#that he was ecstatic to have good homemade pancakes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lightsovermonaco · 4 years ago

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His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

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

Word Count: 9.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

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

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

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

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

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

I believe you.

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

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

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

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who stole your-"

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

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

"You good?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

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

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

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

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

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

"Well I think it's…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

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

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

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

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

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Um, what?"

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

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

"Doesn't look that way."

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

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

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

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

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

"What was that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that fucking dress.

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

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

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

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

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

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

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

"Why don't you talk to her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

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

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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mageicalwishes · 5 years ago

Text

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (On Tumblr): here

Summary: “I’m egging your house for a dare, but you’re parent is a cop and now they’re yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you’re coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don’t want to go to jail” AU When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho’s house, he never thought he’d find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 5/7

Words: 2,079

Not the most eventful chapter, sorry! But TRUST ... The next 2 chapters are worth it :)

Simon

After last week, me and Baz quickly fell into a routine of texting whenever either of us were free. It was the first thing I did in the morning, and the last thing I did at night (I even found myself waking up earlier, just so that we could speak more). It was a little bit pathetic, really - But, I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

We spoke about everything - Our likes and dislikes, our childhoods, our favourite sports teams, our other friends - You name it, we spoke about it. Well … Everything except what happened last time. We never spoke about that - Although, I figure that, that was probably for the best.

So, it’s really no surprise that, the second I settled down into the booth to eat, I pulled my phone out and messaged him.

ME (15:19): Hey, hey, hey, Bazzy Bitch!

ME (15:19): How are you doing? :)

BP (15:21): Snow, I am genuinely BEGGING you to stop with the nicknames. Bazzy Bitch … Really? That's atrocious, even for you.

BP (15:22): And, I’m very well, thanks. Yourself?

ME (15:24): Good :) I’m great, thanks!

ME (15:24): And I’m never gonna stop with the nicknames. Never!!!! Not until I find one you like anyways ;) I’ve got a WHOLE list imma work my way through!

ME (15:25): I’m back at the Pizza place we went to together!

ME (15:25): I even got free chips this time :D

BP (15:26): Oh wow - I’m seething with envy. Free artery-clogging chips AND greasy pizza … What a gift!

BP (15:26): And ALL of that, on top of your chocolate pancakes this morning? Your internal organs must be thanking you!

I scoff, aloud, stupidly pleased with his grating wit.

SS (15:27): OI!

SS (15:27): Don't be a sarcastic twat!

SS (15:27): You LOVED the food there. You were practically drooling over it!

SS (15:28): Don't even TRY and deny it!

BP (15:29): It was adequate.

SS (15:28): Exactly! See! You loved it!

SS (15:28): Adequate is Baz talk for “It was the most delicious thing I’ve EVER eaten!”

SS (15:29): You’re just winding me up!

SS (15:29): If you REALLY didn’t like it you’d go all OTT using posho insults … NOT say it was adequate.

SS (15:31): You’d be all like … “Oh, Snow. This is positively ghastly! Atrocious! Lamentable, even! My private chef would never DARE serve me an abhorrent dish!”

BP (15:33): Sure, Snow. Whatever you say.

SS (15:34): You know I’m right! You just don’t wanna admit it.

SS (15:34): Cuz you’re a right dickhead :p

BP (15:35): How rude! I’m hardly a dickhead … I didn’t even make you admit how many of those words you had to Google, Snow!

I roll my eyes (Even though he can’t see them), and type out a simple, yet effective, response …

SS (15:34): Wanker!

Baz

Despite myself, I let out an unnecessarily loud laugh - Helplessly charmed by the idiocy of it all. I mean, seriously, only Simon Snow could call me a wanker, and leave me giggling like a bloody schoolgirl!

Regretfully, my little outburst draws Daphne’s attention away from the twins (Who appear to be trying to kill each other with Lego Duplo blocks), and straight onto me.

“Who are you talking to then, Sweet?” She asks.

“Just a friend,” I snap, my tone far too urgent.

“Okay,” she drawls, clearly having picked up on my unnecessary defensiveness. “Who?”

“Uh - Simon. Nobody you’d know. They’re sort of a new friend.”

“Oh I see. Did you meet him at the club?”

“No,” I snicker (Struggling to imagine somebody like Snow belonging somewhere so unnecessarily snooty, and uptight). “I just … Met him in town the other day. At the cinema.”

“Oh well, that’s nice,” she beams.

“Yeah,” I drone. “Very nice.”

She stares over to me, her full lips quirked up into a soft smile, and her deep brown eyes studying my face closely. She knows. Obviously. She always knows - Bloody mother’s intuition!

“And … Is he …”

She doesn’t have to ask properly, because I know what she’s trying to say.

Daphne has always been accepting of my sexuality. Although, it’s more than that, actually - She’s always been fully open to the idea of it (Not just reluctantly tolerant). Occasionally enquiring about whether I’ve been seeing “Anyone special”, and insisting that I must invite him over for dinner (Even after I tried to tell her that no such person existed). And I just know, that she was behind that infernal “Same-sex sexual education” pamphlet, I found on my bed last summer (It was actually fairly informative, although, I’d really rather have just sought out the information out myself. The humiliation of knowing that she’d read that with me in mind, made me want to set myself on fire).

So, the words that go unsaid when she asks if Simon is … Are 'Your boyfriend'.

“No,” I sigh. “He’s just a friend. Honest.”

'Just a friend' … The words twist in my mouth, bitter and scornful. And, while it is technically the truth, it feels like a lie.

“Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I was just curious,” She shrugs. “But … It’s lovely to see you smiling. I’m glad that you found him - Friend, or otherwise.”

“Yeah,” I huff, scrubbing my hands together awkwardly. “Actually ... About Simon. I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you think that he could come over next Friday? For dinner.”

“Of course he can!” She grins. “I’m always telling you, you can invite people over. As long as it’s okay with his parents, that’s perfectly fine by me.”

“Okay. Perfect,” I sigh, pursing my lips, in an attempt to suppress my telltale grin. “Thank you.”

She smiles - Sweet and warm. “Of course.”

“But, just to warn you - He has quite an early curfew,” I stammer. “So - I mean, he has to be back home by eight. So, we may have to have dinner a little early. Is that … still okay?”

“Well, it’s not ideal, but I’m sure I can sort something out.”

“Okay,” I breathe, relieved. “Sorry. I would order a takeaway, or something, but I sort of promised him a homemade meal. The food at his place isn’t exactly the best, and yours is objectively delicious … So, I figured that he'd appreciate a proper meal.”

“Oh you little flatterer,” she says, laughing demurely. “I’ll figure something out, don’t worry. If worst comes to worst, he could always just stay the night - That way we could have dinner at a normal time, and you two wouldn’t have to rush yourselves.”

And there it is - Two whole days with Simon Snow, served up to me on a silver platter. Daphne truly is a superior stepmother.

“Okay. Yeah,” I stutter, my face flushing absurdly. “I mean … I’ll check if he’s allowed, but that would be great. Thank you.”

She smirks lightly, shrugging her shoulders casually (As if she hasn’t just made my entire month). “It’s no problem. It’ll be nice for you to have some company.”

Elated, I scoop up my phone and fire out a quick text to Snow. But, before I can hit send, I remember - Father.

“Uh - Daphne,” I mumble. “Actually … I was going to ask - Do you think that you could not tell Father?”

Her face folds into a frown - Her eyebrows falling, and her eyes squeezing shut, as though pained by my request.

“Basil,” she sighs. “If that’s really what you want, then of course I’ll keep it a secret. But, your Father doesn’t care about you having friends over. Even if they’re boys … Even if they’re more than just a friend -”

I scoff, unconvinced.

“- He loves you Basil. I know it. He talks about you all the time - How proud he is of you, how smart he thinks you are, how much you remind him of her. He thinks the world of you … Even if he refuses to show it. And, I know that he didn’t exactly respond well to your coming out, but he still cares for you. Trust me, I understand that it’s desperately unfair that you should have to wait, but … He will come around. Even if I have to drag him there kicking and screaming myself! You don’t have to hide yourself away in your own house. I don’t want that for you. He doesn’t want that for you.”

I scrunch my face up, unsure of what to say.

“It isn’t that,” I murmur, my voice frustratingly weak. “I just … I don’t want him to know. Father has sort of met Simon before. But ... He didn’t exactly make the best first impression. So, I’d rather he not know that Simon was here.”

“Oh?” she chuckles, her curiosity peaked. “What did he do?”

I falter, gawping at her stupidly. “The egging … That was Simon.”

She grins wickedly, clearly amused.

“But it was just a joke!” I continue. “He’s a really, really nice guy once you get to know him. And, he’d never do something like that normally! It was just a stupid game that went a little too far. And he was super, super sorry - He came back to clean it, and everything.”

“Okay, okay,” she chuckles. “We all make mistakes, Basil. I won’t hold it against him. But … You’re right - It’s probably best if we keep Simon away from your father. Don’t worry, Sweet. Your secret’s safe with me.”

————————————————————————————

Simon

BP (15:51): Good news, Snow - You’ve been invited to dinner. Friday. My place. Sound okay?

BP (15:52): And, don't worry, Father is in Oxford over the weekend, so you’ll be perfectly safe.

I smile down at my phone, ecstatically happy.

ME (15:52): Haha defo :D

ME (15:52): Dinner sounds great!

ME (15:53): What time did you want me to come over?

BP (15:54): I was thinking 11am-ish. That way we could spend the entire day together.

ME (15:54): Okay yeah. Sure :) Sounds fabbbb.

BP (15:57): Yes.

BP (15:57): Actually, speaking of spending the day together - My stepmother said that you could stay the night, if you’d like. That way you wouldn’t have to stress about being back in time for your curfew. Forgive me, but I’m not entirely sure whether you’re actually allowed to go to sleepovers - But, if you are, then you’re more than welcome to stay.

BP (15:58): And, we’d be in separate rooms, and everything. Obviously. So you don't need to worry about that.

I wasn’t really worried about that, to be honest. I can imagine much worse than spending the night with Baz. Although, I won’t tell him that - That is definitely far too forward.

BP (15:58): And if you’d rather not, then that’s fine obviously. It’s just an option.

Exhilarated - A manic grin breaks across my face, my cheeks aching with the force of it. If anyone were to look up at me right now, they’d probably think that I was mildly demented (Although, to be fair, I’m not entirely sure that I’m not - I do feel slightly mad with it all).

Irritatingly exposed, I slink off to the bathroom for some privacy.

ME (16:00): Of course I’m allowed to go to sleepovers, you plonker! It’s a children’s home … Not a prison.

BP (16:01): The strict 8PM curfew suggests otherwise.

ME (16:01): Aha lol true :D

ME (16:03): But nah, seriously. I’ve never actually been to a sleepover, but I’m pretty sure I just have to, like, ask my social worker. They’ll probs need to do some sort of check, and then I’m good. They’re normally fairly chill about that kind of stuff tbh, as long as you ask. And, I’m 17 now, not 6 - So I doubt they’ll have a problem with it.

ME (16:04): They might need your parents number, though. Just to like … Call and check I’m not just bullshitting them :’)

ME (16:04): Dunno. I’ll go ask them in a sec.

ME (16:05): But if they say I can, I defo wanna sleepover.

ME (16:05): It'll be nice not to have to run off after a few hours for once :)

BP (16:07): Definitely.

BP (16:07): Enough chatting, though, Snow. Go and ask, before you forget! I need definitive answers ASAP! Chop-chop!

ME (16:05): Alright, alright! Keep your wig on, you impatient git! I’ll go and ask now. So … Ttyl :D

#carry on #wayward son #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch

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deliasbabygirl-blog · 6 years ago

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New Beginnings

Summary: Reader’s POV. Ally Mayfair-Richards,a recent widow, her young son, and her girlfriend move to New Orleans for a new start. She is quite busy with her new job at the mayor’s office, leaving plenty of time for her son, Oz, and her girlfriend to bond with one another. However, Ally is hiding secret from her son about her new lover, and this new town may unveil it, for the better.

Pairing: Ally Mayfair-Richards x Reader, Cordelia Goode x Reader x Ally Mayfair-Richards

A/N: This is something that was sitting in my drafts that someone begged me to post. There will be a part two and part three, but who knows when I will post them? Y’all know how busy life gets. Any who, let me know what you think, and perhaps throw some ideas or predictions in my inbox, and stay tuned for the next part. Always with love, Olive. (Gif is not mine)

The aroma of garlic and shrimp lingered from the kitchen, ghosting passed the stacked cardboard boxes, up the extravagant staircase, through the corridor into one of the bedrooms where I combed through short blonde curls. “Do you think mommy is going to like the cupcakes we made her?” my girlfriend’s son asked, fiddling with the new comic book within his hands. I ran my fingers through the smoothed curls, livening the hair back up before kissing his temple. “I think she will love them, sweetheart. Now, let’s go make sure I’m not burning dinner.”

The seven year old rushed down the staircase before me, evidently more eager to find a comfortable position on the couch to read his new find rather than giving a singular damn about the pasta on the stove. I, on the other hand, was quite nervous for this the first meal I was making for my girlfriend, the owner of a restaurant back in Michigan. Though I understood it was her now deceased wife whom did the cooking, I still felt the pressure of comparing to such an extraordinary chef.

Stirring the homemade sauce, I could feel the anxiety boiling through my veins, the slight pound of my heartbeat realizing my lover was to be home any moment. I thought of my day quickly, if the meal did not impress her, surely I could find something I had accomplished that would.

The morning started without her for she has rushed to work before I woke, which left me getting her son prepared for his first day at his new school as well as myself for work. That could be impressive, I thought, from realizing he had a growth spurt and only one of his recently purchased outfits fit to spilling the entire box of Froot Loops on the hardwood flooring, so promising to buy him a doughnut on the way.

Somehow, through getting his toothbrush ready and tying his shoes three different times, I managed to throw a pair of jeans on with one of her sweaters I promised to never wear and style my own curls into an acceptable messy bun, strands falling from left and right. “Oz, are you ready?” I had called out, nearly tripping out of the master bedroom as I pulled on my converse.

Before me stood the seven year old, his curls presentable, his teeth cleaner than they’d been, his shoes tied – double-knotted – and his plaid shirt and khaki shorts fitted perfectly on his slender body. “Awesome, dude!” I cheered, pride stretching my smile before we both dashed down the staircase.

Once dropping Oz off in his new classroom, greeting the teacher, again, I headed to my office in hopes of getting a new assignment from my bosses. As I neared my desk, I noticed a pile of several drafts beside a paper cup of still steaming coffee. “Thank you, Sara,” I called out to an assistant I had not seen when walking in.

I took the seat behind my desk, relishing in the feeling of soft leather molding against my thighs and back, reading over the papers until one heading stuck out to me, forcing my brows to raise and me to lower my coffee: New Orleans’ Coven Opens Doors to Witches across the States.

Pouring the finished sauce over bowtie noodles, I found myself grinning remembering the article, though unedited, I desired to share with my girlfriend, an interesting find. I collected to glasses from the cabinet, checking on the seven year old whom responded quickly, obviously very much interested in his book than my concern.

“Honey, I’m home,” I heard my favorite voice call before the door slammed in the autumn draft. The heavy pitter-patter of sneakers against hardwood trailed from the living room toward the front door until I heard my girlfriend’s quiet grunt, her son running into her with a welcomed embrace.

I started toward the dining room with two dishes of pasta, glancing over my glasses to the woman of my dreams grinning widely, holding her ecstatic son within her arms as he rambled on about the comic book I purchased him on the drive home.

Noticing the pair heading toward the dimly lit room, I hurried to collect the remaining bowl along with the duo of still empty glasses, aware the other woman had snagged a bottle of wine after work. “And hello, my beautiful girl,” she cooed as I reentered, handing me the bottle of moscato before kissing me gently. She was always very adamant about showing Oz what love should look like and how it was expressed.

“How was your day, sweetheart?” I asked her, watching her take her seat, circling the table to my own. She mumbled something to Oz about putting his comic book down while we ate before she answered me.

“Oh, I had quite a busy day,” she chuckled, her eyes starry and captivating. I poured the wine, happily awaiting for her to continue. “The mayor is so kind, and she listened to every idea I had about the women’s march on Bourbon Street next month. She even offered to speak, and she said she would ask that woman that spoke with Billie Dean Howard about the coven opening. What was her name?” her brows furrowed adorably as she thought, but my own mind captured her words, widening my eyes.

I placed my glass down on the table, scooting to the edge of my chair eagerly. “Cordelia Goode?” I offered the name that I had read over and over in the article. She nodded, her brows raising as she sipped her wine. “Speaking of the coven, I actually got an article to edit today about this Miss Goode opening the doors of her coven to all witches in the country. Can you imagine what a sight that must be?”

“Are witches real?” Oz asked, drawing our attention toward blonde curls and a juice-stained upper lip. Clearing my throat, I placed another bite of pasta between my lips, gaze flickering toward the other woman.

Though we shared a home and both took care of the sweet young boy, he would always truly be her son, and I was aware she would ultimately choose what to tell her child and what not to tell him, even if white lies poured from her lips to protect her son. Much to my surprise, she nodded toward him, clearing her own throat.

“Not in the stereotypical way,” she began, looking from her son to me before her attention returned to him. I watched her carefully, noticing the lack of tensing within her jaw, the way her smile was effortless. This conversation was nothing in her mind, a simple explanatory conversation to provide her child with knowledge. “But they do exist. Witches are women who possess extraordinary powers.”

Oz seemed satisfied enough with his mother’s answer for he returned to his dinner. The older woman looked to me, placing her free hand over mine on the table, and we shared a knowing glance. “This dinner is excellent, dear,” she smiled softly, her thumb running back and forth along my knuckles. “And thank you for taking care of Oz today. I grabbed him some more clothes on my way home. I can’t believe he’s grown so much in a month!”

Sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed, feet dangling over the floor, I folded the new clothing for Oz, making a mental note to collect an outfit from the bunch the next morning. I could hear my girlfriend whispering a goodnight to her son before shutting the door behind her, before promising him she would ask me to make him pancakes in the morning. Thinking he believed in my cooking skills, I chuckled aware pancakes were above my talents.

“There are frozen pancakes down there,” the older woman chuckled walking into the room, gently closing the door as she sauntered toward me. “Again, thank you for everything you did tonight. I don’t think I would be sane without you.” With a flick of my wrist, the door locked, making her smirk, her thighs straddling either side of my own.

“So, I have extraordinary powers, Ms. Mayfair?” I teased, my hands sliding beneath her shirt to feel warmth along her back. She chuckled, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth with a roll of her eyes. Pulling her body closer against mine, I kissed her, her lips soft and warm along mine. “I love you,” she muttered into the kiss.

“I love you, Ally,” the words moaned passed my lips, and I flipped her onto the bed, her hair spreading against the bedding, her laughter roaring from her throat. “I’m glad you were honest with him.” She gently pulled the band from my hair, releasing the curls as I kissed her jawline.

God, her skin was softer than anything I had felt, the thought of smoother skin and short, trimmed curls drawing my hands to the waistband of her nude slacks. “He deserves to know everything about you,” she breathed, her fingers fiddling with hem of my sweater. “He loves you, and if you’re going to be his-

I silenced her with another heated kiss, deepening it in hopes of distracting her mind. Not only was I to compare to her ex-wife’s cooking, I knew I would have to compare to the woman’s mothering, as well. Never had Ally said those comparisons were needed, that there was a bar I needed to meet, but I could not help feel it was indeed in place.

At least one thing she promised was better with me was the way I made her body feel, the heat I could flush through her, the spasms that left her panting and begging for more.

She lifted her hips, allowing the unbuttoned waist of her slacks to glide over her ass, her own hands now fidgeting at the buttons of her cotton blouse. Olive green greeted me once the clothing was removed, forgotten on the floor, lace against her porcelain skin, high-waisted panties and a plunging bra. “Were you looking forward to this when you got dressed this morning?” I chuckled, brushing the strands of hair from my face.

“Can I not wear lingerie for my own benefit?” she poked my nose before tangling her fingers back in my hair, her eyes growing darker with each passing second, her bottom lip curling back between her teeth. Rolling my eyes, I kissed the space between her eyebrows. “Of course, you can, baby girl.”

My fingers traveled down her tight abdomen, over the lace between her thighs, and a guttural moan escaped passed my lips feeling the damp fabric. Her back ached slightly at my light touch, her need evident. Flicking my free wrist, her lingerie fell from her body, sliced perfectly, resting beneath her on the white sheets. I grinned guilty down at her, scrunching my nose, and she feigned surprise with the drop of her jaw.

“Candles?” she inquired, squirming along the bed to sit against the headboard, and I obliged looking toward one candle, lighting them all around the room. The lamp upon the nightstand turned off, the gentle rhythm of music starting from the speaker upon the dresser.

Standing from the bed, I slowly lowered the jeans from my legs, watching her eyes darkening incredibly and her tongue darting out licking across her lips. “Oh, baby girl,” I feigned a frown, tossing my sweater toward the pile of our discarded clothing. “Did you miss me?”

I crawled back onto the bed, adjusting myself between her bare, smooth legs, placing a kiss on the side of her knee. I enjoyed her watching as I lowered myself, kisses trailing down her inner thigh until my mouth hovered over where she wanted it most. “Oh, please,” she groaned, fingers within my hair urging the contact.

I happily kissed her surely throbbing clit, feeling the hardened bundle against my lips, hearing the subtle moan in her throat. Needing more, craving her sounds and the twitches of her body, I flattened my tongue between her folds, licking upward agonizingly slow until my lips closed over her clit, I flickered it back and forth.

She clawed into my scalp, thighs quivering, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck,” she muttered, a groan ribboning the single word.

Aware her own mind was distracted, possessed by the feelings of her stomach clenching, her walls awaiting something more, I silently dragged the wooden box from beneath the bed into view with a single movement of my finger, opening the lid carefully without looking away from the contorted face above me.

“No,” she panted, forcing her eyes open as she grabbed my hand, pushing it against the bed. She was becoming very aware of when I did magic in the bedroom, even if it made no sound, and it was humorously annoying. “I don’t want you to use that tonight. Just,” she breathed as I sucked on her clit. “Just this.”

Before she could grumble another word, she was coming hard against my mouth, her body trembling violently, and silence pouring from her stretched mouth. I held her thighs, more so preventing their strength from squeezing my temples as I had mistakenly allowed when we started dating many months previous.

“Mommy!’ the familiar screeching of an ended nightmare erupted in the hallway. Ally pushed me off of her, stumbling out of the bed, and I watched for a moment as the post-orgasmic rush hit her, forcing her to the floor with a quiet chuckle. “I’ll go,” I offered, collecting my black robe from the hook. “I got this one.”

“I love you,” she smiled pushing her hair from her face. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to us.”

Blushing, I hurried toward the young boy’s room, attempting to think of anything but the fluttering of my heart. Tomorrow, I thought, we would discuss the woman’s march and the article. Right now, I would soothe a seven year old from his nightmare about clowns, and then I would cuddle with his mother as we drifted into sleep.

“Hey, buddy,” I knocked on the door, fingers curled around the handle.

#ally mayfair richards x reader #cordelia goode x reader #ahs imagine

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poeticandvaguelysweet · 5 years ago

Text

Prompt #249 - Sleepover

ANON: Maisie invites her friends for a sleepover in the cabin

Does this have a plot? No. Was this just me talking about whatever came to mind in one setting? Yes. Sorry. I just wanted to give you guys something. All your prompts and HCs have been so engaging and really motivational and yet I was still doing nothing.

But, all is not lost. I think I have just been blocked in general.

AO3

SLEEPOVER

When they took Maisie in, Owen didn’t think Friday nights would turn out like this. In saying that, he didn’t know the first thing about raising a nine-year-old girl at all when they took her in. Owen didn’t think about anything other than keeping her safe. Now, his cabin was filled with the sounds of giggling girls. Their overnight bags were sitting discarded by the front door with their shoes sitting beside their bags. He could hear the thud of their feet on the floorboards and Maisie’s excited voice as she announced: ‘and this is my room!’ She had spent the last twenty minutes leading her friends around the cabin, pointing out the living room, kitchen, bathroom, ‘this is where Mom and Dad sleep’ before finally landing on her bedroom. He could hear the girls oh and ah, Maisie’s voice the loudest as she showed off her home.

They spent the whole two-hour drive listening to Maisie talk about how she and her dad built the cabin from the ground up. Owen had only smiled, listening and nodding, adding his two cents here and there to Maisie’s story without contradicting her. She was proud, enough so that she missed out on the details.

‘Do you still want to have the bonfire outside tonight? Or do you want to use the fireplace?’ He asked Maisie, popping his head into her room with a light knock on the door. The girls stopped giggling; their hands full of Maisie’s toys as they sat on the floor.

Maisie looked towards her two friends, eyes meeting theirs in a wordless conversation. ‘Can we just have a fire inside tonight?’ She asked and Owen nodded, happy to oblige. The weekend belonged to Maisie; he was at her command.

‘Mr Grady?’ Sophie, blonde, frequent visitor of the Dearing-Grady townhouse in the city. ‘Can we swim in the lake tomorrow?’ The lake. The girls had gravitated towards it when Owen pulled into his usual parking spot and turned the engine off. They would likely be splashing around in the cool waters now if he hadn’t told them it was getting dark and he didn’t want them near the water.

He gave a nod with a shrug, ‘If that’s what you girls want to do, I can’t see why not.’ They grinned, practically vibrating with excitement as he turned to step out of the room. ‘Oh, and homemade pizzas tonight, that okay with everyone?’ He had triple checked before this weekend was even booked, calling and confirming dietary requirements down to the pickiest of things to ensure Maisie’s friends had the best possible time. ‘I’ll start cooking once Claire gets home, listen out, ok?’ Maisie gave him a firm nod, she was the ringleader here and she knew the rules. The girls would be allowed to make their own pizzas after Owen had prepared and laid out the dough. It was just that, with a gaggle of little girls sitting on the backseat of his car, Owen forgot that he needed to stop at the store on his way to the cabin.

Dinner would have to wait until Claire arrived and because of the mix-up, Claire had to find a way out of her Friday meeting in order to arrive at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains in time to feed her daughter and friends.

A chill was starting to settle in now that the sun was going down. Owen busied himself with building a fire in the fireplace, ears listening for Claire’s arrival around the sound of the girls upstairs. He watched the kindling crackle, warmed inside and out at the thought of his cabin full. When he set out to build it Owen thought he would be the only one to occupy this space. It was simple. Then there was Maisie and Claire, suddenly back in his arms. They needed more than simple. They needed functional, a second home, where Maisie had her own space. He was glad now that her bedroom existed in the loft, raised away from his and Claire’s where the girls could chatter amongst themselves. Maisie had been in awe when Owen showed it to her, her very own stairs to a bedroom with a window that opened onto a small private patio. She could watch the stars up there or stare out into the tree line while planning her next adventure. He hadn’t planned it at the time, but now that Maisie’s friends were here, he could picture them sitting on that small decked space, legs dangling past the railing as they shared secrets and giggled about boys.

‘Mr Grady?’ He lifted his head away from the still budding fire and towards the voice of the young girl he knew immediately to be Sophie.

‘Yes, Sophie.’ A smile sprouted across his face. He always tried to be reassuring with her. She was slight, smaller than Maisie, often looked longer than the other girls in her class too. Sophie had a habit of flinching around Owen even though he had never given her reason to be scared. He spoke with her softly, no sudden movements around her flighty behaviour and left himself to be as open and approachable as he could be.

Her eyes watched the floor, hands wringing together at her waist. He worried immediately that something was wrong, that the girl had broken something, or wet herself but then he knew this was Sophie, always ready for punishment. She reminded him of Maisie, scared in the house for the first few weeks they had her, uncertain if she could step over the threshold of the master bedroom to seek comfort from the adults that lay within. ‘Do you get dinosaurs out here?’ Her eyes met his, blue and hesitant. Owen couldn’t garner what response she was looking for.

‘Not really.’ He offered. ‘Maisie saw a triceratops and her baby last summer. We know they’re nearby, but they keep to themselves and we don’t seek ‘em out. Are you worried about being outside of the city?’ Most of these kids stayed in San Francisco where the dinosaurs didn’t wander and where few still took vacations to the nature reserves and parks, many stayed where they were safer.

The parents of each girl visiting with them this weekend knew where the location of the cabin was. They all agreed that they knew their children would be safe with Owen and Claire and that if they didn’t want their daughters coming to this sleepover, they could say no.

Sophie stood there, not quite giving him an answer.

‘We’re safe, Soph. Don’t worry, okay? I wouldn’t bring you kids out here if it wasn’t safe.’ He wouldn’t bring his own kid out there, let alone Claire if they weren’t safe. ‘Do you want me to take you home?’ He asked, not sure how else to solve the problem beyond words. Owen knew the answer before Sophie shook her head. She always preferred to be with them. ‘Everything okay?’ They had heard of Bella but hadn’t really seen her beyond her birthday party a few weeks ago. Sophie being as quiet and timid as she was likely to fall victim to being the odd one out.

‘I just need to go to the bathroom.’

‘Just down there,’ Owen pointed past her shoulder, back the way of Maisie’s private stairs. She disappeared with a slight skip in her step just as Owen saw the flash of Claire’s headlights pass by the window.

Owen left the fire for a moment, knowing it could survive on its own so he could greet Claire the way he wanted to. He grabbed two beers from the fridge, the only forethought he had before bundling the girls into the car. He popped the caps and headed for the door, already feeling his shoulders settle and his belly warm at the thought of having Claire home at the cabin for the weekend. Even with little guests, this was their time and he looked forward to it every week.

‘There’s my girl, back from the city.’ He drawled, his heart bursting with every step he took towards her. Claire grinned, greeting him with a kiss as Owen slung his arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

‘How’d you go, big daddy?’ Her smile was sweet and playful as she leant forward to peck his lips again. Owen rolled his eyes, offering Claire a heavy sigh for an answer. ‘You’re my hero.’ She giggled, leaning into him again for a longer embrace. He didn’t have a choice in driving the three girls four hours outside of the city, it was going to happen one way or another. Claire earned herself the drive back on Sunday.

‘Not that you deserve this, but,’ Owen teased, holding up the hand that held both of their beers. ‘Did you get the shopping?’

Claire sipped her beer before she nodded, taking a step away from him as she did so. ‘I went a little overboard.’ Owen raised a brow, watching as she opened the back door and revealed the amount of shopping bags her car was carrying. ‘I just want her to have a good time. I got stuff for pancakes in the morning, and I don’t know, maybe they want to bake something themselves? Sophie loves to cook. And candy, I didn’t know what candy they all preferred …’

‘So, you bought it all?’ He laughed.

‘Yeah.’ Claire shrugged, not really regretting it. Maisie would be ecstatic at the plethora of options Owen would have denied her if he had been the one to take them into the store. ‘You know I panic in the supermarket.’ Translation: she spoils Maisie.

Owen handed her his beer and stepped around her to load his arms with the shopping. ‘God, woman.’ He heaved; bags heavier than expected. Claire laughed, offering a small apology as she tilted her head back with her beer. ‘At least they won’t run out of sugar.’

‘It’s all staying here, you know that, right? I may have lost control and bought it all but you and Maisie have no control in stopping yourselves from eating it all.’ She eyed him, knowing Owen had spotted the box of twinkies and was already mentally downing them whole.

He winked at her, calling it fair before he made a comment on her turning their cabin into the Gingerbread House. Little children were going to break in while they were away and eat all the sugar they found.

‘Claire!’ It was Sophie, returned from the bathroom and barrelling towards Claire the second they stepped through the front door. She embraced the girl in an awkward hug, trying not to tip the bottles she was holding as she laughed a greeting.

‘Hi, sweetheart.’ She gave Sophie a warm smile, pulling away to look at the girl’s face. ‘Are you girls having fun?’ Sophie nodded. ‘Good. You girls getting hungry?’ Sophie nodded again. ‘Okay, tell Maisie half an hour and then I want all your butts down here to help cook.’ The girl squeezed her once more before running back towards the stairs and laughter.

‘They’ve been giggling since they got here.’ Owen told her, dumping the bags on the counter as Claire put their beers down and started rummaging through her shopping. ‘Kind of makes you think how it’ll sound if we had another kid.’

‘It wouldn’t be giggles; it would be shouting.’ Claire answered, thinking of the fights she and Karen used to have and their parents telling them off for all the noise they made. They didn’t get alone more than they got along. ‘Plus, don’t you think Maisie’s too old for us to have a baby?’ She started packing groceries away without so much as looking in his direction. ‘I mean ten years, Owen. That’s a huge gap. Ridiculous.’ The way she shook her head told Owen not to poke the bear but he couldn’t help it.

‘So, you don’t want to have a baby because we adopted a kid a year ago and she’s, what? Too old to have siblings?’ He fished for the items he needed amongst the bags just for something to do.

‘We’re not fighting about this tonight.’

‘We weren’t going to fight about it.’ The words felt weak in his mouth. They were going to fight right in front of Maisie and her friends who would run back to their homes, whispering their secrets.

‘Please, Owen. Not this weekend. I want Maisie to have a good weekend. We’ll talk about it another time.’

Owen reached for his bottle. ‘Sounds like you’ve already made your mind up. What’s the point in talking?’

‘Owen.’

‘Mom?!’ Maisie came running, starting the adults who hadn’t realised the girls upstairs had gone quiet. Claire held her breath, waiting for her ten-year-old to tell them off. ‘Can we have waffles for breakfast?’

The relief dropped from her shoulders, setting Claire back thirty minutes into her night. ‘We don’t have the waffle iron here.’ She gave her daughter a frown, hating that she had let her down in some small way.

‘I can use the grill pan.’ Owen chimed in behind her.

‘Will that work?’

Maisie shrugged, ‘Maybe we can just do pancakes’. Neither of her guests seemed particularly bothered as Maisie moved on from the discussion and stepped towards the unpacked shopping. ‘Wow! Did you buy everything?’ She asked, her friends shuffling up behind her as Claire laughed, hands pawing through the bags to show the girls their treasures.

Owen and Claire put their conversation on the backburner once the girls were in the kitchen and happily chatting loudly about anything and everything that came to their young minds. With rolled-up sleeves, they helped Owen roll and shape the dough for their pizzas while Claire prepped toppings for them to scatter across their individual bases.

Pizzas in the oven, covered in cheese and toppings, the girls fought over movies, Maisie flicking through the Netflix selection like she hadn’t pre-planned their viewing while her friends shifted through the small number of DVDs they acquired just in case the internet was down; a problem that happened often out at their humble cabin.

‘Tangled?’ Bella suggested, holding up the pink DVD case.

‘We can watch that after we watch, Big Hero 6.’ Maisie suggested, sitting in the middle of her two friends like the little leader she was. They knew Maisie had the potential to be a confident, well-socialised kid. Butting that into effect was harder than they thought. She was hesitant to start school and withdrawn on the idea of socialising with kids her age once she saw how many of them walked in and out of the school gates. Despite having faith in her, they were concerned things could go the other way. Maisie took a few weeks to warm up to the place and the students inside of it. Now, she was flourishing. She had friends she wanted to invite over, friends who frequented their townhouse and Maisie who frequented theirs in return. She was chatty now, full of thoughts and ideas that tumbled out of her mouth no matter who was present and talking to her.

To see her with two friends, picking and choosing for them, the other girls hanging off her every word. It settled something inside of Claire, eased off every worry she ever had about Maisie and reassured her that their girl was living the most normal life she could.

‘Do you girls want to sleep down here tonight? Or up in Maisie’s room?’ Claire asked, watching them from the corner of the kitchen, her hip propped against the archway.

Bella lifted her head, ‘we won’t fit on the couch’.

Claire hummed, lips pursed together, pretending to think for a minute. ‘I can bring the mattresses down from Maisie’s bunk beds. We can set them up on the floor like one giant bed.’ The girl's eyes grew wide, idea laid out in front of them like Claire had built a wonderland right in front of them.

‘Yes!’ ‘Yeah!’ ‘Please?!’ The girls exclaimed, jumping up and down with their excitement.

‘Okay,’ Claire sang. ‘Maisie can you please make sure the floor is clear?’ She nodded, accepting her duty as she scooped the DVD cases into her arms and shoved them back onto the cabinet. It was less than ideal but she had done what Claire asked.

Owen followed Claire to Maisie’s loft without a word, knowing she would struggle to bring a single and double-sized mattress down from their perch. It took them a few minutes to manoeuvre the mattresses and blankets, Maisie running upstairs to collect her pillows and a few special cabin stuffed animals. She let her friends pick which one they wanted to tuck under their arm for their visit.

The oven timer went off at the exact minute the girls simultaneously jumped onto the mattresses, falling into their positions for the night. ‘Don’t get up,’ Claire touched her hand to Maisie’s head, the girl instinctively moving. The oven timer meant Maisie had to scuttle to set the table, but considering she had guests and it was a special occasion, Claire let her off the hook.

Their pizzas were set up on the coffee table just in front of the TV, along with bowls of candy and popcorn for their grazing pleasure.

It felt strange to sit on the couch without Maisie between them or tucked into one of their sides. She was still there, only three feet away, sitting with her back straight, hands greasy with pizza as the move began to play.

They didn’t need to sit there and watch with them. Claire could have snuck into the small office nook Owen built, to answer emails and type the night away. She wanted to stay, wanted to be accessible if the girls needed anything, wanted to watch over them as Maisie suddenly didn’t need them in the presence of her friends. This was it now, from here on out, sleepovers were about to become a lot more common as these girls grew into young women and used the weekends to solve the mysteries of their lives. She just wanted to watch them while they were little; giggling at nothing, their shoulders pressed together, pizza in one hand, plush animals in the other.

Owen stretched his arm over the back of the couch, his hand coming into contact with Claire’s shoulder. She wanted to shoot him a look of anger, warning that she was still mad. Claire couldn’t find the energy; it was useless to waste her thoughts on it. He didn’t mean to cause any problems and it was Claire’s fault she came home already feeling frosty on her feelings. Instead, she slid herself closer and tucked her body into Owen’s side.

‘Sorry.’ Owen kissed the top of her head, his hand squeezing her hip with his apology. Claire shook her head, hand sitting on his chest.

‘’s ok.’ She mumbled, tilting her head up to his. ‘We will talk about it. Promise. Fair and even discussion.’ He kissed her, soft and gentle, lips meeting in an apology they were both exceptionally good at.

The sound of giggles drew them away, three sets of eyes watching them, cheeks pinking with heat from the fire as the glow of the TV backlit the girl's faces. ‘Oi,’ Owen pretended to growl. ‘Watch your movie.’ Bella and Sophie turned back to the screen, still giggling as their hands reached for the bowls of confectionary calling to them.

‘You okay?’ Claire whispered, watching Maisie for signs of embarrassment thanks to their kiss. Maisie gave a nod before she jumped up to crawl across the mattresses and fling herself into their laps. Claire kissed her cheek, hand rubbing across Maisie’s back as she hugged them tightly.

‘I’m having so much fun.’ She whispered under against their cheeks, beaming from ear to ear as she did so. ‘I can’t wait for tomorrow’ Where they would run around outside, explore in the trees and swim in the lake if the weather held out. For now, they would giggle in dim lights while shoving sugar into their mouths.

#clawen #jurassic world #claire dearing #owen grady #maisie lockwood #claire x owen #owen x claire #despite the odds #it's 2am forgive me I wanted this project over

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aphdream · 6 years ago

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Hello and how are you doing? Can you make some headcanons for the Axis/Allies as fathers? Please and thank you and have a good day!!!!!

I hope you liked it!!!

Italy: Feliciano would be ecstatic to be a father. Feliciano would be so supporting and loving towards his kids no matter what the circumstances were(though as long as it’s not harming them or anyone else). Like any parent, he is prone to make mistakes though he is ready to learn from it. Feliciano is a very happy-go-lucky guy but when it comes to being a parent he is ready to be a bit more firm with his words so he can be taking seriously in specific situations. Though, Feliciano loves to take his kid(s) out to little adventures to the park or to the mall so they can run around and have fun.

Germany: Ludwig can be strict, though sometimes he will loosen up for his kids. Through his stern façade, he has the biggest soft spot for his kids and would do anything for their happiness. When they first entered his life, you could see a change in Ludwig’s actions. He’s a little more gentle and occasionally lenient with others. He’s become more patient when dealing with people. At some point when the kids are old enough, Ludwig might take them to the park and exercise together(he won’t be pushing them like a general but he cares for the kids’ health and want them to be active). Honestly though, if Ludwig had a girl, he would treat her like a princess. The moment she entered Ludwig’s life, she became the apple of his eye and he would do anything for his little girl.

Japan: favorite things (drawing) makes him extremely happy because he gets to do what he loves with his own family and the kids get to express their creativity and show it to their father. Kiku isn’t the most expressive but he truly loves his children and would do anything to have a smile on their faces.

Romano: Up until his children are born, he would be panicked, always worrying if he’ll be a great dad. But when they are finally born, he instantly falls in love with them. He would do anything for his children and he hopes that he can be the best father for them because they only deserve the best. He is definitely the type to spoil his kids rotten and tell them to expect the best because that’s what they deserve. Lovino is really protective of who his children hang around since he doesn’t want them to be with bad influences. No matter how old his kids are, Lovino will continue to baby them because his number one fear is them leaving and he’s dreading the day they grow older and become more independent.

Prussia: Gilbert may have this “I’m going to be an awesome dad,” but he’s really scared and worried that he won’t be good enough for his kids or s/o. He puts all his energy loving his kids and s/o and making sure they all are happy at the end of the day. Though, he may make mistakes or be a bit too lenient, he truly means no harm and learns from it later on. Gilbert loves when his kids sit on his shoulders for a better view, it’s a really cute dad-child thing he does with his kids. He loves playing games with his kids and hearing them laugh. Since they were born, it’s been his favorite sound.

America: Like Gilbert, Alfred is a very playful father and the sound of his children’s laughter is the most amazing thing to him. He will literally buy a whole toy story for his children’s happiness. Unlike Gilbert though, he will put his foot down to keep his kids in line. There is always a time for fun and games though there needs to be a time when it isn’t all fun and games. Alfred really values education so he will emphasize to his kids on being educated and effectively using their education for their best. Alfred loves family road trips so there will be many annual road trips when the kids are on break. He loves how everyone is in one place and he can all easily talk to them and have fun car games(like Guess the Song, History Trivia, etc).

England: Arthur loves his children to bits. He’s always watching over them and making sure they’re ok. He’s even providing them with the best quality snacks(organic, gmo free, etc.). Once the kids were a little older, Arthur loved having afternoon tea with them. Being the bookwork Arthur is, he tries to influence his kids to effectively use their personal library. He loves to give his kids little nicknames and share with them his fantasy and pirate stories. He loves the look in their eyes when he’s telling his stories to them. Arthur is the type of parent that does not let his kids leave the table until their entire plate is finished. He wants them to eat well and not get hurt later, so he makes sure they ate everything on their plate and then he will let them do what they want.

Russia: Ivan is so excited to have children from the minute he heard his s/o is expecting (or they decided on adopting). He already planning on how the kids’ room will look like. Ivan is so excited to teach his kids about Russian culture and the language. Ivan is the kind of parent that’s always trying to make peace if the kids fight. He won’t have the heart to punish the kids. Ivan will always baby them and will crush anyone that even lays a finger on them or makes his kids cry. Ivan will always have a little gift waiting for his kids almost everyday.

China: Yao values family a lot, so it’s not a surprise when he teaches his kids the importance in familial unification and how families should stick together through thick and thin. Like Arthur, Yao would like to have an hour of the day with his kids drinking tea. He would also like to teach his kids to cook, as well as, teach them the Chinese language and culture since he’s very proud of his culture. Yao values every moment he has with his children and wants to make unforgettable memories. He is the type to take so many pictures when they’re going out for something random or a special event and on vacations. He’ll also be the type of dad to be heavily into scrapbooking.

Canada: Pancakes every morning. And I’m not joking. Matthew will make a variety of pancakes all the time and will make homemade maple syrup for his kids. Matthew feels like the luckiest man on this planet to have an amazing s/o and amazing kids. He loves them to pieces and would sacrifice anything for them. Matthew fell in love with his kids the moment he heard their cries. He knew he would do anything they asked. Matthew would spoil his kids rotten with all the toys he would buy(or even make by hand) for them. Matthew has made it accustomed amongst all the family that they all need to sit together when having dinner every night.

France: Francis has never felt so in love until he laid his eyes on his kids. He was going to dedicate his entire lifetime making them happy and he was happy about it. He loves his children so much and would do anything for them. He loves to spoil them with nice clothes and jewelry. Sometimes he’ll take his kids out to some store and whatever the kids pick up he will buy it without any questions said. Francis is the type of dad to always ask how his kids are and when they’re in that stage where they don’t say much, he’ll start getting worried for them and try to ask them more questions until they open up. Francis is also the type to give meaningful and helpful advice that usually helps his kids in the greater good.

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lonelypond · 6 years ago

Text

Jingle Bell Jazz, Chapter 6

Love Live, NicoMaki, 3.5K, 6/?

Christmas At The Yazawas

Maki woke slowly, disturbed by the sense that someone was watching her. She opened her eyes, tensed, and saw not someone, but two someones, two completely unfamiliar crimson stares. Maki blinked and hastily sat up, trying not to frown. One set of eyes belonged to a teenager as tall as Nico’s mom, and a near copy of Nico in coloring. The second set belonged to a young boy, also a Nico copy but slightly shorter, sitting at the coffee table, using a set of Tinkertoys to build a network of platforms for a toy spaceship.

“Launching.” The boy stated.

At the same time the other turned to announce, “Your friend’s awake, Sis.”

“Oh good,” Maki heard Nico’s voice from the kitchen but then the Nico sized body that bulleted into the room had brown hair, not black. Nico followed directly on her third sibling’s heels, “Slow down, Cocoa.”

Oh, the future Olympic runner. Maki pulled the blanket around her shoulders and smiled at the boy. The older of the girls was starting to remind Maki of Nico’s mother, with the way the slightest hint of a scowl started when she glanced at Maki’s hair. Maki raised a hand to it, of course, it was standing straight up over most of the top, now, when she had an audience.

“Introduce us,” The junior Mrs. Yazawa demanded. Nico rolled her eyes.

“Maki Nishikino meet Cocoro, Cocoa, and Cotaro Yazawa.” Cocoro nodded, Cocoa jumped up and down as best she could with Nico having both hands on the younger girl’s shoulders, and Cotaro waved a Tinkertoy in Maki’s direction, “Cocoro, Cocoa, Cotaro, this is Maki. She’s playing piano for Nico’s Super Duper New Year’s Eve Extravaganza.” Nico bowed, “Thank you, Maki.”

That was friendly, Maki was surprised, “Nice to meet all of you.”

“Are you any good?” Cocoro blurted.

“Huh?”

“Are you any good at playing the piano.” Cocoro repeated slowly, “Nico needs someone who can help her continue to get the recognition she deserves.”

“Maki is fine.” Nico let Cocoa go and pulled Cocoro into a hug, “You know Nico only works with the best.”

“But Sis, she doesn’t even look…”

“Now, hush, Cocoro, you know not everybody wakes up as pretty as Nico.” Nico was leading Cocoro back to the kitchen.

“True.”

“Hey!” Maki stood, but her glance was drawn downward as Cotaro shook his head.

Nico glanced over her shoulder, “Nico is making you pancakes. Go wash your face and call your parents.”

Maki watched Cotaro nod knowingly and found herself agreeing with Nico, before she could think about it. “Okay.” Cotaro nodded and offered her a handful of wooden rods and spools. Maki crouched down to make a quick platform, not aware that Nico had stopped to watch from the kitchen doorway.

###

Maki could hear how serious her father was, “We talked to the State Police. Some roads are still impassable. Your mother and I will probably be up here for at least a few extra days. The staff will be back though.”

Maki tried not to whine. Nico could probably hear from where she was in the kitchen, “But Papa.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll bring Santa’s gifts back with us, Maki.” Her father sighed, “You’ve already had one dangerous drive.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Just enjoy your time with your friend, Maki.”

“She’s n…” was Maki really going to say Nico wasn’t her friend...Maki glanced into the kitchen, watching as Nico flipped a pancake, Cocoa watching her excitedly as the younger girl haphazardly set the small table. “She’s making pancakes for her brother and sisters.”

“Sounds cozy. Your mother’s been perfecting her bacon curls. They roll around the plate when I tilt it.”

Maki giggled, her parents for all their seriousness, had an occasional goofy streak. Which is why she was so sad to be missing Christmas with them, it was the one time she was almost guaranteed to see it. But as she watched Nico, pancake batter on her nose, Cocoa and Cocoro clustering as she demonstrated the perfect flipping technique, Maki knew she’d made the right decision.

“I just miss you, Papa. It’s my first Christmas away.”

“And we’re so proud of you for helping Nico. You’re a good friend, Maki.” Her father sounded pleased.

Maki hummed, not sure what to say so her father continued, “Your concert’s on New Year’s Eve right?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll be back before then. We have that symphony fundraiser on the 30th. You’re still playing right?”

“Of course, Papa.”

“Call us when you get back home.”

“I will.”

“Bring Nico to the event. We’d like to meet her.”

“PAPA!” Maki saw Nico’s attention snap to her and turned her back on the breakfast chef, lowering her voice. “She’s probably busy. I’ll be lucky if she let’s me skip rehearsal.”

“Maki…” Now her father sounded amused.

Maki knew there was no reason not to agree but...Nico would probably refuse and Maki didn't want to hear any further commentary from Nico about Maki's hoity toity and la di da social circles if they got to talking about the event and what Nico should wear. Nothing Maki had seen on her would be appropriate and Maki had no idea how to say that kindly. Her mother would be able to. Maki sighed and realized she was still on the phone and nudged the table with her foot, “I’ll ask her Papa.”

“Good. Merry Christmas. We love you, Maki.”

“Merry Christmas, Papa. I love you too.” Maki hung up the phone, considering what she was going to say to Nico.

As soon as the phone clicked into its cradle, Nico cheerfully called out, “Come get your pancakes, Maki. I can’t cook properly if I’m saving them from hungry teenagers.” Nico snorted, “But I guess you’re a hungry teenager too.”

Maki hurried into the kitchen, took the plate Nico offered her, sat, sniffed, smiled at the warm cinnamon blueberry rush and splashed syrup over the top of her pancakes, “I am a full grown adult with…” Maki took a bite, forgot anything and everything she was planning to say, groaning with pleasure instead, “ecstatic tastebuds. These are amazing Nico. I want them all.” Maki playfully reached over to Cocoa’s plate, fork poised to steal to a pancake as the younger Yazawa batted her away with a giggle.

“Yep, all grown up,” Nico laughed as she took the chair next to Maki.

“Where’s your mother?” Maki asked, mouth full of deliciousness.

“Mama’s taking some gifts to the neighbors,” Cocoro took a break from neatly slicing all of her pancakes into equal bites to answer Maki’s question, “They watch us when she has to stay late at work.”

“Speaking of gifts, there’s something under the tree for you, Maki. Santa must have left it.” Nico smirked as Maki looked curious, lavender eyes bright.

“We already opened ours, but Nico made us do it quietly.” Cocoa pouted.

“It was good practice for being a spy.” Nico announced. “You have to make sure no one steals the rocket blueprints.”

Cocoa giggled. Cotaro made a whooshing noise from the living room. Maki watched as he launched the rocket off the top platform, holding it as high as he could and running around the living room.

“Cotaro” Cocoro snapped, surprising Maki with her stridency, “Put that down and come eat.”

Definitely the next mother in training, Maki thought, wondering vaguely about Nico and children. She seemed to enjoy being surrounded by her siblings. Nico noticed Maki staring and raised an eyebrow. Maki blushed and glanced away. Maybe she could get Nico to cook some more. Cotaro looked hungry too.

“Need another batch?” Nico asked teasingly, but Maki nodded. Nico laughed, “Just give Nico a minute. When are you leaving for Maine?”

“Um…” Maki wasn’t sure what to say.

“Maki?”

“Papa says the roads are closed and I should just head back to the city. They’re going to be snowed in at the camp for a few more days.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Nico smiled at Maki, gentle sympathy in her molten candy eyes, “But then you can stay here and go back with Nico tomorrow.”

“Ummm…” Maki glanced apprehensively at the door, “Your mother…”

“Mama has no say over Ni…”

Cocoro broke into the conversation, “You know that’s not true, Sis. Mama always says her roof, her ru…”

Nico glared at her sister, “Nico can’t let her friend drive back alone, Mama knows that. It wouldn’t be safe.”

Maki knew it would be perfectly safe but she was relishing her last few bites of pancakes and disinclined to argue.

“Snowball.” Cotaro curved a perfectly round scoop of butter to top his pancakes,

Cocoa squealed, rushing her dish to the sink, “Can we Sis, please, can we? I’ll clean everything up.”

Nico quirked an eyebrow at Maki, “Can you skip a second round of pancakes for a snowball fight and then an amazing Nico-riffic lunch, Maki?”

Cocoa had her hands together, pleading, Cotaro was looking hopeful, Cocoro still frowning at Nico.

Maki tried not to sound too eager. “What kind of lunch…”

Nico snorted, “Stacks of grilled cheese. And tomato soup. Homemade, with Nico’s special spicing.”

Maki grinned, “Okay.”

Excited, Cocoa bounced her hands on Maki’s shoulders, soaking Maki’s nightshirt with arms fresh from the dishpan, “Thank you thank you thank you.”

“Don’t get more popular than Nico.” Nico tapped her knife on Maki’s plate as a warning. Maki shrugged as Cocoa’s playful mood took over the apartment and the youngest sister hopped back to the sink, Maki’s plate and tableware in hand.

####

The younger Yazawas had gotten into their winter gear too fast for Maki to keep up. Maki came out of the bathroom, face washed, changed into wool trousers and a navy, purple, and white Fair Isle sweater for the day. As Nico made sure Cotaro had his mittens, Maki put on her coat, and grabbed her hat off the peg,

“Wait.” Nico said, grabbing Maki’s hat and putting it on her own head, twirling to grab something from under the Christmas tree, “Take this.” She handed the redhead a wrapped bundle.

“What is this?” Maki stared.

“Do we ask questions on Christmas, Cotaro?” Nico asked.

Cotaro shook his head very seriously.

“But…I wasn’t...how…”

“Just open it, silly.” Nico bumped Maki with her shoulder and Maki did as ordered, revealing a soft knit dark gray cap with a white bobble and her name haphazardly stitched into the brim. She stared at Nico for so long that Nico finally just took the cap out of her hands, raised it, pulled it over Maki’s head, brim all the way down to her nose.

“HEY!” Maki grumbled as four Yazawas giggled and bumped past her, the sound of the door opening and a rush of cold air making her think she was being left behind. She pushed the brim up and ran out the open door, closing it behind her, “Wait for me!”

###

Driving gloves were not the best for creating aerodynamic projectiles but at least the snow leaned more fluffy than wet. Cocoro had excellent aim, as did Nico, and Maki found herself ducking behind the wall for protection more than she would care to admit. Cocoa had caught her on the cheek once from short range and the sting had brought tears to her eyes, But now, she and Cocoa were on the same side, ducked behind the wall, looking over the expanse of sparkling snow, a few scattered trees too far for any useful cover for their targets, lining up shots on Nico and Cocoro. Cotaro had distracted himself with building a series of snow people. Maki pointed at Cocoa, then Cocoro and at herself, then Nico, and Cocoa nodded.

“On 3” Maki whispered, “1...2...3”

WIth a a yell, she threw her first snowball at Nico, then vaulted over the wall holding the second, Cocoa shadowing her motions. Maki’s snowball hit Nico mid torso, Cocoa took off Cocoro’s hat, making the middle sister lose enough control to start chasing the Yazawa family speedster toward the trees. Nico was watching her sisters, not paying much attention at all to Maki, who weighed the snowball and the clear shot, but discreetly let it fall to the ground, thinking the mood was right for getting to know more about Nico.

“You’ll really miss this when you go to Eu…” Maki started but was silenced when Nico’s full weight rammed into her, forcing them both into the snow. Not the closer Maki meant, but not a completely unpleasant experience, after the initial shock. Except proximity to Nico’s simmering glare, that was the bad kind of closer. It burned.

“Don’t talk.” Nico hissed and Maki closed her mouth, staring into Nico’s bright winterberry eyes and feeling every breath. “What is it with you and Europe?”

Nico’s breath smelled like cinnamon and Maki could feel the warmth from the smaller woman sink into her. “But..”

Nico put a mitten over Maki’s mouth, “Not here, genius. Knock it off. Nico doesn’t need a play by play announcer.”

Maki was starting to feel uncomfortable and fidgety so she put her hands on Nico’s...hips to push the smaller woman away, but when Nico’s eyes widened at the contact, Maki suddenly forgot what she had intended to do. Nico, mitten still over Maki’s mouth, Maki’s eyes wide and worried behind her hand, put her other hand behind her as Cocoro approached.

“Sis?”

Nico rolled back into a crouch and stood, her movements fast and graceful, like some modern dancers Maki had seen recently, then offered Maki a hand, pulling the redhead up, “Maki was trying a sneak attack, Nico had to stop her.”

Speaking of sneak attacks, Maki’s head knocked forward and she reached a hand behind to brush away clinging cold. Direct hit. She glanced over her shoulder. Cotaro. That was why she didn’t have a concussion.

Nico immediately intervened, “Hey, we don’t hit people in the head, front or back. You could have hurt Maki.” Nico picked Cotaro up, shaking him playfully and tossing him in front of his snow sculptures. Then she scooped up a snowball and took aim at a snow person, “Want a demonstration why?”

“NO!” Cotaro grabbed Nico’s arm and dragged it back down to her side..

“Are you all right?” Nico asked as Maki continued to brush snow off her hat and coat.

“Yeah…” But Maki knew she’d lost any sense of cheerfulness, the air chilly against her too warm cheeks, her heart racing, her expression probably a blank as she kept looping the memory of Nico staring down at her, close enough that Maki could have counted every long, delicate eyelash.

“Maki?” Nico tugged at her sleeve. Maki nodded to acknowledge the outreach, “Why don’t you go inside and warm up. Start the coffee. Nico will round up these three and be in soon.”

Maki started to go off, then remembered last night, alone with Nico’s mother and decided this was a good time to dig out her car more thoroughly. She’d seen the Yazawa’s shovel on the porch. That would be a good way to warm up and avoid prowling Yazawas before lunch.

###

Lunch and dinner had happened, really before Maki even had a lull in activity to realize that the day was winging by. When the Yazawas had returned from the park, they had swept Maki away from her car and into the house with them, sitting her down at the table to watch while a complicated grilled cheese sandwich assembly line happened, one sibling cutting cheese slices, one sibling buttering bread, the third assembling sandwiches on a cookie sheet, then pushing it under the broiler while Nico did some kind of magic spicing trick with the tomato soup that made the kitchen smell smell like spring greens. It was adorable, Nico was so cute directing her siblings around the kitchen....and there, Maki paused, disconcerted, wondering how to get back to the irked about the silly pin up girl mood. But then Nico grinned at her, and Maki would have sworn there was extra sunlight coming in the window and the soup tingled on her tongue while the rich sweetness of summery tomatoes exploded like a bite into one from a South Jersey farmstand. Then Maki might have dozed briefly on the couch, but there was carol singing, and being pulled into a pinocle tournament while Nico and her mom prepped dinner. Cocoro and Cotaro won, Cocoa kept flipping her cards the wrong way and Maki thought she caught a brief not frown from Nico’s mom in her direction.

Then, after dinner, and To Tell The Truth -- Cocoro guessed right every time, Nico sent the younger Yazawas off to bed. Her mother yawned through Pete and Gladys, then said goodnight.

“Don’t stay up too late, Nico. I’m sure you want to leave early in the morning.”

“Nico knows, Mama.” Nico whined from her position on the end of the couch, behind a pillow nearly her size.

“I hope you had a good Christmas, Maki. Thank you for sharing it with us.” Mrs. Yazawa waved and turned.

Maki sat up, “Thank you for having me. It was fun.” The pillow collided with her, forcing Maki back to her corner of the couch.

“Of course, it was fun.” Nico snorted, “Nico knows how to treat a guest.”

Maki wrapped her arms around the pillow, watching the lights on the tree, ignoring Nico’s reaching for its return,. Nico hopped up to turn out the room lights, and they sat, on opposite ends of the couch, watching the tree in silence, some detective series based on a houseboat flashing through scenes on the television.

“Why do you want to go to Europe?” Maki asked softly, not looking at Nico.

“Oh my God.” Nico wailed, arms thrown up to the ceiling, “Why are you so fixated about Europe? Everyone, including YOU, wants to go to Europe. What Nico wants is none of your business anyway.”

Maki ignored Nico’s last sentence, as true as it was, and skipped right to the conclusion she’d drawn over the last 24 hours, which she’d been meaning to throw in Nico’s face for a reaction. Quarter turning, pillow held closely, Maki said it flat out, “If you really want to go, why haven’t you told your family? It doesn’t make sense.”

Nico crawled down the couch, leaning over the pillow, finger tapping Maki’s nose lightly on each slow word, “It...doesn’t....have...to...make...sense...to...you.”

Maki narrowed her eyes. She wanted an answer. “Why?”

Nico could see the stubborn. It was carved deep in the quartz edges of those amethyst eyes. Answer one question and maybe Maki would drop the subject. Nico’s non verbal response was classic exasperation in action, as she threw herself back down the couch, ripping the pillow away from Maki. But the expectant silence continued.

Nico, on her side, head on the pillow and away from Maki, focused on the tree, “If it doesn’t work out, I don’t want to disappoint them.”

Maki was surprised by the sudden melancholy coming off Nico. It was the opposite of the brash, annoying pushiness that Nico emanated every other minute Maki had known her. “Your family adores you. They were so excited you were here. I’m sure whatever happened it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Nico always keeps things upbeat.” Nico drew her knees up.

“Is this about your dad?” Maki asked, her voice gentle.

Nico was silent. The detective discovered the blackmail and thwarted the trap. Maki wondered what was on next. “We can use my house to rehearse…”

“That’s okay, school’s more convenient...Nico’s got the bus schedule memorized…”

“I can dri…”

Nico yawned, sitting up and tossing the pillow back at Maki. “Just work on not playing over Nico. Nico does just fine without your fancy car.”

Maki stifled a crack about Nico walking to campus from Troy tomorrow. Why wouldn’t Nico let her hel…

“Hey." Nico’s voice snapped.

“What?” Maki snapped back, startled.

“Cute. Just don’t leave without Nico in the morning.”

How unreasonable, Maki thought, to use her car and skills when it was convenient for Nico without letting Maki have any real effect on the decision.

“I’ll be running the meter starting at 8:30.” Maki settled the pillow behind her.

“Nico will be expecting a credit for cooking breakfast.”

Maki grumbled and stretched out on the couch, not wanting to be staring at Nico anymore. Another show with boats. Wasn’t there some kind of Vegas detective show on at this hour? At least that had some humor.

She heard a “Good night, Maki” but her only acknowledgement was a near invisible nod as she pulled the blanket up to her chin. Tomorrow, back to New York City, and getting this cozy Nico Christmas cinnamon charm out of her system.

#nicomaki #Love Live #Jingle Bell Jazz #Christmas #music #jazz #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Yazawa Family #etc

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