later. “It’s getting late, honey. Are you still up?”

“Sorry, Mme. Dupain-Cheng. It’s my fault,” Adrien said with a small wave, and Sabine glanced between them with a small smile.

“Five more minutes then go to bed,” Sabine said sternly, giving them a warning look. “Good night.”

“Night,” Marinette and Adrien said in unison as she retreated back down the stairs.

“We always seem to lose track of time when we’re together even through a phone. I guess it’s true what they say about time when you’re having fun,” he said.

“Yeah…” She said, biting her lip. “See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll pick you up at 6.” He nodded.

“Kay, good night,” she said, blowing him a kiss out of habit then curling her shoulders. “Sorry.”

He chuckled good-naturedly before blowing her one in return.

“Good night, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you.” Her heart lurched at that. “You hang up first.”

“Why do I have to hang up first?” She laughed, and he ran a hand through his hair.

“Because I don’t want to. I wanna keep talking,” he said, and she pressed her lips together to hide her smile. “Five more minutes?”

“Okay. Five more minutes.”

#miraculous ladybug #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #fake dating au #my writing

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devinsnewyork · 4 years ago

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Juliet and Thisbe’s Unexpected Adventure

(temporary title, will take suggestions)

It was the end of August; summer was still very much alive (the heat oppressive and the days long), but with two more weeks until Thisbe went back to college, it already felt like summer was taking his last breaths.

Thisbe had thought this summer would be The One. She’d planned to write a book and watch all the movies on her list and go to parties with her high school friends, but all she’d managed to do was befriend the local murder.

“Hey, Nigel.” Thisbe held out her left hand, which held a few pistachio nuts. “Here you go.” Nigel hopped onto her knee, black head twitching, shiny eye looking like a pebble glued to his face. Then he pecked at the nuts. Stretching her right hand out a few feet from her body, Thisbe opened her palm, revealing the peanuts for the other three crows, Sir Bird, Walter, and Captain Corvid, better known as the Captain.

It’s not that Thisbe hadn’t had human contact all summer; she regularly hung out with her friends. She just felt lonely in the way all people do, Carson McCullers’ the Heart Is a Lonely Hunter kind of loneliness. She couldn’t describe the feeling herself; she could just remember what writers had written in the past and feel it.

She watched the sun blink, his eyes drooping low, his tired sighs turning the sky orange. Her murder lingered for a few minutes, and Thisbe pretended that it was because they enjoyed her company, not because they were hoping for more food.

“Dude!” Nigel squawked. Thisbe beamed at him.

“Dude!” She shook her head, still smiling. Teaching the crows human words was definitely one of her better ideas.

“Come with us!” Thisbe snapped her head to the right and narrowed her eyes at the Captain.

“Since when could you say that?”

“Come with us! Adventure!” This time it was Walter who spoke, fluttering his wings by his side and tilting his head up, sending his calls into the sky. Thisbe kept shifting her gaze, taking turns on staring at all the crows, who were all remarkably still for such twitchy creatures, and she swallowed when she realized it seemed that they were all looking at her.

No. Thisbe shook her head vigorously and stood. Nothing weird here, no call to adventure. These are normal crows.

“Where are you going? Adventure!”

“Come with us!”

“No, guys.” Thisbe sighed and showed them her empty palms. “No adventure. Good night.” That apparently wasn’t the right thing to say because the crows started screeching angrily, a raucous, discordant orchestra composed of scratchy violins, piercing violas, and cellos with their strings snapping. “Shh! Stop!” But her murder, ever recalcitrant, continued the ear-splitting squawk fest. Thisbe grimaced and retreated indoors, where the shrill noise was much more muted.

Thisbe’s dad was in the kitchen, sitting at the counter, plate with crumbs sitting in front of him, his face in his phone. She tilted her head and looked at him.

With his wide eyes, high cheekbones, and square chin, he and Thisbe looked nothing alike. All they shared was their cool obsidian skin.

“What is wrong with those crows?” Thisbe’s mom walked in, eyebrows high on her forehead. Thisbe shrugged sheepishly and ducked her head, and her mom laughed. “You better apologize. I want to sleep tonight.” She threw Thisbe a pointed look, round face betraying amusement in the fullness of her cheeks and the topaz glow in her eyes.

“I tried, I swear.” Thisbe opened the silver refrigerator, grabbed a red apple, and made for her room, twisting away from her mother when she reached out to squeeze her shoulder. Ignoring the shrieks coming from her brothers and sisters in the living room, Thisbe took the stairs two at a time. She opened the first door on the right and closed it behind her.

She sighed and threw herself down onto her bed, biting into the apple and staring at the ceiling. The white fan circled around, and Thisbe tried to follow one blade around and around and around with her eyes until they started to water. She sat up and sighed again, glancing around at the computer that lay on the grey rug on the floor, the guitar leaning against a green wall, the stack of books she had piled in front of the much-too-small bookcase, and she only had to ask herself what should I do? once before her phone buzzed. She took another bite of the apple and thumbed open her phone.

Thisbe smiled so widely a bit of apple juice dripped onto her chin.

Juliet: what are you doing

Thisbe typed back Nothing.

Juliet: lame.

Juliet: you should hang out with me instead

Thisbe sent back Okay.

Juliet: good i’m outside your house

Thisbe barked a shocked laugh, then shot up. She glanced at herself in the mirror, making sure her afro wasn’t doing anything weird before jogging down the stairs, shouting “JULIET’S HERE I’LL BE BACK LATER BYE LOVE YOU” just as she pulled the front door shut. She turned and waved to her friend and walked around to the passenger side door of her little, black 2004 Volvo called Romeo.

Juliet’s long hair was pulled into a low ponytail, evidence that her curls were too frizzy to let loose tonight. Thisbe’s eyes lingered on the blue silk ribbon that complimented Juliet’s dark brown hair and made her look like Anastasia from that animated movie they both loved as kids. “So!” Thisbe waited for Juliet to look up from her phone. “Where to?”

Juliet shrugged. “Do you wanna get sorbet?”

“Duh.”

Juliet shuffled their favorite playlist and started singing along as she pulled away from the curb.

At the outdoor ice cream shop, Juliet and Thisbe ate their lemon sorbet with rainbow sprinkles from small cups and watched people come and go. Thisbe couldn’t stop laughing; she was so happy to be with Juliet. They weren’t best friends, but Thisbe always relished Juliet’s company, and eating sorbet with her in the dark while joking back and forth made her feel relished, too. How dare she let herself feel lonely! This is was love felt like. Thisbe wanted to hold on to this.

Juliet drove her home and was just pulling up to the curb, ready to drop Thisbe off, when there was a blurry shape and a loud THUD against the windshield. Both girls screamed. The shape moved, popped up, and tapped its talons against the glass.

“Thisbe!” Juliet gasped. “Is that one of yours?”

The crow twitched and glared at Thisbe, and she recognized the patch of feathers missing around her right eye. “It’s the Captain.” She opened up the door and shouted, “DON’T GO IN FRONT OF CARS YOU IDIOT! WE COULD’VE KILLED YOU!” The Captain flapped his dark wings that blended in with the night and flew forward, landing on the frame of the door Thisbe had just propped open. He turned his head to look at her sternly with one eye.

“Come with us! Adventure!”

Thisbe groaned. “Not this again.”

Juliet placed her hand on Thisbe’s shoulder, getting the other woman’s attention. “Um … we have company.”

Thisbe’s mouth dropped open. She stepped out of a car to get a better look at the tens of hundreds of crows that were coming to land on the hood of the car, the paved street, the sidewalks, even mailboxes and the roofs of houses. Thisbe couldn’t see all their bodies, but she could see their eyes, all of which reflected the white shine from Romeo’s headlights, and she could hear the beating of wings like the turning of thousands of pages.

“Adventure!” Nigel was there, his one white feather making him noticeable even though he was completely surrounded by crows in his spot by Thisbe’s feet.

“Thisbe. Are your crows giving you a quest?”

“No! They’re … they’re normal crows, Juliet.”

“Normal crows don’t give you quests.”

“They’re not giving me a quest!”

“Quest!” The Captain squawked from the door.

“Come with us!” Nigel hopped forward and landed on Thisbe’s sneakers, looking up expectantly.

“Thisbe …” Juliet turned and looked at her friend with wide brass eyes. “Follow the crows.”

“Are you joking?”

“Are you?” Juliet waved a frantic hand back and forth. “Do you see this? This is not normal. They’re talking. Follow them.”

“Are you gonna come with me?”

“Of course.”

Thisbe bit her lip, then turned and looked at the Captain, who stood just above eye level. “Okay. We’ll follow you.” The crow puffed up his chest and called out to the group. The mass of crows lifted from the ground, wings collectively flapping as loudly as helicopter blades, and they all started moving down the street. Thisbe and Juliet followed, glancing between each other and the birds silently with wide eyes and open mouths.

Thisbe’s hands were shaking.

They moved up the small street Thisbe’s house was on, past all the yellow and blue and brick suburban homes filled with sleeping, ignorant people. Thisbe hoped no one would decide to glance out the window to uncover the source of the deafening noise that almost sounded like hurricane winds. The crows all turned right, so Thisbe and Juliet followed. Then the crows veered off the street and started across a small field, headed towards the forest.

“Juliet … I don’t like this.”

“Thisbe, I think we don’t have a choice.”

The two girls trailed the mammoth murder into the woods, tripping over roots and uneven earth even when dimly lighting the way with iPhone flashlights. The crows started moving faster, then suddenly the flapping noise was above the women, and the birds tore through leaves and left Thisbe and Juliet alone.

The quiet rang in Thisbe’s ears. Her head hurt. “Where do we go now?”

“Look ahead.” Juliet pointed, but Thisbe couldn’t see anything. She followed Juliet through some more trees and saw some flags up ahead, red flags on a string stretching between two tall trees. Juliet marched right through.

Thisbe blinked. Juliet wasn’t there.

Thisbe choked on shock and for a moment was still, but then her legs by instinct carried her forward under the flags into a green clearing with withering purple asters shaking in the grass. The trees around were all bare, the sky above a sickly grey-blue.

Nigel, Sir Bird, Walter, and the Captain flew from behind and hovered in front of the women.

“Follow us! A quest!” Then the four birds started through the trees.

Thisbe looked over at Juliet. “I think we just answered our call to adventure.”

“Shut up and get moving, they’re not slowing down for us.”

Thisbe and Juliet left the clearing, jogging through a foreign forest after four feathery guides, and Thisbe wondered what adventure they could’ve possibly gotten themselves into.

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feynavaley · 5 years ago

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50 Questions

I took this from @mandelene, thanks for the open invitation!

———

1. What is the colour of your hairbrush? Light brown. (It’s a wooden hairbrush.)

2. Name a food you never ever eat. Well... I’m quite a picky eater but I generally try everything if I’m pressed (even though I end up not liking it). I won’t eat very spicy food though, I don’t have a good tolerance for it. Another food I used to enjoy but now I can’t even stand the smell of anymore – and even less I would eat – is almond paste. (Long story short, I came up with something – maybe labyrinthitis – that made me awfully nauseous and dizzy for a few days. I would throw up any time I even just stood up, I couldn’t eat anything. But my roommate had on her desk and almond paste cake, which has a very strong smell. Since I constantly smelled it while feeling so sick, now that’s what I associate that smell and taste with.)

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold? Generally, too cold. I handle being cold better than I handle being hot, though.

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? Translating from English to Italian some stuff my dad needs for work. (He doesn’t understand/speak English.)

5. What is your favourite candy bar? Kinder Bueno, Tronky, and Bounty.

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports game? No.

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? “No, I haven’t seen your glasses. Are you sure you didn’t leave them upstairs?” to my mother.

8. What is your favourite ice cream? If it’s good, Pistachio. It’s very hard to get right, though. Not many ice cream parlours can prepare it well, they tend to make it too sweet.

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? Water.

10. Do you like your wallet? Yes. Actually, I have two – one is a big red one where I keep basically everything, the other is blue and small and I just put in there a few banknotes and coins and the cards I need, changing them every time. I like both of them.

11. What was the last thing you ate? Chicken breast and salad for dinner.

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? Nope. I’ve been confined home for almost one month and a half. 😅

13. The last sporting event you watched? I don’t know. I’m not a fan of sports so I don’t watch anything spontaneously. I only watch something if I’m with somebody who wants to watch it, but I don’t remember when the last time was.

14. What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? Uhh... there are different flavours of popcorns? I only know one... 😅 I’m not a great fan, though.

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to? An aunt of mine. (My mother’s youngest sister.)

16. Ever go camping? Yes and no. I’ve never gone with a tent in the wild or anything – however, my grandparents used to own a trailer that they kept in a fancy camping location/trailer park by the seaside. When I was a child, I would spend the entire three months of summer break there. I don’t know if it counts as camping, though. After growing older, my sister and I would sleep in a tent instead of the trailer (because the trailer was too small for everybody), but it was still in that fancy campsite which I don’t know how much can count.

17. Do you take vitamins? No.

18. Do you go to church every Sunday? Yes. I mean, not right now, clearly (all the Churches are closed due to Covid-19 lockdown) but I would go under normal circumstances.

19. Do you have a tan? No. And it’s very hard for me to get one, anyway. I’m as white as a person can possibly be. 😅 (I’m paler than an actual albino person I know at work. I wish I were kidding. 😓)

20. Do you prefer Chinese food over pizza? I prefer pizza. Very stereotypical, I know. 😅 (I’m talking about real Italian pizza, though.)

21. Do you drink your soda with a straw? Generally not.

22. What colour socks do you usually wear? White or black.

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit? Depends on where I am and what the speed limit is. I respect the 50 km/h limit inside the cities and towns, but the 30 km/h that can be often found... yeah. 😅 (I’ve never met a driver who respected it, though.) If I’m out of the city and on a straight street across the countryside, I respect the 70 km/h limit but I tend to go faster if there’s a 50 km/h one. (Unless I know there’s an autovelox.) I’ve never gone above the 90 km/h limit, either – actually, I tend to go more around 80–85 km/h on those streets. I should probably also mention that I never drive much above the speed limit, though.

24. What terrifies you? Failure. Hurting or even just disappointing or upsetting other people. On the irrational side, I’m highly arachnophobic and I’m terrified of dogs.(Because I was attacked by a freaking SAINT BERNARD. Luckily, it just got my sweater, but it was completely mauled by the time somebody managed to get it back so... It also turned out I’m mildly allergic though, so me not staying around dogs is probably for the best anyway.)

25. Look to your left, what do you see? I actually don’t know how it’s called in English. I have a sloped wooden roof covering the left side of my bedroom, and I see it along with the skylight.

26. What chore do you hate most? Washing the dishes. Our sink is at a height that forces me to bend in an awkward way and makes my back ache if I have to wash more than a couple of dishes.

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? “OMG what is that person saying?? 😭” I’m not a native English speaker so strong non-standard accents always throw me off a bit, at least at first. 😅 I need a few minutes to get used to them.

28. What’s your favourite soda? Citron soda (I don’t know the brand. It was one my great-grandparents used to have in small glass bottles, it tasted amazing and was so refreshing...), Fanta, or Coke Zero. I don’t drink soda often, though.

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive? I go in. I think there’s only one place with a drive-through in my hometown.

30. What is your favourite number? For some reason, I’ve always liked the numbers 3 and 11. They aren’t my lucky numbers or anything, I just like them. (Actually, thinking about it, I know why I like the number 11... In German, it’s ‘elf’, and I started taking German around the period I was obsessed with LoTR... 😅)

31. Who’s the last person you talked to? My mother.

32. Favourite cut of beef? I hardly ever eat beef (I eat meat about every other day, but it’s generally chicken or turkey breast), I don’t have a preference.

33. Last song you listened to? This one. (You’re welcome.)

34. Last book you read? Fire and Blood by George R.R. Martin.

35. Favourite day of the week? Saturday.

36. Can you say the alphabet backwards? Yes, but only the Italian one (that is missing J, K, X, Y, W). I tend to mix up some letters in the English one. 😅

37. How do you like your coffee? Plain espresso.

38. Favourite pair of shoes? My ankle-height black converse.

39. The time you normally get up? Since the lockdown started, between 8:30–9. I’ve been having trouble sleeping so I’m always tired in the morning.

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? Sunset, the colours are gorgeous. Sunrise is still beautiful and so it’s the atmosphere, but the colours tend to be fainter.

41. How many blankets on your bed? One, at the moment.

42. Describe your kitchen plates. Kind of square, white with blue and yellow stylized flowers in the corners.

43. Describe your kitchen at the moment? Quite empty. We’re due a grocery run.

44. Do you have a favourite alcoholic drink? No, I don’t like any alcoholic drink. For some reason, I don’t like the taste of alcohol. (And there’s probably something genetic here as it’s also true for my sister, my father, and other relatives from my father’s side.)

45. Do you play cards? Technically, I know a few games but I’m not really good at them and I don’t play often.

46. What colour is your car? I use my mother’s car and it’s dark blue. We also have a dark grey car (belonging to my father) but I’ve never used it because it’s very big (you can go up to 7 seats), I wouldn’t feel comfortable with driving it, let alone parking.

47. Can you change a tire? No.

48. Your favourite state? I’ve never been anywhere in the US so I can’t say.

49. Favourite job you’ve had? The current one. The pay is very low so I’ll have to leave it as soon as I find something better, but I love these children so much. 😭

50. How did you get your biggest scar? I actually don’t have any big scar... I have several small ones. The biggest one is probably on my arm, from when I leaned against the toaster to unplug it and got this long, thin burn. 😅

———

I tag anybody who feels like doing this! And please tag me back, I’d love to read your answers! 😊

#about feyna #tag chain

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somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds · 5 years ago

Note

Team Zombie + “So you’re in charge of us freaks? What’d you do to get this kind of punishment?”

When Billy had reopened his eyes, he expected Max to still be there. He didn’t expect the blinding white lights and the smell of cigarette smoke. Hospital. Yeah, that had to be it, he was in a hospital and he could go - somewhere, after he was let out. Dad wouldn’t let him back in the house, he knew that much. Harrington’s family had a pool house, maybe he could stay for a few-

The cough beside him was startling, even more when his eyes moved to the side and saw the Hawkins chief on a slab across the room, like they were in a morgue together as Billy felt the cold steel under his own body.

The smoke flitted up to the ceiling as words were spoken. They were in a low Russian accent, but to Billy it sounded like he was right next to his ear.

“Gentleman. Welcome to the new Project Starcourt.”

Billy could only stare at the ceiling, as the words crawled over his skin as he heard the chief say, “What the hell is this?”

“Relax, you’re very safe.”

“Where are we?”

“Safe.”

Billy heard a curse and a sound like scraping metal and then a grunt. It was loud, so loud, and he felt a cold ache in his chest. He couldn't reach it.

“Now, now, none of that. Won’t want to do something foolsy. Foolish.”

“You can’t keep me - keep us - here.”

He could see Billy? Billy wondered why he couldn’t speak, everything was heavy and pressing down on his limbs.

“Oh, we can. I will warn you both: if you end yourselves before we finish my work, we will bring you back.”

A hand touched Billy’s hair, stroked it down, and Billy couldn't move. He couldn’t speak.

The voice felt like it was coming from inside of him, but it was in Russian and Billy didn’t understand. He hadn’t understood much of anything for a week. He closed his eyes again, and when he woke up this time, he could move, and his tongue was looser.

His hair was gone. He screamed, and not a soul answered him back.

The - thing - flayer? - was out of him. Supposedly. He didn’t hear its voice anymore. He heard the man with a cigarette and a clipboard speaking low and calm to him a lot, asking what happened. Billy told him over and over about the car and Heather and her parents and the sauna and the mall, but it never seemed like the right answer. Every time, he got put back in his room, and heard Russian whispers. The longest time, he didn’t see any of them for a week.

After week, he was put in bed and strapped down, and was put to sleep. He had a nightmare, like he had almost every single night. This time, though, it felt like a tangible thing, something he could push away. So with a hard shove, he pushed at the air and watched his surroundings melt like ice cream on a hot day (pistachio, hazelnuts, cherries; that’s disgusting, Hargrove) until they swirled down into nothing by his feet.

He opened his eyes and saw the man with the cigarette taking notes, as his assistant next to him was screaming, begging, crying, clawing at the wires attached to his head until there was blood dripping out of his skin, his ears, his nose.

The man wrote another note and patted Billy’s head. Billy hated that. He got a pat after sitting for in a cool or hot room. He got a pat for when he was told to read a chart at the end of the hallway and did that pretty easily.

Every pat left him with the smell of soap, hair grease (Farrah Fawcett, if you tell anyone it’s your ass, Hargrove) and iron. Billy didn’t like that. Smells were bothering him now. He could smell something downstairs, where he wasn’t allowed. Something green.

Billy could read his chart if he focused when he was wheeled down the hallway, and it said day 40 the day he and Jim were sat at a table, food on plastic plates with plastic forks. The man with the cigarette sat with them, with his own plate, and smiled at them both. He didn’t have a cigarette with him today, today he had his clipboard. Billy didn’t have anything to say.

Jim did.

“So you’re in charge of us freaks? What’d you do to get this kind of punishment?”

The man placed a forkful of mashed potato into his mouth. “I volunteered. You are the natural next steps after my success with Project Kore.”

“What the hell is that, Matvei?”

Matvei. A name. That was good. Billy had been calling him fucker in his head for the past 40 days when he wasn’t pumped full of drugs.

“You have to introduce your pets slowly, Jim. You understand that, didn’t you have any growing up?”

A dog. Billy had a dog once. Neil got rid of it after Mama left. It was fluffy, yellow, and yipped instead of barked. Mama would always play with it, sing it Janis Joplin songs as she cleaned the kitchen.

“Billy, eat your tray.”

Billy wasn't listening. He was thinking about running on the beach, not after the dog or after Mama, or away from Neil. Just - running, and running, and running, towards humming.

Take another little piece of my heart, baby!

He stepped in a dip in the sand and it swallowed him like quicksand, and suddenly he was somewhere surrounded by green. The green he could smell from his room. A mix of fresh salad greens, the pine that covered the shit smell in Hawkins (it doesn’t always smell like shit, Hargrove!) and dirt. He kept walking towards the song, and stopped when a hand came up and brushed a leaf away from their face.

It was a girl. She had freckles, short red hair that curled. Her skin was slightly green, not like it was rotten, just overripe. She was humming Janice Joplin. The plants curled around her to keep her out of Billy’s view.

She was alone.

“I can hear you,” he spoke to the green.

The leaves were brushed back, and she stared through him. Not at him. Through him.

“But I’m dead.”

“I’m not dead, and I can see you. I can see - I can see so much now. I can hear everything now.”

“Did you die?”

“I don’t - think so. Something did.”

“Did it touch you, too?”

Billy nodded, but she didn’t react. So he spoke. “Yes. It went through me. What about you?”

“They said one of me died. Didn’t know there were more than one. I’m just - here. They didn’t know what I know.”

“What do you know?”

“They don’t know I can remember.”

“Remember what?”

“My name. My life. My death. The pool, at Steve Harrington’s.”

Steve.

“You know him.”

“Do you?”

Yes.

“Why are we here?”

“They want guides in and out. Like guides for Everest, you know? Sometimes I get those books to read.”

“Guides to - the Upside Down? What do they want?”

“To open the Gate again. To let it out. I saw you, my last trip, to get the - the thing.”

“Dem-demagorgan.”

“It was using you. And now they’re using you, too. And Hopper. I saw him once down there. It’s inside of us.”

“Nobody tells me what to do. Not anymore,” Billy snarled.

The girl’s eyes lit up, like petals opening.

“We can get out.”

“How?”

“Come down here again, and we can work out a plan. Somehow. I’m - I’m Barb - what’s your-”

Then Billy was rewinding his memory, his sight, he was running backwards out of the green, back down the beach, until his head rolled forward and he was staring at Matvei, who wrote another note while cocking his head to the side.

“Billy, welcome back to the land of the living. What did you see?”

“I’m not going down there,” Billy told him, fingernails cutting into his skin. “You can’t make me.”

Matvei sat down his pen, removed a needle from inside of his coat, and smiled at him. The way Neil did right before the dog left, before he announced the move, before he broke Billy’s jaw after he caught him with Roger Lee back in Santa Mon-

Billy focused all of that blackness forward, but Matvei didn’t stop. Billy focused his hearing, and heard a high frequency from the man’s earpiece that made him wince and shrink back, but then Jim’s arm was covering him, snapping at Matvei. “What do you think you’re doing? You want to put someone down there, send me.”

“I’m sorry, Chief,” the man mocked. “But you and I know that magnets are useless in the cold, unfortunately. Alice here and Dorothy downstairs are our only options.”

Billy heard Barb’s voice from downstairs. Get him to put you down here so we can get out.

Billy pushed Hopper lightly and the man flew into the table easily. Billy knew he’d been stronger since he woke up from the Flayer. Matvei wrote another note. Billy heard him whisper about blood tests and injecting another text subject with the creature’s matter. But Billy looked at him with as blank a look as he could muster. “I want to go.”

Matvei smiled, and patted his head again. Billy felt like biting it off.

Then he was strapped down into a wheelchair and brought into the green again. Barb was nestled in a corner, sketching a crude map that could not be deciphered.

“Dorothy,” Matvei said with a cheery smile, smoothing her hair back so she had to look up at him and Billy. “Meet Alice. You’ll both be going in tomorrow, yes?”

“Yes,” she nodded, picking at the dirt under her fingernails. One of the guard dogs started barking, but Billy noticed when she let out a near-silent shhh then they were quiet.

They were left alone, and Barb told him sometimes she could feel what the dogs were thinking. Like they could understand her. They both heard too much, all the time.

Jim was put in his own room again, after the small satisfaction of turning all the thumbtacks in the hallway board onto a passing guard. A sharp electric jolt had gotten him to the ground, and Matvei calmly explained how he was to be their tether when they went down.

“If you lose either of my pets,” Matvei told him, tapping his nose like a bad dog sniffing the trash. “I will erase you.

Hopper couldn’t reach him as he left the room, stuck watching some Disney movie playing at full blast in his cell so he couldn’t sleep.

Then he heard a voice.

Jim.

“Kid?”

We’re going to get out.

“Who?”

All three of us.

“By clicking your heels down there?”

Do you trust us?

Hopper scrubbed the side of his face, missing the hair tie around his wrist. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

No place like home, right?

#stranger things #billy hargrove #jim hopper #barb holland #harringrove #agentmarymargaretskitz

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cevanstorytime · 5 years ago

Text

America’s Sass Chapter 4

Chapter 4!! Chris makes an unexpected stop at Brie’s house. Little smut, lots of cussing. Enjoy! Special thanks to @thingsididntknowwereerotic for helping me with the smut...like a lot... What would I do without you?

The following day I called the spa and booked our treatments. I sent Chris a quick text and let him know the day and time. He responded with the thumbs up emoji which left me a bit...disappointed. Maybe now that he was sober he had decided he wasn’t that into me. I left his thumbs up unanswered and went about my day.

I had been unpacking boxes for a couple hours when I heard a knock at the door. Harry immediately went into attack mode bouncing around the door, ferociously alerting me to the possible intruder. I held his collar and opened the door. Harry’s tail began to thump excitedly against my leg. Chris was standing at the door holding up a white paper bag and smiling broadly. “I thought I’d introduce you to the best ice cream you’ll ever eat.” My eyes widened with excitement. “Are you busy? Can I come in?” He asked.

“Of course! Come in! Sorry.” I pulled Harry to the side as he sniffed excitedly at Chris’s shoes. Chris sat the bag of ice cream on top of an end table and knelt down to pet Harry. I made my way into the kitchen to get bowls and spoons for the ice cream. “So what flavor is this amazing ice cream?”

He held a finger up, “Correction, flavors. With an s. I brought chocolate, pistachio, and the big dig.”

“The big dig?” I asked with a confused look on my face.

“Oh yes, the big dig. It’s vanilla ice cream, brownies, chocolate chunks, and caramel swirl.”

My eyes grew wide again. “I know. Just wait. Do you like pistachios? This one is amazing. I know it’s a weird flavor, but it’s...it’s the best.” He looked at me very seriously.

“I take it ice cream is a favorite treat if yours?” I smiled.

“Yes, but this is special. This is Brigham’s and you will never want any other ice cream ever again.”

“Well then, that’s a big claim Mr. Evans.” I turned to the counter and picked up the bowls and spoons. Suddenly Chris was standing behind me, reaching past me to put the bag on the counter. I set the bowls back down and turned around slowly. He smiled at me lopsided and tucked a rogue piece of hair behind my ear. I absentmindedly placed a hand on his chest. His head bent down towards mine, his eyes searching my face. I leaned up towards him and placed my lips on his. His hands cupped my face as I felt his lips part and his tongue slid into my mouth. His warmth was intoxicating...his warmth. Oh shit. I pulled away reluctantly. “We can totally keep this up, but the ice cream...” I said grasping blindly at the counter behind me for the bag. He chuckled.

“To be continued.” He purred as his hand slid down and rested it in the curve of my low back as he placed small kisses on my jaw by my ear, which is my weakest of weak spots.

We scooped our ice cream and headed to the living room, Harry hot on our heels. I turned on Rick and Morty for some background noise as we sat down facing each other on the couch.

“So how’s your day been going?” I asked after a moment of silence.

“Good! Thanks.” He answered. I watched him, waiting for him to elaborate, but I was just met with awkward silence for a short time. He finally continued, “I had a few meetings I had to call into, but nothing big. What have you been up to today?”

I swallowed a mouth full of ice cream and gestured around the room with my spoon. “Unpacking mostly. I’m almost done though! So that’s nice.”

“Nice! I’m sure Harry is a lot of help.” He joked.

“He’s a very good supervisor. Very good at giving disapproving looks when I’m not moving fast enough.” We both turned to look at Harry who was sitting on the floor staring at us with his head cocked to the side, confused as to why we were eating and not sharing with him.

“So...” He looked at me with excitement, “what’s your opinion in the ice cream?”

“Mmm,” I swallowed a mouth full before answering, “oh my god, it’s delicious. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this is genuinely the best.”

“Yesss.” He hissed, while raising a fist in the air, doing a good impression of the success kid meme, “even the pistachio?” he asked tentatively.

I nodded emphatically, “Especially the pistachio. You did good.”

“I did.” He smiled softly at me before his face became slightly serious with a look of contemplation, or perhaps concern, spreading across it.

“Everything alright?” I asked quietly after a moment. His eyes shifted and met mine.

“Hmm? Oh, yes! Yeah. I’m good.” His face softened. “Just have a lot on my mind. Sorry.” He set his bowl down and turned his full attention back to me. “Tell me something.”

“Hmm?” I asked confused. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, let's start with family. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I do. I have a sister and a brother.” I answered.

“And are you the oldest?” He asked.

“I’m the youngest.”

He gasped in mock shock. “The baby!”

“Well...I mean technically yes.” I snickered rolling my eyes.

“I bet you were spoiled.” He smiled.

“Maybe a little.” I shrugged.

“Used to getting what you want?” The corner of his mouth perked up.

“Hardly.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “As an adult anyway. I’ve worked my ass off.”

“No, your ass is still there. I can attest to that.”

“Can you now?” I smirked.

He wiggled his eyebrows, “I can.” He slid closer towards me and took my empty bowl from my hands and set it on top of his. He put one arm up on the back of the couch and rested his head on his hand. His other hand found mine and held it loosely, running his thumb in circles over the back of my hand. “Was it hard to leave your family?”

“It was, but that’s what planes and phones and face time are for.” I said a little more sadly than intended.

“It’s hard for me to be away from my family.” He lowered his eyes to our joined hands. “What about your boyfriend?”

“I told you last night I didn’t have one...or were you too drunk to remember?” I teased.

“I was just testing you.” He winked at me. “If I remember right you said the men in Florida are a different breed?” He tilted his head to the side, quite resembling Harry.

“I did.” I chuckled. “They are...a bit... I don’t know how to explain it. There’s no motivation, no... gumption” we giggled together. “For the south, they’re not chivalrous. Every guy I dated... I felt like I was the mother, not the girlfriend. I don’t want to mother a grown-ass man. I need to feel appreciated and respected... and loved.” My face scrunched in distaste remembering past relationships. “I guess I never felt...valued, or important to them. They were all pretty selfish. I would say maybe that was just the type of guy I was attracting, but all my single friends were having the same problems as me.” I shrugged. “I decided I’d rather be alone.”

“Lucky for me.” He said quietly.

“Is it?” I asked, my voice inadvertently shooting up a few octaves.

He nodded once and moved in slowly for a kiss. His hand moved to my waist, pulling my body closer to his. My hand ran slowly up his arm, feeling the tight muscles of his forearm, then biceps. Our kissing grew more passionate and frenzied and before I knew it I was sitting in his lap with my arms and legs wrapped around him. His hands slid under my shirt and up to my chest, one hand squeezing my breast while the other worked quickly to unhook my bra. I pulled his shirt up and off of his torso, messing up his hair in the sexiest way as I did so.

We broke apart briefly so that I could pull my own shirt off. He slid my bra off my arms, throwing it on the floor, and placed both hands on my breasts squeezing lightly.

I giggled, leaning back as he shifted his weight slowly forward, brushing the tip of his nose against my earlobe, his beard brushing my cheek.

A thousand things came to mind, all flat and dull: missed connections, mealy-mouthed fuckboys who couldn’t commit to a hamburger for lunch, much less a person -- a woman like me.

His breath, hot on my neck, another kiss -- slow this time, and warm, a gentle, low moan coming from the base of his throat, erasing all my thoughts and bleaching out the shitty memories until they were only black and white.

He pressed forward again, and I laughed while he kissed me, his hand gently cradling the back of my neck as he lay me down on the couch.

“Be careful,” I whispered, giggling again.

“Oh, are you all right?” he said, leaning back, a stricken look on his face.

I only laughed harder. “No, it’s fine, it’s just...” I pulled him to me again, and he kissed gently down my neck. “ I might get a crush on you if you keep this up.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said, his voice purring with base tones that quickened my pulse, along with his lips brushing the jumping pulse at my collarbone.

“Yeah.” It came out as a tiny breath, as he reached low, his hand brushing my hip, grabbing tight to my hipbone.

“Well, this is Brigham’s…”

“Huh?” My head back, my eyes drifting shut.

“And you will never want any other flavor… ever again…”

“Is that a promise?” I asked, staring him straight in the eye and arching my brow.

His glance darkened and he rushed toward me again, just as his phone jumped an inch off the table, chiming and buzzing at the same time.

“Who’s that?” I said, pausing to breathe between his slow, insistent kisses.

“Who cares,” he says.

In the silence, I could hear the hum of the refrigerator and the pounding of my own heart. He kissed me slowly again, once on the spot behind my earlobe, three quick kisses down my neck, then lightly brushing his lips in the valley between my breasts, reaching up to softly cradle them in his hands while he shuddered, his breath hitching as he kissed down to the softest part of my stomach. He looked up at me then, his lips darkened and damp, and then back to his work, sliding his hands down my sides with just a feather-touch.

I arched my back, rolling my hips toward him, and gasping as he moved up to look into my eyes again. He pressed against me for a moment, clearly “enjoying” this as much as I was, a hard ridge pushing into me, blasting through whatever was left of my conscious thought.

Ping.

His fucking phone again.

“God, I love it when you do that,” he growled, tracing a finger down the center of my chest as I gasped, arching toward his touch again. He buried his face in my neck and I curled my leg up and around him.

Ping.

“Ahh,” he purred, rolling his hips into mine in a slow, torturing rhythm. I pushed up to meet him, the heat of pure desire flooding me.

“I want this,” he said, pulling back, sliding a warm hand down, tracing the outline of my heat with the tip of his finger on the outside of my panties, then pushing them to the side to feel me, gasping. “You’re so fucking ready,” he moaned, his voice slow and almost slurred.

“Yes,” was all I could manage to squeeze out of my throat, wanting now for him to take whatever he wanted, as long as he did it now...

Ping.

“Right now,” I breathed.

Ping.

He had the front of my jeans open, the heat of his breath on me as he kissed, slowly...

And then, a buzzing and pinging of the phone so violent neither of us could ignore it.

I pulled him to me, locking my arms in his and kissing him slowly. “Turn it off,” I said, my voice sleepy and heavy like his.

Instead, I heard him answer— a sudden bright tone, an apology.

“Oh, god, yeah. I’ll be there… I'll be there in twenty minutes. Okay. Yeah. Okay, bye.”

The silence was cold.

“I’m so sorry. I promised my sister...I told her I’d watch the kids.” He stretched his shirt back over his head.

After all that? I couldn’t help but wonder. I didn’t think it would have taken long for both of us to come, as much tension as we had between us.

The heat of his hands still on my skin as he stood up, then knelt next to me, smoothing my hair and kissing me slowly.

“I’ll call you later,” he said, squeezing my hand as he stood to go. “Is it all right if I go?”

I shrugged, confused, and started to cover my bare chest with my arms. “I… uh… I mean, I guess. If you have to,” I said bewildered. Part of me wanted to kick him out and slam the door behind him.

But the way he touched me… That didn’t happen every day. Hell, it had barely happened to me at all.

“Call me,” I said, smiling weakly up at him. Damn him. I can’t remember the last time I let a man make me feel like this. And I haven’t even known him that long! This is ridiculous.

“I will,” he said, softly.

And in three steps he was at the door, he paused and turned his head halfway back towards me, then with one quick step he was gone.

I sat confused, topless, and cold on the couch for a moment trying to gather my thoughts. I finally stood up and grabbed my discarded clothing, throwing it in the hamper as I made my way to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and stared at my reflection as I waited for the water to warm up. “What the fuck?” I asked out loud.”What....the fuck.”

*If you’d like me to tag you when there's a new chapter just inbox me! Thank you for reading, and thank you so much for your patience!

Tag’s

@patzammit

#america's sass #americassass #Chris Evans #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction

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thatfanficstuff · 6 years ago

Text

The Light in my Darkness - 2

Pairing: none yet

Warnings: language but if that bothers you should quit reading this now.

A/N: I meant to have this up way earlier but ya know. Enjoy my lovelies. This is so much fun to write.

***

“I don’t understand why you won’t give me this one thing.”

Sharon’s voice had taken on a nasal quality that grated on Clint Barton’s nerves. Of course, the entire argument was an annoyance he shouldn’t be bothered with. They had an agreement for a reason. He clenched his teeth and worked the muscle in his jaw. He was choosing his words carefully, not wanting the conversation to devolve any further. “I’m going to assume you didn’t mean to imply that I don’t provide you with everything you need.”

Her full bottom lip curled out in a pout and she batted her eyelashes at him. “You know I didn’t mean that, baby. You take such good care of me.”

He arched a brow but didn’t bother to respond. The monthly credit card bill was more than sufficient to show that she was more than taken care of. He crossed the room to look out the window, putting her at his back. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was time to end this. Sharon could be difficult at times but did it outweigh the time and effort he would have to put into finding a new companion? He sighed. God, I sound like a miserable bastard, he thought. Though he tried not to think about it too hard as he was far from happy with his current situation.

Small hands ran over the back of his jacket and across his shoulders. He resisted the urge to shrug off her touch.

“Look, we’ve been seeing each other for awhile now. My father thinks it time the two of you met. That’s all.” She’d curbed her tone to sound more reasonable and less whiney, but it was all a game. Everything that came from her mouth was calculated to get what she wanted. It should probably have bothered him more than it did, but he knew what she was when they started this.

He turned to face her. “The only reason he wants to meet me now is you’ve led on that we’re more than what we are. You could have told your parents that this was a casual relationship.”

Her lips pursed and she huffed as she turned away from him to grab her drink off the table. “They aren’t likely to believe that when I’m living with you.”

“We do not live together. You’ve never even seen my house and I’m barely ever here. I hate this apartment.”

Her brow furrowed as if this was news to her, though he’d mentioned it before. “What?”

He shrugged. “It’s cold. Impersonal.” Everything in the apartment was chrome and shades of gray. Nothing about it remotely said home to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I thought you’d approve. The designer I hired was one of the best.”

“I did say something, but I’m not the one living here, Sharon. If this makes you happy, so be it.” He raked a hand through his hair.

Her scowl slid into a sly smile. “See, I knew you cared about my happiness.” She sauntered back over to him and slipped her free hand into the front of his jacket. “You want everyone to think you’re so cool and unmovable, but you’re such a good boyfriend, Clint.”

Panic crawled up his spine when she called him her boyfriend. That wouldn’t do at all. He grasped her upper arms and moved her back away from him. “That’s not what this is and you know it. Quite frankly, I’m getting tired of having to remind you.”

“Why are you like this?” Tears welled in her eyes.

Clint didn’t even bother to hide his eye roll. The tears were about as real as the rest of her. “I’m the same as I was the day you met me.”

She slammed her glass down before crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s precisely the problem. By now I thought you would have come around to the idea of us. We’re perfect together. Why can’t you see that?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t love you? It’s too late for that.”

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose. He pulled out his phone and began to send a series of texts. Without looking at her, he spoke. “We’re done here, Sharon. Tonight signals the end of our agreement. This is over.”

“You’re breaking up with me because I told you that I love you?” Her voice was low, little more than a whisper.

He bit back the harsher words he wanted to say. This was a business arrangement, nothing more. He wouldn’t let her get to him. “You don’t love me and don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. You love my money. Not that I expect you to know the difference.”

Her glare might have made a lesser man pause, but Clint barely acknowledged it. “You can’t do this to me. I’ll tell everyone the truth. I’ll let them know the kind of man you are.”

His brows lifted and his mouth twitched at the threat. He licked his lips. “You signed a contract that forbids you from doing precisely that. Do it and you’ll hear from my attorneys. Besides, do you really want to tell everyone that you agreed to be in a relationship with me in exchange for money? I don’t think it’s me people will be judging.”

She stomped her foot and growled in frustration. His eyes followed her as she paced angrily across the floor. Suddenly, she snapped back toward him. “I’ll tell them you hit me.”

Anger flared through him then, hot and hungry. His shoulders rolled back and his spine went rigid. “You want to repeat that?”

Sharon ran her gaze over him and whatever she saw must have been enough to make her rethink her words. She shook her head. “I deserve more than this. I deserve better.”

“You deserve nothing. I have paid your every expense for the past eight months in exchange for you decorating my arm in public and a few nights in a lukewarm bed. I was clear from the beginning that was all this was. All it would ever be. I am not responsible for your delusions.”

“But it’s not a delusion. You really care for me. I can tell.”

He felt a twinge of sympathy for her until she continued.

“Please don’t cut me off. I need you.”

“As you’ve just made abundantly clear, you need my money. Not me. Frankly, you aren’t worth the headache anymore. I’ll give you three days to vacate the apartment. You may take personal belongings only. Everything else is to remain.” It was harsher than he intended to be, but apparently it was needed in this situation.

Her arms dropped to her sides as she gaped at him. “You can’t just expect me to leave. This is my apartment.”

“No, it’s my apartment. You really should read your contract, sweetheart.” And with those words, he turned and left. He slammed the door on her cursing his name and took the stairs two at a time down to the garage.

As his driver opened the door to the car for him, Clint smiled. He felt lighter than he had in weeks. Yes, Sharon was a weight he should have done away with some time ago.

“Is Miss Carter not joining us?” Scott asked and Clint didn’t miss the way the corner of the man’s mouth kicked up. His driver had never cared for Sharon and the feeling was mutual.

“Miss Carter will not be joining us again ever,” Clint answered as he slid onto the back seat. He could have sworn he heard Scott mutter ‘thank fuck’ before he shut the door. Clint chuckled and finished sending the emails he needed to make sure the flow of money in Sharon’s direction stopped.

His relief was only dampened by the fact he would have to find a new companion or he’d be right back to dodging money hungry women in no time. One soul-crushing relationship in a lifetime was enough. He had no desire to ever repeat the experience.

***

Once he arrived home, he dismissed Scott and entered through the kitchen door at the side of the house. He jerked to a stop when his eyes fell on Wanda sitting at the table with a pint of ice cream in front of her. Though she was scowling at the food in front of her, she wasn’t crying. Clint could handle anything as long as she didn’t start crying. Despite her obvious upset, he found himself smiling. He was always happy to see his girl. The house had been far too quiet since she moved into her own place closer to school.

He unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged out of it before tossing it over the back of one of the chairs. After that, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves to reveal several of his tattoos. There. Now, he felt more like himself. He eyed Wanda but she still hadn’t acknowledged him beyond lifting her spoon in a wave. Moving to the fridge, he grabbed a couple of beers and went to join her at the table. He offered her one but she made a face.

“Beer and ice cream? Yuck.”

He grinned and cracked his open. After taking a long swallow, he sat the bottle on the table. “Lay it on me.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m just a little bummed.” She rested her chin in her hand with a sigh.

“If it’s not a big deal, why did you drive all the way over here to eat my ice cream?”

She scoffed and narrowed her eyes at him. “Since when do you like pistachio?”

He shrugged and took another sip of his beer. “Talk to me. Who do I need to kill?”

That got him a laugh and his heart lightened considerably.

She shook her head. “It’s Y/N.”

Clint’s chest tightened a little at the mention of your name. You’d been a fixture in their lives since high school. He’d gotten used to having you around. Sometime in the last couple of years, he’d realized his feelings for you had shifted. Once he had, he’d done his best to stomp them into the ground and when that failed to work entirely, he started to avoid you. “Did you two have a fight?”

Wanda’s brow furrowed. “Of course not. We’re just not getting the apartment together anymore.”

He leaned back in his chair with a frown. The two of you had been planning on being roommates forever but it wasn’t practical with you in business school. Your change in majors had come with a transfer to Wanda’s college so now was the perfect time. “Well, why not?” Clint prompted when she didn’t continue on her own.

“Her father refuses to pay for anything unless she goes back to business school. He’s kicking her out of her apartment and cutting her off completely. She planned on financial aid covering her expenses but they won’t give her any money since her dad makes too much,” she told him quickly without taking a breath.

“Fucking Rumlow,” Clint muttered. He hated that man and still didn’t understand how someone like Y/N could have the same genes. “She doesn’t have to pay for her portion of the apartment, Wanda. You know I don’t care about that.”

She pointed at him with her spoon. “I know that and I told her as much, but she won’t do it. She can’t afford her classes much less her half of an apartment. They offered her all the hours she wanted at the diner but she won’t do that either. She’ll think it’s taking advantage of their kindness. You know how she is. I think she’s going to get another job. I’m never going to see her.”

Clint sipped at his beer as he mulled over the situation. If it was up to him, he would just pay for your tuition and your half of the apartment, but Wanda was right. You wouldn’t take it. You were one of the best people he knew and you certainly didn’t deserve any of this. Maybe he should call Rumlow and have a few words with him. He doubted that would have any affect on the situation, but he couldn’t think of what else to do.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. A glance at the screen showed a text from Natasha wanting to verify he and his plus one would be attending a charity gala on Friday evening. He started to type back a reply but froze, his thumb hovering over the phone. He’d just had a fantastic, horrible idea. He slipped his phone back into his pocket without responding.

You needed money, which he could provide. And he needed someone with a flexible schedule to attend events with him. Go to the occasional dinner. Someone to make him appear unavailable. You were always ready and anxious to help where needed. If he explained this right, maybe both of you could end up with what you needed. And if it meant he spent more time with you, he wouldn’t complain. He could manage to keep his hands to himself while you enjoyed each other’s company. He’d been practicing for years now.

He cleared his throat, catching Wanda’s attention. He met her eye and smiled. “Have Y/N come by the office and see me tomorrow. I might be able to help her out.”

#clint barton x reader #clint barton fanfiction #hawkeye x reader #sugar daddy au #clint barton sugar daddy au #avengers #avengers au #avengers fanfiction #clint x reader #clint barton x you #series #the light in my darkness

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wildflowerhigh · 5 years ago

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Second Time Around (c.h.) | Part 4

Summary: Sure, Harper is just a friend to Calum, right?

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: Sorry I posted late! I finished writing this ages ago, I just forgot that yesterday was Friday and forgot to post. I’m just extremely stupid lol hope y’all like this one!

---

“Do any of you wanna come with me to the café?” Ashton asked, looking around the room. Calum’s hand shot up from his position on the couch, and he pulled himself up, after setting his acoustic guitar down. He had been stuck in the studio the whole night finishing up a song, and he really needed to get out.

Ashton and him walked into the café, just like they had five months ago when they had run into Harper; Calum mused about how much had happened since then. He certainly wasn’t expecting to see Harper once again, sitting at the exact same table, in an almost deja-vu like moment. She waved at them with a smile on her face, her phone in her other hand.

Calum stopped dead in his tracks, while Ashton waved back at her. “What is she doing here?”

“Oh, we meet here almost everyday. She’s normally here at the same time to eat breakfast,” Ashton replied.

Calum stood there, taken aback. Michael’s berating had left him with a lot to think about, but as of now she was just a friend. He finally waved at her, after way too long a pause, and walked over to join her.

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully, and Calum greeted her as well, taking the seat opposite her. Ashton was placing the coffee order at the counter. “How’s the album coming along?”

“Pretty good actually,” he said, voice rough from lack of sleep. She seemed to notice, and frowned slightly, but before she could ask, Ashton joined them, steering the conversation in a different direction.

The three friends sat there for quite a while, chatting away about their previous day, Calum occasionally leaning over to eat out of Harper’s breakfast, before she informed them that she had to get to work, and left. He and Ashton went back to the studio, a smile stretched across his face.

The next day, Calum jumped to his feet as soon as Ashton entered the studio. “Are you going to the café?”

“Yeah, I am.” Ashton set down his phone and started to remove his jacket. He waved at the producer sitting at the controls. “Just as soon as I finish recording a bit.” Calum looked down anxiously at his watch- it was close to the same time as yesterday, when they had gone to the café.

“Let’s go now,” he said, moving to stop Ashton as he walked to the recording booth. Ashton looked at him, puzzled.

“Why are you so desperate to go? You normally never come.”

Calum paused, his mind running a mile a minute. “I just… really want some coffee right now.”

Ashton’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at his friend, but agreed. They told the producer, who had watched the whole interaction with amusement, that they would be back in some time, and left for the café.

The minute they entered the small roadside café, Calum’s eyes scanned for Harper, and spotted her at the same table, digging into a plate of pancakes in front of her.

“Get me a vanilla latte, will you?” he muttered to Ashton, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. Harper looked up from her breakfast and waved at the two boys, and Calum grinned and went to join her, leaving Ashton to place the order.

“Could have at least paid for it,” Ashton grumbled, noticing how the two old friends talked, mesmerized with each other.

And just like that, going to the café became a daily routine. Calum said that he needed his ‘daily dose of coffee’, but most of the days never bought anything, unless Ashton got something for him.

On one of those days, when they were walking towards the café, both their phones pinged simultaneously- Harper had messaged them, informing them she couldn’t make it that day because of a meeting. Calum just stood there, scratching his head, confused about what to do next.

“We could still go get coffee, I mean, that’s what you came for everyday, right?” Ashton mocked.

Calum noticed his tone, and pushed past him, rolling his eyes. “Asshole,” he muttered, making Ashton laugh. They walked the rest of the distance to the café, and ordered their respective drinks. Calum looked back wistfully at the table where Harper might have been sitting if she had come that day.

He definitely wasn’t gonna admit to Ashton (or to himself) that the real reason he came to the café everyday was for Harper. But the intense disappointment that came over him told him that he couldn’t live in denial for much longer.

---

Calum fixed his blonde hair and pulled on his leather jacket, just as he heard the doorbell ring. He opened the door to a grinning Harper, Ashton and Kaykay.

“We’re going bowling!” Harper declared, and Ashton hooted. She sang the same phrase repeatedly, with continuous whoops from the redhead, and the two danced around each other.

“They’ve been doing this the whole time,” Kaykay said, and Calum chuckled. He grabbed his phone and keys, and stepped out and locked the door. Harper and Ashton’s little singsong and dance finally came to an end.

“Where are the others?” Calum asked.

“They’re coming there directly,” Ashton replied. They all walked down to Ashton’s car, and made their way to the mall.

The bowling plan had been made after Sierra had randomly mentioned to Luke that she had never actually been bowling before, and everyone came to the same conclusion that she had to be introduced to the game once and for all. They also figured that it would be nice to all go out together after so long, and so planned an outing to the mall.

“How good is your bowling?” Calum asked Harper, as they stood next to each other, putting on their bowling shoes.

“Best of the best, baby,” she said, smirking, and Calum’s heart beat a little faster.

“There’s no way you’re better than me,” he challenged, and her smirk grew bigger.

“You’re on, Hood.”

The group occupied two alleys due to their size, and Harper and Calum dominated their respective alleys, having the highest scores.

“This is so much fun, guys, I’m so glad we came today,” Sierra commented, and the group murmured in agreement. But Calum was only focused on Harper- well, on beating Harper. Sports always brought out his competitive side, a characteristic leftover from his footballing days.

“Let’s up the stakes, Calum,” Harper said, apparently also not responding to Sierra’s statement.

“Ooohhh,” Luke said. “Wait, what’s happening?”

“I think they’re having a face-off,” Michael stated.

“Damn right we are!” Calum exclaimed, slamming the bench dramatically and coming to his feet. When he was at the peak of his game, he fed off the attention. “What do you suggest?”

“Ten frames each. Highest score wins. Loser buys everyone ice cream.”

“That’s not exactly high stakes, is it?” Ashton remarked.

“I’m not bringing money into this, Ash,” Harper replied, glaring at him.

“Well, technically-”

“ICE CREAM!” She shook her hand threateningly at Ashton, and he raised his hand in surrender, stifling a laugh. She turned her attention back to Calum, who was tapping his fingers against the bowling ball he had picked up. Why he had an adrenaline rush from a simple game like bowling, he couldn’t understand. Could it be because he was playing against Harper? “Take it or leave it, Calum,” she continued.

“Taking it. Let’s do this.” He smirked, and grabbed a bowling ball.

The next half hour was intense. The others saw by and watched as the two competitors played, both of them getting strikes in a row. “Not bad, Romano,” he commented, when she was gearing up to play her ninth frame, and she flipped him off, making everyone laugh. Seeing the look of concentration on her face, with her eyes squinting at the pins, biting subtly into her lip, Calum could barely resist the smile that threatened to break onto his face; she looked adorable.

She expertly bowled another strike, turning around and bowing as the pins clattered behind her. Everyone cheered, and Calum stood up for his turn. Passing her as he moved to take her position, she wiggled her eyebrows at him, and smiled the smile that made his insides get all jumbled up. He felt like he was floating on air when he stepped up to bowl- and consequently, knocked down only three pins.

His friends gasped at his play, including Harper, who looked at him in shock. Still fazed by his mistake, Calum played again, still managing to knock down only four pins. He sat down, still confused by what had happened. He never got distracted like this. Harper glanced at him warily, but scored another strike, getting her the highest possible score.

By the time his last turn came around, Calum had cleared his head, and bowled a strike; but it was too late, because he was already behind on points. Harper had won.

---

Calum paid for the ice cream, and thanked the server, before grabbing his cup off the counter. Surprisingly but thankfully, they hadn’t run into any fans at the bowling alley or the ice cream shop, so the whole group ate their ice cream, loud and content. Harper slid up behind him and tapped on his shoulder, and he turned around to face her.

“Good game, that was,” she said, and he nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but she continued speaking. “I know you let me win.”

“What?”

“You were playing so well, then you fuck up in the last round and lose? No way. Don’t know what weird male ego thing this is, but-” She pulled out a 20 dollar bill and handed it to him. “Here. For the ice cream.”

“Well, first of all, have a little more faith in your skills,” he said, taking a lick of his pistachio ice cream. “Second of all, I got distracted, that’s why I lost.” He pushed away her hand holding the bill. “You won fair and square.”

She scanned his face dubiously, before pocketing the money. “What did you get distracted by?” she questioned.

“Just… something.” He shook his head, and spooned out a little of her chocolate ice cream. “Yours tastes so much better, ugh.”

She laughed, her eyes shining bright at him, and Calum got the same feeling at the pit of his stomach as he had at the alley. Nothing to get distracted from this time, though.

---

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theladylovingcrow · 5 years ago

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Skin On Skin, Hearts Laid Bare Ch. 2

Ch. 2 Too Much Sugar Makes th Heart Lovesick

Summary (of Whole Series): They started off cuddling as a necessity in chilly tents and cramped car rides, but it eventually became something much, much more. Sam finds that there isn't a safer place in the world, no where else he'd rather be, than when he's wrapped up in his best friend's strong, caring arms. And Danny, he just can't get enough of the feeling of Sam's silky smooth skin spread out underneath his hands. A non-linear chronicle of Samuel Kiszka and Daniel Wagner's budding love.

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow - writing/art Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing: Sam Kiszka/Danny Wagner

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Summary: "There were snowflakes in Sam's lashes, and, it seemed, a few were actually in his eyes. It could have been the shining lights of the skating rink, too, highlighting the absolute joy emanating from Sam's beautiful face. It was then Danny became convinced once and for all that Sam was actually made out of starshine and prayers, sugar and spice, pure love and radiance."

Warnings/Tags: ice cream, ice skating, cold weather, fluff, extreme fluff, flirting, hand holding, nose kisses, lap sitting, cuddling, slow dancing

Author's Notes: Ahh I finished chapter FIVE but couldn't get going on this one for a few days, so my brain is a little scrambled trying to back track from the smut (ch 5 is when some of the smut hits) to this.

Thank you to @satans-helper / thelazarus for all the lovely support and feedback, you've really encouraged me to write better 😚

Also, part of me wants to question why I've been able to write so goddamn much lately, but then my muse might run away and we can't have that. Ah, the mysterious appearances of creativity!

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

Danny observed the scenes around him, taking in the welcoming atmosphere. Rainbow lights were strung up around the square, going from lamppost to tree to lamppost, illuminating the many people out and about enjoying the crisp night air.

Families - urban, attractive and well dressed - strolled along the sidewalks, the small children in winter coats and boots running ahead and laughing until their parents called them back. Danny smiled at their antics as a girl in a tan jacket started a snowball fight with her little brother, flinging soft white clumps at him.

On one side of the square, a skating rink was decorated with shining ornaments and cutouts of various cartoon characters. Skaters, young and old, rushed past the sides; some stumbling and laughing, some calmly holding the hands of a loved one, some racing with reckless abandon. Occasionally, a brave and talented athlete would speed up and do some sort of spin or flip Danny didn't know the name of. He would clap along with the rest of the people.

Various shops, some closed for the night and some welcoming the nightlife, lined the other sides, attracting people with their colorful displays. One such shop - Maria's Ice Cream Parlor - had a line out the door as the Midwestern crowd lined up to get a cold treat to combat the chill.

Danny felt a little bad that he honestly couldn't remember the name of the town they were in - fast touring and sleeping through info meetings left him a little out of the loop - but he knew he would look crazy if, after all this time, he finally worked up the courage to ask someone around him where he was. He would just wait for Sam to get back with their own ice cream cones and ask him, his buddy always knew where they were and where they wanted to be.

Jake clapped him on the shoulder, somewhat disrupting Danny's observance of holiday cheer. He peered up at him, wondering what the matter could possibly be.

"Joshie and I are gonna go head to that bar a few blocks from the hotel and warm up. You guys are welcome to join us, of course, though you seem to be really enjoying yourself."

"I am," Danny said, smiling. The atmosphere was like one out of a Hallmark Christmas card; colorful, happy, everything gleaming with holiday cheer and a warm welcome despite the snow. He didn't want to leave, though of course he would if Sam wanted to.

"Alright, well, you guys have fun, we'll be at the bar or back in our room if you try to find us. Are you gonna skate?"

"I'm thinking so." Danny heard Sam come up behind them, and leaned back into his presence until his upper back was against Sam's stomach. His best friend laid the hand that wasn't holding their ice creams on his chest, holding him to Sam.

"The price isn't bad, and we haven't skated in awhile. Right, hun?"

Danny heard Jake snort, but he payed him no mind; the fluttery sensation in his stomach was much more interesting. Sam only called him pet names - *lovers* pet names - when he was feeling particularly happy. It was going to be a memorable night, he already had that feeling.

"Yeah, we should. What'd you get me? Did they have pistachio?" Danny asked, twisting his head around to look up at Sam.

"They did. Here, take some napkins too, you always get so messy when you eat ice cream cones."

"Hey!" Danny protested, but he was smiling when he took them. "I do not. Besides, it's so cold out the ice cream isn't likely to melt."

Sam shook his head, little brown bun bobbling back and forth. "No, that just means our tongues will get stuck."

Danny rolled his eyes, and stuck his tongue out, touching it to the ice cream cone.

"Shee? Not shtuck!" He said, keeping his mouth attached to the sweet treat.

Sam snorted and shook his head again. He came around to Danny's front and pushed at his legs, making him adjust so he could flop down into his lap.

"You just disproved yourself, idiot," Sam said fondly.

Danny knew a few people were staring at them - cuddling in an outdoor patio chair that was definitely too small and eating ice cream. He didn't care, though, not when Sam was so warm in his lap and giving his ice cream cone cute little kitten licks with his tongue.

"Can I try some of that?"

"Okay," Sam agreed, "but only if I can taste some of yours."

Sam squirmed in his lap, looking at him so pretty and perfect it nearly hurt. Was Sam made of porcelain, or confectioners sugar? It seemed like it sometimes. Danny was convinced that he would be showered in an avalanche of candy hearts if he were to break Sam open. But, he would never let that happen, even if he had to somehow protect Sam from his own self.

Sam held out his Chocolate Raspberry cone to him, letting Danny take a soft bite. A myriad of sensation and flavor burst on his tongue: tart berries, creamy chocolate, a surprise of salty caramel, and a biting cold that melted all too quickly when it met the internal heat of his mouth. The best, though, was something he couldn't really place, but Danny was pretty sure that it was Sam himself.

"See, I told you. There's chocolate all over your face," Sam murmered, moving his food away from Danny's mouth so he could gently dab at it with a napkin.

He swiped at some of the ice cream on Danny's nose with the paper, and then Danny felt cold fingers running over his lips, collecting the chocolate there. He licked at them on reflex, getting some of the sugar before Sam pulled them away and put them in his own mouth with a coy smile.

Danny moved his free hand, which had been hanging at his side, to Sam's denim covered thigh, gripping it high up. He felt the shiver that wracked Sam's whole, lithe body when he took a lick of Danny's ice cream.

"You never dress for the weather. We all know you're cute, but you gotta put on more layers, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes, taking another bite from the pistachio and tangling his left hand in Danny's hair, getting it warm underneath that blanket of black fluff.

"But you keep me warm, I don't need to wear more. I know you like it."

Danny blushed, as did Sam, but neither of them broke the eye contact. People were definitely staring now, Danny just noticed, sensing the tension in their own little corner of the square. In fact, Danny wasn't really sure when exactly the twins had left, either, he had been so caught up in Sam.

"Come on, let's finish these up and go skate a bit before they close the rink," Danny finally said.

It didn't so much diffuse the tension as give it a different tone, adding a fair dosage of love and fun to the intensity. It was never aggressive, what they had. Danny knew they were soft for each other, caring in a way that they couldn't be with anyone else.

Danny could admit that he and Sam had been flirting around each other for... years. Always had, though he certainly hadn't realized it way back when they were younger. He just knew that Sammy was his best friend in the world, and that it made him feel almost giddy when Sam smiled at him.

He still felt that way, a childlike glee running through him whenever Sam turned to him - only him - to tell a joke or ask for a hug. The colder months seemed to be when they got closer; physically, to conduct body heat, and thus spending more time in close, intimate quarters. He distinctly remembered the several night they had spent huddled together in a sleeping bag on their last camping trip; and, even before then, when staying the night at the Kiszka household became an almost weekly, if not daily, occurance of Danny and Sam cuddling in Sam's twin sized bed.

Danny enjoyed nights like this, when Sam cuddled close and let Danny put his hands on him, moved in so they could share the same air and the same space. There was just something so thrilling about being able to hold Sam, see him breathe and move and let himself be wrapped up in Danny. He knew that his reverence and appreciation always showed in his eyes when they lay quietly together - but it was okay, because he could see it in Sam's, too.

Danny slurped up the ice cream at the bottom of his cone, then took a bite from the top with a quiet *crunch*. Sam finished his, too, holding it out so Danny could take the last bite.

The cold air immediately assaulted his legs when Sam got up, holding out a hand to pull Danny with him. Danny took it, linking their fingers together and putting then in his pocket so that they could warm up a bit. Sam never wore gloves; Danny knew it was so he could get someone else to warm him. It was nearly always Danny.

They made their way over to the counter of the skating rink, past all the other couples eating ice cream and the young friends running after each other. Were they a couple? Nearly, probably. All Danny knew was that he had Sam, and Sam had him, and they were not going to let go for anything.

"Two pairs of skates, please. Men's thirteen and eleven," Sam said to the lady at the counter, raising his voice to be heard over the rush of metal on ice and chattering laughter.

They each grabbed their ice skates, walking over to a bench to put them on. Danny keenly felt the loss of Sam's slim hand in his; Sam smiled at him like he felt the same.

He held his shoes by the laces, socked feet freezing on the cold ground, but he didn't notice. Sam had his lip held in between his teeth, reminding Danny of a strawberry macaroon: pink - white (perfect white) - pink. There was a furrow in Sam's brows, one of concentration as he unlaced his hiking boots to put on the skates. Danny wanted to smooth it out, run his thumb along the ridges of Sam's delicate bone structure and kiss his head.

By the time he snapped back to reality, Sam had already put his shoes in one of the little lockers and came back to Danny, waving his hands in his face to get his attention.

"Hey, are you feeling okay? You seem a bit out of it," Sam asked, looking at him in concern.

Danny grinned up at Sam, taking both of his hands in his own. "I'm great, Sam-a. Just really enjoying the night, it's beautiful out here."

Sam pulled him up, keeping one set of hands interlaced as they carefully hobbled over to the rink and stepped out onto the ice.

"It is lovely. I like the lights, it's like we're back in Frankenmuth," Sam said.

Danny nodded in agreement. In truth, the most beautiful thing in the scene was Sam - but he'd get called a sap if he said that aloud.

They skated along, utilizing the skills they had learned growing up in Michigan to avoid teetering children and successfully turn around corners.

At one point, the DJ changed the music to an older Christmas selection, indicating the departure of most of the families with small children. They moved along to Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Eartha Kitt, and all the good classics.

When "I Was The One" came on, Sam's face lit up like he was one of the sweet angels perched on the Christmas tree in the center of the square.

Danny let Sam guide them to a slow stop near the east side of the rink, and throw an arm around his neck. They swayed slowly to Elvis, holding to each other tightly to avoid losing balance and grinning like lunatics.

~ And then one day

I had my love as perfect as could be

She lived, she loved, she laughed, she cried,

And it was all for me ~

Danny looked at Sam as the danced and sang together, harmonizing their voices like Josh had taught them. His breath caught at the end of the last line: the sight before him would be held like precious glass in his memory forever.

There were snowflakes in Sam's lashes, and, it seemed, a few were actually in his eyes. It could have been the shining lights of the skating rink, too, highlighting the absolute joy emanating from Sam's beautiful face. It was then Danny became convinced once and for all that Sam was actually made out of starshine and prayers, sugar and spice, pure love and radiance.

Sam was beaming at him, positively glowing with affection and happiness. Danny felt his chest beat hard and the air rush out of him in a white cloud.

Their heads moved closer together, the magnetic draw between them undeniable. Sam rested his forehead against Danny, eyes closed, squeezing his hand.

Danny wished he could draw Sam closer, tighten the arm sitting low around his waist, but they were still on ice skates. He settled for relishing in the feel of Sam's sweet breath against his lips and their hands locked together; almost as intertwined as their heart strings.

Danny kept swaying when the next song came on, not willing to let go of Sam. They stayed in their corner of the ice, no longer moving about like the more skilled couples who could actually dance on their skates.

A breeze swept past, carrying a few stray snowflakes from the grey clouds and a cider-scented chill. They danced and skated for nearly an hour, until the rink closed down for the night. They exited stumbling, laughing and still clinging to each other.

Sam sighed happily, nudging Danny's shoulder as they walked down the lit up streets back to their hotel.

Danny took their still linked hands and put them back in his pocket, making Sam pull closer to him as they walked. Sam grinned at him; a small, private smile that was able to encompass the whole night in one toothy quirk of pink lips.

When they passed the bar the twins had gone into, Danny could hear singing coming from inside. Sounded like Jake finally got drunk enough for Josh to convince him to do a karaoke duet like he always wanted. Danny was a little disappointed that he couldn't witness what was surely a glorious moment - an excellent black mail oppurtunity - but he wasn't going to end his night with Sam so easily.

As soon as they got into the elevator, Sam slumped against him. Danny was also exhausted after all the skating; sugar and adrenaline wearing off and leaving them candy shells without any energy left inside.

They made their slow way down the hall to their shared room, a shaking hand and fuzzy eyes making Danny take several tries to unlock it. He felt almost drunk, the kind of bone deep tired that only resulted from an exhilarating day continued well into the night.

Sam shuffled towards the bathroom, shedding slightly damp clothes in his wake. He ran the tap into one of the paper cups on the counter, taking a sip and turning around to give some to Danny, who had followed him.

Danny finished the water and set it aside. He put his arms around Sam, swaying them like they where back on the ice rink. Sam buried his face in Danny's neck, both hands curled around his shoulders from the back, and moved with him.

"That was honestly the best night I've ever had," Sam said, laughing into his shoulder.

Danny smiled, taking his hair out of the bun and stroking it.

"Agreed, that was fun. We should go out like that more often."

"Are you telling me we should go on more dates?" Sam asked, lifting his to raise his brow at Danny in his signature 'really?' face.

That was a date? That.... that was a date. Danny decided that he did want to go on more "dates" with Sam as long as they were like this one.

"Yeah, we should. And I am. I like spending time with you, Sammy," Danny whispered, looking his best friend in the eyes. Even in the harsh bathroom light, Sam was beautiful.

"I do too," Sam whispered back. "You can take me out as often as you want, but you have to pay for the ice cream sometimes."

"Of course."

They stuck together, dancing their way clumsily back to the bed, Sam giggling the entire time. He flopped back onto the king, kicking a foot up into he air and looking expectant. Danny shook his head fondly but complied in taking Sam's shows off, tossing the boots near the closet.

He sat down on the bed to take his own shoes off, Sam's hand running up and down his back when he bent over to untie them. Danny laid back, Sam's arm still on his back so now he was the one being held.

Sam rolled them over a bit, so that he was lying on top of Danny. He swore he was going to get up in just a minute to finish getting undressed and get under the covers, but Danny just couldn't make himself push Sam off of him. They fell asleep like that, cuddled on top of the blankets, too asleep to notice the twins - loudly, drunkenly - check on them.

#fanfiction #slash fiction #greta van fleet #sanny #samxdanny #sam kiszka #danny wagner #fluff #series #slow burn #my writing #lulucrowproductions

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