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angstyaches · 3 years

Note

“i just need a minute, i-i’m okay.” with Claudette and Autumn where Claudette feels nauseous while spending the day with Autumn but doesn't want to say anything? (You can decide if she throws up or not) (Also this is my first time requesting something so sorry if I'm missing anything! I like Claudette and want to see more of them!)

Thank you so much for requesting Claudette!! This made me so happy, and I had a lot of fun coming up with the story. I really hope you enjoy!

Side note: Claudette uses a combination of she/her and they/them pronouns. If anyone has any feedback on how I've written this (Is it easy to read? Could you always understand which character I was talking about?), I'd really appreciate it!

Word Count: 2,801

CW: stomach ache, nausea, heat, food mention, emeto, platonic caretaking.

“Jayden, did you take my sunscreen from the bathroom?”

Jayden didn’t look up from his phone as he squeezed past, edging towards the kitchen in his underwear and dressing gown. “Dunno. Maybe.”

Claudette shut their eyes, reaching for a grain of zen, and finding only more of the same sick, swirling discomfort in the pit of their stomach. “Well, I need it, so could you go and check?”

After a withering look, Jayden huffed in annoyance and stomped back to his bedroom.

Claudette pulled on a light cardigan over her tank top and denim short-shorts, more for the skin coverage than the warmth. Layers were best on days like this. Considering the light stomach ache she was already battling this morning, excessive sun exposure wasn’t going to do any favours.

“Here you go, your highness.” Jayden passed Claudette the bottle of sunscreen. It’d taken him all of ten seconds to locate it, apparently. “Where you off to, anyway?”

“The zoo,” Claudette said, dropping the sunscreen into her shoulder bag. “It’s my friendship anniversary with Autumn. We go every year to commemorate the day we met.” She scowled at the blank look on Jayden’s face. “I know for a fact that I’ve told you about this.”

Jayden rolled his eyes. “Oh, shit, yeah, you’d think I’d remember something as important as a friendship anniversary.”

“Maybe you’d get it if you had any friends for longer than a few months at a time,” Claudette mumbled. She took out her phone to check for any updates from Autumn, but also to hide from the guilt of making such a harsh jab. Jayden was a dick, but Claudette didn’t usually rise to his taunts. This weird nausea was throwing her off.

There were no messages on Claudette’s phone, but at that moment, there was a ping from the apartment’s intercom. Claudette jogged over to the door – prancing to avoid tripping on a new pack of toilet rolls and an abandoned Penney’s bag in the hallway – and pressed the button.

“Be right down,” they said into the mic, before turning to grab her shoes. Sturdy black sandals with comfortable straps. It’d be a walking-heavy day.

Her throat burned from the simple action of stooping over to secure the straps. Claudette straightened up, squinted, and pressed a fist to their mouth to stifle a sudden wet belch. She pressed a hand against her stomach and tried to remember what she’d eaten yesterday that could have upset it this much, but got side-tracked as Jayden walked by again, skulking back to his bedroom with a bowl of cereal.

“Enjoy your sad date,” he called out.

“Enjoy dying alone.” Claudette flinched and closed her eyes as she pulled her shoulder bag across her torso. “Sorry, Jay, didn’t mean that!”

He didn’t reply, so he was either ignoring her, or already had headphones on. Either way, Claudette sighed and headed for the door.

Maybe they could convince Autumn to do something different today. They’d both been to the zoo so many times, plus Claudette was starting to question how they felt, ethically, about the concept of animal confinement for human entertainment. An afternoon at a coffee shop or the bowling alley might be gentler on their body, too.

They just hoped Autumn wouldn’t be too disappointed.

“Good morning, chickadee!” Autumn exclaimed from the bottom of the steps. She waved and did a little half-spin, making the hem of her white and orange floral dress sway above her knees.

“Morning, lady,” Claudette said. They stopped in their tracks as Autumn held out a hand, silently commanding them to stop.

The smile that broke out across Autumn’s face revealed that she had a plan. Or, perhaps, a scheme.

In her other hand was a fresh Moleskine notebook, and she had a finger curled inside to save the page she was using. She wasn’t exactly trying to hide it, but also wasn’t yet trying to reveal the fact that she’d painted Claudette’s name, along with the number 10, onto the front cover.

Uh oh.

“I have written, for you, my darling Claudette, ten poems,” Autumn revealed. “One for each year I’ve spent with you by my side.”

“Oh, my god, A,” Claudette muttered, feeling utterly emasculated. They had gotten Autumn a keychain on Etsy as an anniversary present. A keychain. They hadn’t even gift-wrapped it themself; she’d paid the seller to do it before shipping.

“I will read you each one in a location that’s special to our friendship. Most of them are at the zoo, obviously, but…”

Claudette’s stomach dropped.

“The first location…” Autumn gestured neatly to the bottom of the steps, where she was standing. “… is right here, outside your building, where I stumbled up drunk and threw stones at the wrong window, and royally ticked off the nice lady who lives two doors from you.”

Despite the nausea that only seemed to have doubled-down since Autumn had revealed her present, Claudette let out an affectionate scoff. That had, indeed, been a formative moment in their friendship.

“The first one’s kind of corny. Actually, they all are, so bear with me.” Autumn laughed and cleared her throat. She lifted the notebook and flipped it open so that she could read from it. “Claudette. C is for the colour you bring to my day. L is for the laughter we share. A is for ambition, forever your forte…”

Claudette was smiling profusely as she listened, but there was a tension in her jaw that couldn’t quite be explained through any positive emotion. Already, the blazing sunshine was making their head spin. Their insides twisted uneasily, churning around the cold coffee and buttered scone they’d eaten for breakfast.

“The first T is for trust, of which you taught me the importance…”

This, Claudette told themself, is what you get for having a best friend who’s so much more thoughtful, creative, and amazing than you.

This, they realised, was going to be a long day.

Time felt like jelly for the next chunk of the day.

Claudette rushed to pay for both entrance tickets without really thinking about it, smiling numbly at Autumn’s protests and promise that she would pay for lunch later. There were selfies taken by the duck pond and the elephant house, in which Claudette was smiling, but they had no recollection of even being able to force a smile. Poems were recited to her, and she forgot the words of them almost instantly. She could only pray that the inscription on the front, of her name, meant that the Moleskine notebook would be given to her at the end of the day; it’d be nice to be able to read them later, when she was able to think about something other than the dull, yet clawing, ache in their stomach.

The screech of a wandering peacock felt like a needle being pressed into Claudette’s skull.

“Can we take a break?” they eventually asked, when spots started to obscure their vision. They glanced about, trying not to look too frantic as she scrabbled for some excuse. She and Autumn were passing by one of the park’s three food kiosks, which sold popcorn and ice-cream cones. Claudette absolutely did not feel like snacking, but the prospect of stopping somewhere with seats, shade, and a toilet nearby was good enough to bypass that fact. “Ice-cream?”

“Ice-cream? Now?” Autumn squinted from under her bangs before brushing them away. “You don’t want to wait until Meerkat Cove? We… We always have ice-cream at Meerkat Cove.”

Claudette felt sticky, but not in the regular way one felt when they’d been out in the heat and worked up a sweat; their bones felt heavy, like they’d waded into a pit of tar. They’d certainly waded into the dangerous territory of messing with the tried-and-true schedule. She shifted her weight under the scrutiny of Autumn’s gaze.

“Yes,” Claudette said. “You’re right. Let’s keep going, we’ll –”

“Wait a second, is it – is it the heat?” Autumn lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, as though she was only, just now, acknowledging the weather and temperature. “Should we stand in the shade for a while? I’ll go and get you that ice-cream, if you need to cool down.”

“No, you know what? I’m good. I’m good.”

Autumn half-turned her head as she eyed her friend.

Claudette smiled and raised their eyebrows, as though stretching out as many parts of their face as possible would demonstrate just how fine they were. “Let’s just power on through to Meerkat Cove!”

“Well, no, we won’t be powering through anywhere.” Autumn held up the Moleskine notebook. “I’ve got two poems to read to you before we get there. Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Yes.” Claudette forced another smile and eyed the notebook like it was a time bomb. “I’ve got some water in my bag. I’ll sip it while we walk. Lead the way, lady.”

Ice-cream was, indeed, eaten at Meerkat Cove, as per tradition. Claudette wrapped up the majority of hers inside some napkins, making it look like she’d eaten more than she had, before throwing it in the bin. Luckily, Autumn was preoccupied enough with photographing the meerkats that she didn’t seem to notice.

There were only a few more stops to make before they left the zoo, and wandered through the park that surrounded it. Claudette wished they could have called it a day already, but part of their tradition was to walk up to the gazebo in the nineteenth-century garden, and then circle back to the gate to the city centre.

Plus, as long as she hadn’t lost count at any point, there was still one more poem left out of the ten that Autumn had promised. Claudette’s feet were clammy in their sandals by now, and the effort of keeping them from slipping around was just one more headache on top of everything else. Another headache was the actual headache that a whole bottle of water had stood no chance against. She couldn’t understand how Autumn still looked fresh as a daisy, even after the two of them had been trekking uphill for about ten minutes.

Claudette was the athletic one out of the pair, and this gentle workout was enough to make them want to black out.

“Time for your last poem, chick,” Autumn revealed as they arrived at the gazebo. She’d already fished the Moleskine out of her bag and was combing through the pages.

A wave of relief – and, directly after, guilt – washed over Claudette. It was less noisy out here, which was helping with the dizziness; besides Autumn’s voice, all they could hear was the birds calling to each other from the trees. She leaned heavily against the banister, but tried to avoid slumping as low as her body wanted to.

Autumn began to read.

Claudette’s stomach began to wobble. It was hard to breathe. Everything was fluctuating so much that nothing seemed real, like this whole scene was playing out inside a snow globe or a tiny TV set, and Claudette was just watching from the outside. Shaking. Spinning. Noisy. Shut up, shut up, make it stop –

“Stop,” she begged. “Just – just stop, stop.”

Several seconds elapsed. Claudette scrambled to get her head back in the present. Autumn was staring right at her, Moleskine shut and fastened with the elastic cord.

“Claude,” she said sternly.

Oh, shit. Fuck. No, no, no, no, no. Had they really just told their best friend to stop reading the beautiful poem she’d written specifically for them? Had they seriously just done that?

“I’m fine, I just – I just need a minute. I’m sorry.” They curled a hand around the railing and turned to face the sloping green space that rolled out from the base of the gazebo. She’d gone to the far side, which overlooked a steep part of the hill, so if they did throw up, the vomit would have much further to fall that if she’d been closer to the entrance. Although, Claudette wasn’t sure if they were closer to vomiting, or bursting into tears from the guilt of telling Autumn to shut up. “I’m so sorry, A, I’m sorry.”

“Calm down, chick,” Autumn cooed. She stood next to Claudette, laying a hand on the small of their back. “Hey. Why didn’t you tell me you felt this bad?”

Claudette would have thought it was obvious, that she didn’t want to spoil Autumn’s plan for the day, but they weren’t given a chance to explain anyway. Their jaw shuddered open with a gurgle, ejecting a spray of sludge that tasted, in equal parts, like vanilla ice cream, bile, and coffee. Her stomach had concocted the world’s worst affogato.

Thick locks of hair began slipping over the railing, dangling dangerously close to the streams and strings of stomach contents that fell from her lips. Claudette almost had to give up on holding the railing, in favour of protecting their hair from getting sticky, but Autumn beat her to it.

“It’s okay,” Autumn whispered. “Do what you have to do.”

As though her stomach had heard and understood, Claudette retched again, bringing up a huge wave of sick this time. Determined to be empty, their belly clenched over and over again, until all it could do was rumble and churn in hollow distress. Their muscles were suddenly shuddering, shivering, spasming as though the air temperature had just dropped.

“Mmmph.” They let their eyes flutter shut, enjoying the gentle movements of Autumn’s fingers as she pried her hair back from her face, gradually weaving it into a fishtail braid. Their throat was scratchy when they spoke. “Sorry I told you to shut up.”

Autumn chuckled. “You didn’t use those words.”

“Oh.” Claudette didn’t reveal that, in the moment, they’d meant to. “I still feel like an ass for ruining our day.”

“You feel bad?” Autumn exclaimed. “What about me, dragging you around in 27-degree weather when you’re feeling sick?”

“I should have told you sooner.”

“I should have noticed!”

Claudette grunted under her breath. “Are we seriously competing for who gets to feel worse right now? Because I think I –” They paused, squeezing their eyes shut as a hiccup pinched them behind the rib and sent up a wet belch. They didn’t have time to cover their mouth. “I think I’ll win, lady.”

“You’re right. Sorry.” Autumn slipped a hand further up Claudette’s back, moving in a smooth, narrow circle. “You win. This round.”

“Huh.” Claudette pressed their lips together, miserably swirling their tongue back and forth, before leaning forward to spit over the railing. Victory had never tasted so vile.

“You ready to go?” Autumn asked. “I’ll come back to your apartment with you, if you want company. We can put on pyjamas and watch a movie.”

“I think I need another minute.” Claudette sighed, folding their arms on the railing and rolling their forehead gently against the crook of their elbow. Her stomach still fluttered with nausea every time she tried to open her eyes. “Were you, by any… urp, ugh – by any chance, thinking about Grease?”

Autumn gasped softly. “That’s a great idea. Because it was the first show we ever saw together?”

“Mmm.” Claudette broke into a weak excuse for a smile. Without lifting their head or opening their eyes, she reached down towards the clasp of her shoulder bag. “Look – look in there. Your present’s in there. Yellow packaging.”

“Okay…” Autumn took a moment, gently rummaging through the contents of Claudette’s bag. Finally, there was the rustling of paper. “This? This is for me?”

“Yep.”

“It’s – it’s really more orange than yellow.”

Claudette would have rolled her eyes if not for the certainty that it would cause their nausea to spill over again. “Yeah, orange, whatever.”

The paper rustled some more as Autumn wrestled with the packaging. She let out another soft gasp. “The rules are, there ain’t no rules – Claude, oh my god! I love it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I am putting it on my keys right this second. Ugh, this is so cute. Thank you!”

A hollow sigh escaped Claudette’s throat. “It’s not exactly ‘ten poems for ten years’, but –”

“Would you stop? This is lovely.” There was a gentle nudge of pressure against Claudette’s hip as Autumn leaned against them, curling one arm around their waist. “I love you, chick. Happy anniversary.”

“Love you, lady.” Claudette inhaled slowly and pushed the air back out through pursed lips, testing the effect it on their stomach. So far, so good. “I’m ready for my last poem now.”

“You are? Are you sure?”

Claudette nodded. “My ego could use some inflating right about now.”

Autumn stepped away again with a gentle clap of her hands. “Amazing. Let me start again from the top.”

#Lucyverse Claudette #Lucyverse #sickfic #emeto #emetophilia #emeto sickfic #vomit fic #stomach bug #stomach ache #stomach ache fic #OC sickfic #OC emeto #sickfic writing #emeto writing #emeto blog #sickfic blog #whump blog #platonic caretaking

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manonblaqkbeak · 3 years

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Motel Living

this idea would not leave me alone, despite me having like three other fics barely done. it is very random. i dont even know what to say lol.

2554 words

enjoy!

Today was officially the one month anniversary of Aelin moving into a three-star motel. She did not think she'd be here for long, a couple of weeks at most, but here she was a month later, and on a Friday night no less. She should have been out with her friends, but she opted to stay inside.

She had to tell herself that she shouldn't complain. That there were people that were worse off than her. Living in a motel was fine.

But it still didn't change the fact that Aelin wished she wasn't living in a motel room. Especially one that was popular with long haul truckers whose snores sounded like chain saws and blenders on the highest level. That right now, down in the restaurant/pub that was only six doors down, an important football game was playing and the patrons inside were cheering wildly.

Aelin missed the house that she had been renting the last three years. Last year she had decided to start saving so that she could purchase the house itself, since it was still on the market since the day she moved in. It was hard, but Aelin was a determined woman and she set her sights on purchasing the house—she felt like she practically owned it anyway—up until the day she received a call from the real estate agency telling her that the house had been purchased and she had to move out.

Aelin disliked crying, but the waterworks started the minute she hung up. She really did love that house. Had created a small vegetable and herb garden to make it feel more homely. Made it hers in the three years she had occupied it.

There was a tiny silver-lining, however, since the new owners were coming from the other side of the continent, she had plenty of time to pack and move out.

But that silver-lining quickly disappeared once she started her search for a new home in-between packing and work. Every apartment, every house, every unit she looked out at was taken by the time she handed in her application. Every inspection starting to become fruitless when she knew that she wouldn't be the one to live in it.

Aelin hadn't realised that the market had become so cut-throat. She knew she was the perfect applicant because in all her years renting she never missed a single day, never received a complaint. Even when the landlord dragged his ass to fix something, Aelin kept her temper in its leash and did not throttle him the way she wanted too.

And as her luck ran out and Aelin had started to truly worry about where she was going to live because while she had multiple people in her life, she quickly realised that she couldn't ask any of them if she could move in for multiple reasons:

Aedion and Lysandra were recently married, and Aelin hadn't wanted to burst their newlywed bubble.

Chaol and Yrene were brand new parents, their baby girl born the day Aelin moved out, and she knew the last thing they wanted was someone else in the way.

Nehemia was in the same position as her, but her parents had invited her back home while Nehemia looked for somewhere else. Aelin's parents were dead, and her childhood home had been destroyed in a wildfire a five years ago, and Aelin had used the insurance money to pay off her debts. She cursed herself now for doing that, but Aelin hated being in debt and she did what she had too.

Fenrys lived in a one bedroom unit and had the worlds most uncomfortable couch, so he was out. And while Fenrys was one of her best friends, she didn't really talk with Connall, his twin. Nor did she often talk with Vaughn.

Dorian and Manon were travelling all over Erilea and Dorian's younger brother Hollin was house-sitting. Aelin couldn't stand Hollin for more than a few minutes at a time and she would rather live in the motel for a year than live in with him.

And then there was Rowan. He had been a close friend for years, until five months ago they decided that they had liked each other too much to keep being friends and officially started dating (at Lysandra and Aedion's wedding, of all places). If they had been together for longer, she would have asked him—but she didn't want to rush anything, because Aelin could so clearly see a future with him and she didn't want to hurt that future by moving in far too early in their relationship.

So that left Elide, her lifelong friend that was more like a sister. Elide was purely on the bottom of the list since she knew her friend cherished living alone after living in a shit-hole with her even shittier uncle—but Aelin knew Elide and if Aelin needed a place to stay, then Elide's door would be wide open. The two had gone to lunch and Aelin had been just moments away from telling Elide everything and asking for a world changing favour.

Until Elide had excitedly announced that Lorcan was going to move in.

And Aelin's plan had deflated. Again, Aelin knew that if Elide was aware of how desperate she was, Elide would invite Aelin to stay, but since Lorcan and Aelin didn't particularly get along, Aelin kept her mouth shut and congratulated her friend for the new milestone in their relationship.

So, all her options completely exhausted, Aelin looked for vacant motels, found that this was the best out of all the options and became a long-standing tenant.

Aelin had managed to keep everyone away from her new apartment by claiming that it wasn't ready for visitors. Most knew that Aelin was house-proud, a trait that she had inherited from her late mother, so they knew that when Aelin was ready, she would invite them.

It was getting hard, however, to keep Rowan away. Each date night and hang out ended up at his apartment and Rowan was becoming curious as to how her new place was looking.

Rowan wasn't judgemental, and he wouldn't look down at her for living in a motel room, but Aelin was the problem; she was too proud to show him her new place. Even when she was at her lunch with Elide, she had to beat down her pride at just the mere thought of asking Elide if she could move in.

Tonight, however, Aelin knew in her bones that Rowan would ask to come over. He had a completely shitty day at work—one that ended up in the hospital because for the first time in his career as a carpenter, Rowan had somehow gotten his hand in the way of his nail gun and shot right through the middle of his palm and was off work until it healed, which Rowan hated the most out of the whole ordeal, since Rowan was the type of person that always had to be doing something.

So when his face finally popped up on her phone screen, Aelin muffled a groan into her pillow (because there was no way in hell she was using the standard sheets the motel provided, she needed her bedding or she wouldn't get any sleep), took a deep breath and plastered a smile onto her face.

“How's the hand?” she asked by way of greeting.

“It'd be a lot better if there wasn't a hole in it,” was his groggy reply. “I just woke up from the longest nap and thought of you.”

“That's sweet of you to say,” Aelin said, “do you want me to come over? I could cook you my world famous grilled cheese.” Please say yes, she thought, please.

“As much as I love the sound of that, I just need to get out of my house,” Rowan said, “I know that you're house-proud and if you don't want me to see it, I understand, I'll even wear a blind fold if that'll make you happy, but I just...” he trailed off and Aelin could see his pained expression even though they were miles apart.

“Seeing all your work tools is making you miserable,” she supplied. Rowan grunted in confirmation. Taking a deep breath, Aelin said, “You can come over, I don't mind. I'd be happy to see you.” And she would be. She'd just have to kick her pride in the corner. “There's a pub right around the corner from mine and the cheeseburgers they have are really fucking good, and I mean that sincerely. Do you want me to get you one? Because I only have snacks and canned food at the moment.”

“A burger sounds good, with extra tomato, please.”

Aelin smiled. “Of course, I'll text you the address, and I'll see you soon.”

After ordering their dinner, Aelin tidied up (even though the space was immaculate) and waited, and waited. When a gentle knock sounded at her door, Aelin took the food from the restaurant worker and was just about to go back in when Rowan's truck pulled up.

Even ten car spots away, Aelin could see his puzzled expression from where she stood. Placing the food on the small, round dining table, Aelin waited by the door and gave Rowan her best smile when he stood in front of her.

His puzzled expression melted away momentarily when she kissed him hello, but it was back in full force when they pulled away.

“Fireheart,” was all he said, and it said everything that he didn't say.

“I know.”

“You're living in a motel room.” There was no judgement in his voice, like she knew there wouldn't be, but it was clear that he was confused about the whole thing. She should have just told him. She loved her late mother, but really hated the fact that she had passed her pride to Aelin. She hated the fact that, deep down, she was embarrassed, even if Aelin told herself that she had no reason to. The housing market was insane, there was no where else for her to go, and that she hated herself for not saving more money to buy her home of three years.

“I am,” Aelin said, “but it's not so bad. It's affordable and clean.” Aelin invited him inside and sat him down the small dining table.

From his spot, he took in the space. Saw the bar fridge that could barely hold a bags worth of cold food, her toaster oven and the dual butane stove she had to purchase because she didn't want to have to use the toaster oven all the time. The tiny closet that held a decent amount of clothes, but didn't make a dent in her considerable mountain of clothes that she had put away in the storage unit she was renting.

None of her candles were in sight and no books either. Aelin was taking full advantage of her library apps, but it wasn't the same. Aelin loved the feeling of a book in her hands, but there was no space and it would have been silly to bring in her bookcases.

“Where's all your stuff?”

“In a storage unit. I considered living in there, but it doesn't have an air-conditioner and this place does.”

Before Rowan could say anything, Aelin turned on the TV, put on whatever movie sounded dumb enough and ate her dinner.

Aelin could see the question burning in his eyes as she stuffed her mouth to avoid answering that very question.

Why didn't Aelin ask if she could stay with him?

Aelin wanted to tell him, she really did, but was afraid that if she showed how serious she was, Rowan might admit that he wasn't as serious as her.

But Aelin knew herself, knew that she was going to tell him at one point or another. She could tell Rowan anything and he wouldn't flinch. It was her own doubt stopping her.

“That really is the best burger I've ever had,” Rowan said when he was finished.

“It really is,” was all Aelin could think of to say. Gods, she felt so damned awkward. The question was still in Rowan's eyes, even as he laughed at the movie and its stupidity. So to avoid it for a bit longer, Aelin took the take-away boxes into the dumpster outback and immediately went for a shower afterwards.

When she came out, Rowan was lounging on her bed, his injured hand laying across his chest, the other arm fiddling with her comforter. Aelin dressed in a shirt that she may have borrowed without asking from Rowan and a pair of sleep shorts.

Borrowing underneath her comforter, Aelin rested her head on Rowan's chest and the awkwardness she felt deflated a bit as he pressed a kiss on her head.

Aelin told him how she ended up here. Including her embarrassment and annoyance at herself. Rowan listened attentively, as he always did. That was one of the biggest things she loved about him, that he listened. And Aelin was in love with him, she knew without a doubt. She was certain she fell in love with him when he danced with her at Aedion and Lysandra's wedding.

When the credits started to roll, Aelin took a deep breath and decided to plunge into uncharted territories. She kept her eyes glued onto the screen.

Aelin decided to bite the bullet. If it all went to hell, she would beat herself up later.

“I don't want to fuck things up with you.” Well, that wasn't how she wanted to start this conversation, but she supposed it was the best way to start off. “I wanted to ask you if I could move in, but our relationship is just so new, and I didn't want to ruin our future, because I can see a future with you, Rowan.” Moving so that she could look Rowan in the eye, Aelin took the deepest plunge imaginable and told him, “I love you, Rowan. I'm in love with you.”

The smile he gave her was the most beautiful she'd ever seen. “I love you, too, Aelin.” Reaching down to kiss her, all of Aelin's doubts melted away. When he pulled back, Rowan said softly, “If you wish to ask, I'll say yes. Because I see a future with you too. You're the one for me.”

“Rowan, can I move in with you?”

He kissed her again. “Yes, you can.”

Aelin's cheeks were started to become sore from all her smiling. Maybe it was a good thing after all that she ended up living here.

Hours later, after another bad movie and celebrating the new milestone in their relationship (which was mainly Aelin laughing as she rode Rowan because he kept forgetting about his injured hand), Aelin and Rowan got ready for bed, and as Aelin rested her head on his chest again, she said, “Just to let you know, I'm going to replace your mattress for mine, because yours is hard as stone.”

“That's exactly why I'm letting you move in, I'm in the market for a new mattress.”

Aelin playfully whacked his chest and muttered what a buzzard he was, but soon fell asleep with a smile on her face, ready for her future with Rowan.

#srsly what is this lol #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction

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script-nef · 4 years

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So why won’t you realise it '^' | Gojou Satoru

Category: fluff

1.9k words; Movie date [2/6]

Spoilers of Howl’s Moving Castle!! Beware!!

← Previous chapter | Masterlist

“Eh, Shouko! What do you mean you can’t make it?”

“I mean, another person is about to come in and they need me to heal them. By the time I’m done the movie will be finished.” Shouko’s voice over the phone is laced with annoyance and sadness coupled with lethargy. You don’t know how she pulls off such a unique combination of emotions but she somehow accomplishes it every time. “And I was looking forward to it…”

This would have been the first time you had a break with her since the trip to France. And while she enjoyed it a lot, the same couldn’t be said for the two males. Which was weird since Gojou is infatuated with sweets and Ken-chan agreed to come. So it was kind of weird when there was a tense atmosphere between them. You know your brother and Gojou are nearly polar opposites, but their animosity wasn’t usually that strong.

They brushed it off as nothing when you asked if something was wrong, which was sort of dubious since you could kind of see the black cloud looming over the both of them, but you let it go. If it was something important, they would be able to handle it themselves or report it to you. You couldn’t sense any cursed spirits nearby so you guessed that they were just in a bad mood for some reason.

Still, you had a wonderful time and found some new snacks that everyone enjoyed. So a day well spent, all in all.

And Ken-chan told you to tell him if Gojou ever offers overseas trips or anything similar, so he must have enjoyed it. Maybe you can ask Gojou to take all of you to Denmark one day.

“Ah… my dear Howl. Life and curses separate us again.” Her voice is full of sadness now, no doubt mourning over her chance of watching her favourite character on a huge screen with surround sound disappearing.

“It’s okay! I’ll bring you the figurine and we can watch it again here in about… uh…”

“Ten years?” She sounds like she’s about to drop dead.

“Uh… yes… But maybe five years? Hopefully? You know, I shouldn’t watch it without you. I’ll come back to school.”

“No, no. Watch the movie. At least you’ll get to see it. Ah, they’re coming now so I have to go.”

“Ah, okay. Bye, Shouko! Stay positive!”

A non-committal sigh accompanies a small “Bye” before the call clicks off. A frown takes over your face at the lost opportunity for her. She was looking forward to this for a long time and you leapt at the chance for another girls’ day out. Being able to watch a childhood favourite is an added bonus. But now you’re standing in the movie theatre, the ticket desk just across the room and an extra on your hand.

It’s a shame because it cost quite a lot. Shouko is definitely going to mope about this when you get back and maybe start smoking again. She always has a pack on her even if she said she quit, and smokes one if she’s stressed or angry. You should call someone and make sure somebody takes it away from her.

You should probably hold onto the ticket and give it back. Or maybe that would make it worse for her, serving as a reminder of this day. Conflict rages inside your head. There’s a high possibility of either decision breaking her heart. Again. A buzz from your phone saves you the trouble of deciding.

Shouko: I sent someone as my replacement.

A tap on the shoulder makes you turn as you type in a reply and you come face to face with a black jacket. Gojou’s head pops down.

“Hey there. I think you called for a replacement!” He seems to be in a ridiculously good mood, even more so than usual. Maybe his students successfully finished another mission. Which is great. It also means more paperwork for you. Which is not so great.

“How did you com—ah. Teleportation.”

“Ding ding ding! Correct!” He's been using the skill more frequently lately, popping in and out of places like one of those Whac-A-Mole games. . It gives you heart attacks all the time and you’re sure he gets a kick out of it. You saw how his smiles widen when you flinch or react. Thankfully it’s when you’re alone so other people never see you jump what feels like a metre into the air.

“Do you want popcorn?” He breaks you out of your thoughts. “I think they have the new caramel flavour. Apparently it’s way too sweet.” So perfect for Gojou. Even though he’s asking if you want it, there’s a spring in his step which definitely means he’s getting some. Probably the biggest option they have.

And you’re proven right because he comes back with two huge buckets which look impossible to finish. When you try to object, he cuts off with “I’ve eaten three buckets before. Alone.” With the smile he’s giving you, it really doesn’t sound like he’s joking. You try to take one to lighten the load but he says it’s alright.

He signals the way to the theatre rooms with his head, walking beside you as you find your way.

“So what’s the movie?” Your head snaps to him in confusion.

“You don’t know?” A shake and a shrug. “It’s Howl’s Moving Castle. This was Shouko’s idea since she loves it and this year is Studio Ghibli’s 40 year anniversary. The cinema is having an exclusive showing of their movies this month. Only one session per movie, for some reason. Surely they would make more money if they played it over multiple days, but. I dunno. Executives make weird decisions.” A light scoff from him to tell he knows exactly what that’s like. His hatred for the higher-ups runs deep. You don’t push it.

“So she wanted to come but got held back at the last minute?”

“Yeah. Ah, here are our seats.”

You’re placed in the very middle of the room and you both make yourselves comfortable. Shouko went all out for this movie, upgrading the seats and making it a recliner. Your poor back, abused after sitting in chairs and hunched over computers for so long, practically melts into the plush cushion. It’s so comfortable that you might fall asleep in it if it isn’t Howl that’s about to start.

Feet dangling in the air, you look over to Gojou to see him on his phone. It looks like he’s in a chatroom and you catch the words ‘Shouko’ and ‘favour’ before looking away. You didn’t mean to peek, but it’s not like you can consciously not read something. It was in your line of sight and you averted your eyes as soon as you realised what you were reading. Your brother brought you up better than to pry into other people’s businesses, even if it’s really, really tempting.

“Phones need to be placed on silent, you know.” The ads are coming on the screen. He smiles at you, slipping it into his pocket.

“Just talking to Shouko. She says she hasn’t even started properly.”

Disappointment fills you. Gojou is a good friend to watch this with but you hoped Shouko would somehow miraculously finish in time. She would be devastated.

“I’ll have to make this up to her when we get back. Give her the figurine and keep her hap—ah! I forgot! Gojou, I was supposed to ask someone to take her ciga—” He cuts you off with a light pat on your hand.

“Don’t worry, I did it already. All of them are safe out of her reach and I gave her packets of hot chocolate instead. When we get back, she’ll have drunk at least half of them and be in a good mood.” What a Gojou-like replacement. He smiles like a child wanting pats on the head for a job well done. You just barely catch yourself from moving.

Gojou gets a rep for being aloof and neglectful, but he does take care of the people he holds dear to him. His friends, members of the school, his students. You hope you’re included in the list.

Actually, the more you think about it, the more you realise he’s different from initial perceptions. You learn more and more about him as time goes on, in the most delightful sense. He’s somewhat like an onion, new characteristics being revealed every time a layer is peeled. A snicker escapes at the thought of Gojou dressed up like an onion, just waddling around. He shoots you a questioning head tilt which you wave off.

In the years that you’ve known him, he made himself into a trustworthy friend. One full of laughs and ridiculousness. Maybe it’s his childishness that puts you at ease, but he’s incredibly comfortable and easy to relax around. Thoughts trail and the words fly out of your mouth before you even think.

“You know, I think you would make a wonderful boyfriend.”

He freezes completely, like somebody’s zapped him in place. You stare at him, wondering what’s wrong, but the lights dim and by the time he gathers coherence, your concentration is on the opening sequence.

“Ah, that was so good! Ugh, I love Howl. Isn’t he so cool?” You skip out of the room, remembering to take the figurines provided at the exit, with Gojou trailing behind you. “You know how she asks him to wait for her in the past? The first thing he says to her in the movie is ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ He searched for her the entire time! This is modern poetry. This.”

“Do you think Howl would be a good boyfriend?” The question stops you. It’s different than usual for some reason, the voice asking the question and the intensity of it. He’s still his aloof self, all smiles and grins, but there’s something you can’t quite place that’s wrong. It’s unnerving, but you diligently answer his question.

“Um, I mean, yeah? Look at how cute he is with Sophie. See?” The figurine is a frozen shot of Howl and Sophie dancing in the rain with an umbrella that’s not being useful at all. They’re both incredibly detailed, so much so that you can see their clothes and skin drenching wet. Wow, this is actually a phenomenal job. Shouko will be so happy. It makes your heart lighter knowing that at least something might light up her day.

“Why is he cool?” Gojou seems to be invested in Howl. It confuses you since he just watched the movie with you and he saw how awesome Howl is.

“Hm, well for one he can do magic.” He opens his mouth but you shush him with a finger to his lips. “Yeah, I know, what we have is kind of like magic too. But theirs is just… different. He just makes it seem kind of elegant. And he overcame his fear just for Sophie. Remember the scene with Sulliman and in the cluttered bedroom? He still found the strength to protect her even though he was so scared before. It’s admirable. I guess I like strong guys.”

“Hmm~” His tone is contemplative. “You know I’m stronger than him, right?”

A question mark forms over your head. He’s being really weird today. “Yeah? You’re the strongest in the universe, silly. What’s up with you?” Gojou just chuckles and ruffles your head.

“Nothing, nothing. Just making sure you know.” He slings his arm around your shoulder, the intensity gone and the light spring in his step back. “Who else do you think is strong?”

Next chapter →

#gojou x reader #gojou imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru imagine #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojou #gojou satoru #fluff #series #female reader

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margarethelstone-2 · 3 years

Text

if I loved you less (i might talk about it more)

requested by one and only @nerdypanda3126. thanks so much!

Read on AO3!

"Taichi... You still like me, don't you?"

The young man in question raised his eyes from the book he'd been trying to read for the past quarter, and fixed them on Chihaya, confused. It wasn't just the question that surprised him, even though its content sure would have been enough to puzzle a better prepared soul.

The fact that Chihaya had barely spoken at all for most of their time together today was the main reason why he felt startled by her words now.

She really had been quiet for most of the day, even though they were spending it at his place, determined, as she herself had claimed, not to get in the way of his studies. Taichi had tried to make her realise that it wasn't what he wanted at all, that the very reason he'd invited her over was to get a break from all the reading and just relax a little. He'd explained over and over again that he needed her to be a distraction; tried – unsuccessfully – to get it into her head that she was actually doing him a favour. He knew how much of a workaholic he could be and so he specifically planned the visit as a means to enforce the necessary break he might not have taken otherwise.

He had told her all of that. And yet, she'd remained quiet.

All the way until now, that is.

And just what on earth was she going on about?

"What's with that question? You know the answer to that," he replied casually, almost dismissively, before going back to the textbook in his hand. He really had no idea what had gotten into her all of the sudden, but then again, he didn't care to delve on the subject. He knew she'd tell him anyway.

"I was just wondering," she answered, a trace of hurt ringing in her voice; Taichi needed to hold back the smile that sprang on his lips at the sight of her pout. "Is it so bad if I do?"

Taichi hummed in thought.

"Is that why you've been so quiet all day?" he asked right after. "You've been just busy considering my possible affection for you?"

"Stop with the mockery. I'm thinking of it seriously."

"Oh? And what conclusions did you come to?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I'd come to any."

He had no choice but to close the book and put it away after a statement he'd just heard. Not that he minded. Throwing it on the floor rather carelessly, he sat up straight in his corner of the couch and, resting his chin on his palm, he fixed his gaze on the girl seated by his desk on the other side of the room.

She really was being impossible today.

Well, he supposed that wasn't anything new. He'd known Chihaya long and well enough to not be fazed by the swings in her mood or the inane schemes she so often came up with. He had learnt to expect the unexpected, every day, every hour of his otherwise boring life, because that was obviously the only way to keep up with her. The one thing he had to keep doing if he still wanted to be a part of her life.

Because that was how Ayase Chihaya was.

Chihaya. His best friend. His fiercest karuta rival. The girl he'd been in love with since fourth grade of primary school and the girl who'd rejected him straightforwardly at the very beginning of their third year in Mizusawa High. The girl whom he'd thought he could never win over, on whom he'd given up again and again, fooling himself he could move on and blight the love he'd had for her since he'd been a ten year old squirt.

He sighed and shook his head, remembering her question from a moment before.

She knew damn well he was still head over heels for her.

She was his girlfriend, for sanity's sake.

"I can't believe you actually have asked, you know," he picked up with the same fake weariness he'd shown before, if only to cover his growing amusement. Seeing her very real anxiety made him assume a more solemn expression, as he asked, "Seriously, what brought this on? Are you mad about something?"

"I'm not mad," she disagreed instantly, and with good emphasis.

"Are you unhappy then? Did I do something to make you feel like that?"

Again, she denied. Now she just looked sad. "That's not it."

Wrong. She was flustered.

"Then what is it?" Taichi asked, as gently and warmly as he could. Not for the first time, he felt grateful for all the hard training his patience had received. It was obvious that Chihaya needed that from him now. "It's not like I could get over you like this, you of all people should be aware of that. You're the most important person in my life. The best companion I could think of. You know I get lonely and grumpy when I can't see you, and you know I still get absurdly jealous, even though I hate being so. And so I can't help but think there's something else I'm not doing right."

Taichi stopped there, waiting for her to, if not answer his question, then to contradict him in one way or another, at least. After all, he really was at a loss.

He thought he'd been doing a fairly good job as a boyfriend, when all was said and done. He'd already shared Chihaya's most important interest and it wasn't difficult to at least understand the new ones she'd found. He made sure to be there for her when she needed him, and tried his best to give her space when she needed that more. True, he'd had some trouble coming for help on his part, but even that was a thing of a past rather than present – certainly not something that could shock Chihaya into thinking like this.

He would think that the all-day-long date he'd come up with and seen through in celebration of their first anniversary as a couple last week was a good show of how much he still cared.

He wasn't perfect. Neither was she. But never in his life would he have thought that he'd failed to get his feelings across.

"Chihaya," he prompted once more, his voice audibly quieter. "Please tell me what it is. I can't fix it if I don't know what's broken."

She looked up from the floor she'd been glaring at for a while and met his gaze, a shadow of unease still clouding her big brown eyes. She opened her mouth to answer; she closed it instantly and looked away again, abashed. There was a hint of pink on her cheeks, and it only grew darker as the time passed, though whether it was because of embarrassment or something more alarming, Taichi couldn't tell yet.

"Chihaya–"

"It's because you never say it."

He supposed his eyes opened wider than ever, what's with the utter astonishment he felt growing inside him immediately. For a few moments, he could do nothing but stare, the craziness of the situation overwhelming enough to successfully prevent him from forming a sensible thought, and much less coming up with any kind of solution. One look at Chihaya was enough to sober him up, however.

She was distressed. She was insecure.

No matter how stupid he thought the reason to be, he could hardly allow the situation to last.

With a groan that was bound to startle her, he bent over and buried his face in his hands.

Only one thing he could do now.

"Come here," he said, his face still hidden behind one hand as he tore the other one away and beckoned her towards him. "No excuses. You'll talk later. Now just come here, please."

She did, albeit tentatively, as if afraid of the reaction he might show her. With his patience starting to run thin at last, Taichi didn't wait for her to cover the whole distance, instead reaching out and grabbing her by the wrist, only to pull her down on the couch right next to him.

And then he pulled her even closer, locking her in a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm gonna do something to you," he mumbled into her hair, his voice a mixture of laughter and complaint. "You cruel, cruel, woman. Have you no heart? Here I am, mind reeling as I try to figure out what the hell I did wrong again and you say it's because I don't say I like you enough. As if you didn't already know you've got a firmer hold of my heart than I ever did. Tell me, am I really this bad at showing you that I care that you doubt it?"

It was Chihaya's turn to growl at him, though it surely – and fortunately – didn't stop her from burying her face even deeper into his chest and digging her fingers into the shirt on his back. Again, Taichi laughed at the display, but didn't loosen his grip one bit.

That silly, unbelievable, most beloved girl.

"This and that are different things," she muttered finally in response against his buttons, her stubborn indignation probably being the only reason why he could discern the words at all. "There are different kinds of love languages. We even talked about it, you know."

"Yes. And as far as I remember, we've already established that neither of us cared for this one. So your argument doesn't work."

Well, this was a lie, or at least, it wasn’t fully true. After all, he could never get tired of hearing her say those words, to him and him only. But he didn't need it that much, not when he already knew of so many other ways in which Chihaya expressed her love towards him. He'd always assumed it was the same for her, too.

Funnily enough, he still didn't think he was mistaken.

"I've had feelings for you for the past fourteen years, you dummy, I wouldn't change my mind just because you decided to return them," he threw in only half-jokingly, as if to make sure he got his point across before moving onto the next part. "So? Care to tell me what's the source of it all?"

He felt her tense against him for a split second, only to relax in the next moment with a long, weary sigh. He waited for her to make herself comfortable in his arms, shifting ever so slightly to make it easier for them both. And then he heard her speak.

"I met up with Kana-chan the other day," she admitted weakly. "Her and Desktomu. And I guess... They're always so sweet with one another, now more than ever. I suppose... It made me feel a little jealous. But most of all, it just made me think."

"And you decided that I'd fallen out of love with you, because I don't talk like Komano does?"

"I didn't decide anything, I told you already. I just wondered if maybe I was doing something wrong to deserve that treatment. Sorry for being so terribly scared of losing you again because of my own foolishness."

Words caught in his throat as Taichi tried to protest against this new development. That last addition Chihaya had made – and more importantly, the wounded, truly uncertain voice with which she'd spoken – would have been enough to melt his heart even if he had actually been angry with her. Right now, he had to hold back from grabbing her by the chin and kissing her senseless until all the idiotic ideas evaporated from her overworked mind.

The things she did to him without as much as trying.

You evil little imp.

"They're newly-weds. You can't use them for reference," he managed to stutter out at least, conveniently ignoring the hoarseness of his own voice and the emotion that hovered behind it. "Not to mention, those two are the opposite of us when it comes to talking about feelings openly. There's a reason they got together six years before we did. Just because something works for them doesn't mean it's the best course for us to take as well."

He smiled again and planted a kiss at the top of her hair, before adding, "I still can't believe you really doubted me, though."

She huffed and pulled away, although she still didn't move from her place on the couch. They were still close; close enough for Taichi to see the light reflecting in her eyes and the blush that hadn't left her cheeks, and to reach out and comb her tangled hair with his fingers. Another gesture so full of love, even though it was but a fraction of all that she made him feel.

"Well, since I never understood what had made you fall in love with me in the first place, it's only natural that I'd have this kind of doubts."

He chuckled and she smiled on her part, her obstinacy giving it to the desire to just be with him. It was another thing Taichi was able to read in her eyes – and, knowing the feeling well enough from his own experience, he had no trouble deciphering it.

Delayed, the first part of her sentence entered his brain.

What made me fall for you, I wonder?

He didn't know. It had been so long since he’d realised his feelings after all, and longer still since those feelings had been born. Even all those years earlier, he probably wouldn’t have been able to point out the reasons clearly, never mind finding the one spark that had started it – trying to do so now seemed downright impossible.

There were so many reasons, after all.

Maybe it was because she had never considered herself a possible love interest for anyone, first when she was too engrossed in karuta and later, when she thought she didn't deserve to be one. Maybe it was her hot-headedness and her drive, and how different she'd always been from him, and yet never failed to tell him how much she'd admired and envied those qualities of his that she lacked.

Maybe it was the fact that she'd always been with him, so close and so dear and yet so impossible to grasp.

Maybe it was because she'd loved him long before either of them dared believe that was the case.

Maybe...

"Maybe," he said out loud, though in fact not loud at all, his lips moving against her forehead as he leaned in to put a kiss there, too. "Maybe, if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more."

Edging away, Taichi saw tears gathering in her eyes. He wiped them away with his thumb, his hand cupping the side of her jaw fittingly.

And then he kissed her properly.

Just like he had wanted to ever since he'd first seen her that day.

#one-shot request #chihayafuru #taichihaya #mashima taichi #ayase chihaya #margaretwrites

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ssson-of-sparda · 3 years

Text

A Dozen Ice Cream Cones (Dante x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Patty wants to know what happened to the girl who offered Dante his very first strawberry sundae. But to know the rest of the story, she must erase the dozen ice cream cones from Dante's tab. (Part 2 of A Tab To Erase) (Part 1)

Tags: Pre DMC3 Dante / Dante is Tony Redgrave / Flirting / Lost Friends to Lovers / Implied Sexual Content / Explicit Language

Author’s note: You wished for Part 2, there it is ;-) If you want to place this part of the story in the DMC timeline, I'd say that it is shortly before DMC3. Dante is roughly eighteen (and so is Reader) and still goes by the name Tony Redgrave. Again, the Dante who is talking to Patty is definitely post DMC Anime. I decided not to give many details about him so that he could be the one of your choice. Can definitely do a part 3 if you want.

MISSION 2

Dante was about to get fleeced. He could feel it in his guts, which had somehow developed this strange ability to knot tightly in his stomach each time he was about to lose. Probably the result of so many years of bad luck in gambling. And yet, Patty’s eyebrows were weirdly furrowed as she was quietly eyeing all of the cards in her hands. She had to have a straight flush. Dante had no doubt about that. So why wasn’t she playing? “You know, Dante. I was thinking …” “Not again.” The man grumbled, wondering why she was taking her time. But Patty had learned to ignore Dante’s sudden irritations long ago, knowing they were always brief and harmless. “You didn’t stay friends, right?” Dante arched an eyebrow and stared at the girl in front of him as she was sitting still, big blue eyes fixed upon his face, patiently waiting for the answer to her unexpected question. “What are you talking about?” A sigh escaped his mouth. He knew what she was talking about. He just wanted to elude the answer. But the little blonde was not one to easily give up. “With the little girl. The one who made you first strawberry sundae. You didn’t stay friends. Why?” “What makes you think that?” Using a question to avoid an answer. Yes, could work. “Well, if you had a friend making you strawberry sundaes for free, then you would not spend an unreasonable amount of money on them. So, I’m guessing she must not be around anymore.” Patty was perceptive. Dante could give her that quality, for sure. Though right now it was more a bother than anything else. “What happened?” “She moved on with her life.” was the only thing that he felt like answering as he quietly stood up to take a beer in his fridge, certain that this was just the beginning of another long questioning. “So you never saw her again after that night in the diner?” Patty asked as she watched Dante slouch back in the couch, taking his cards back in his hand to cover whatever expression Patty was trying to spot on his face. “Yes, I did saw her again.” He finally confessed, eyes on the dog-eared Queen of Hearts he was grazing with his thumbnail. “Then tell me!” The girl begged, unable to resist the excitement growing in her body any longer. “ Why would I? Don’t you have any stupid soap opera to watch?” “ The TV’s broken… AGAIN.” She complained but he couldn’t care less. He had no money to afford buying a new one or fixing this one. Plus, there was nothing worth watching on TV so …“Come on. I’ll erase the dozen ice creams cones from your tab if you do.” Dante looked away from his cards with a sudden tiny smirk as he noticed Patty on the edge of her chair, impatiently waiting for the new part of his story to begin. “Now you speak my language, Patty.” “ You never do something for free! It’s annoying!” “Are you kidding me? I do a lot of things for free. That’s why I’m so broke and live in this hellhole.” He waved at the place with open arms before taking a gulp of his beer with a grimace. Yuck, it’s hot! And of course it was. He hadn’t paid the bills yet again. “So we have a deal, then. Now tell me.”

A DOZEN ICE CREAM CONES

It was the nineties – perhaps the most awful period for anyone who had even just a small sense for fashion or music - and as the city of Red Grave was still lovingly dancing on ridiculous love ballads on Friday nights, wearing tight crop tops, colourful scrunchies and platform sneakers, Dante – now named Tony Redgrave - was trying to make his place as a young mercenary in the rough areas of the city, hanging in bars serving some drinks stronger than strawberry sundaes (though he would always order one at some point) and in clubs where women would gladly take their clothes off if asked too, mind a few bucks of course (except for Venus. Venus would always flash her breasts for free for her sweet Tony).

“Not sure I want to know that.” “ Oh yes. Forgot the story must be PG-13, sorry. Anyway …”

He was looking for jobs, something that would help him pay for a proper roof over his head and the fancy long red leather coat he had just bought (five hundred bucks but worth every single dime) and luckily for him he knew the perfect man to find him that.

His name was Enzo Ferino. A short and chubby Italian-American broker, probably the best informant in the neighbourhood, one who could smell high-paying jobs for miles around especially those Dante loved to refuse.

“Where was Morrison?” “Can I tell my story please?”

“Come on Tony! You can’t refuse that job. Not another one. Not again.” He almost threw a fist on the counter before he remembered the last time he did so. Two bullets had whizzed the top of his black curly head and he had had thanked his mama for making him so short. “Haven’t you heard the reward? Don’t you see all the zeros on that check, my friend?” Yes, there were four and enough to pay the bail and few rents of the place he wished to rent to create his own agency. But Dante didn’t want that check nor did he want that job. “If he wants to recover a stupid necklace, he can call the cops for that … or a bailiff. I don’t go after silly poker players. I have better things to do.” He took a sip of his whiskey, the third of the night, not even looking at the two men sitting next to him and begging him to take that damn job with pleading eyes. “You have nothing better to do!” Enzo shouted, throwing his hands in the hair like a living Italian cliché. “Please Sir. It’s my girlfriend’s necklace. One she offered me on our anniversary. It’s very precious to her.” The man who wished to hire him declared as he started rummaging in the pocket of his designer coat. “And you bet on it?” Dante scoffed. “Damn. What a perfect boyfriend you are. But that’s still a no.”

The man pressed a piece of paper next to Dante’s drink. A photo, a polaroid, judging by the quality of the paper, carefully placed face down like a poker card, showing that that man was most probably a pro-gambler or at least was used to card games. Another reason not to help. He would probably lose the damn necklace right after recovering it. And yet, Dante took the picture in his hand. Though he didn’t really know why he did. Certainly the curiosity to know what kind of chick that prick could have in his life or maybe the will to use the picture to taunt him about his taste in women. He imagined a prude church girl, some daddy’s girl probably as rich as him, not very pretty but fancy, wearing pearl earrings and silk headscarves matching her shiny shoes. The type of girl that swaggers in the street and roll her disdainful eyes when they see men like Dante (though they might secretly wished he would rumple their sheets).

Patty cleared her throat. “What? Every girl loves some good bad boy once in a while... And how do you even know what that means?”

He couldn’t be more wrong. And he couldn’t be more surprised. He would recognize those big (colour) eyes and that sweet smile among thousands, despite the time apart, despite the years that had turned a fearful little boy into a daredevil mercenary and an adorable little girl into a magnificent young girl. He would recognize them always because they were the first that had made in smile when he thought he would never smile again. “Her name is Y/N. She’s the sweetest girl in the world. Innocent. Pure.” Dante cringed at the man’s words, finding them rather repulsive and somewhat perverted. Something in the way they were rolling off his tongue. “Come on, Tony. You can’t say no to a sweet girl.” Enzo’s sentence was met with a glare that made him shiver but when he saw his partner stand up and empty his glass of whiskey, he somewhat relaxed. “You’re pieces of shit. Both of you.” “Does that mean you take the job?” Dante didn’t bother answer.

But he took the job. Not for Enzo. Especially not for his shitty client. And even less for the cash. For her. Just for her. To finally return the favour after so many years. Because he owed her one. Because she was possibly one of the few humans he’s always respected in his ten years wandering the nighty street of Red Grave. And because she didn’t deserve an asshole like the one she dated to lose something apparently so precious to her in a silly game of cards. An easy job for someone like him but one he despised nevertheless. He hated to deal with humans. They were sometimes worse than demons and you can’t fix problems with them by using a sword.

“Don’t tell me you won the necklace back?” “ I did. Fair and square. Well … almost. I ended up using my sword. Turned out the Mafiosi who had Y/N’s necklace were a bunch of demons who had made a few bars in downtown Red Grave their lairs.”

But once Dante had Y/N’s necklace in the palm of his hand he did something only Dante could do. He refused the reward, refused all the zeros on the check and the chance to finally buy that agency he wanted so badly. “The things you do for beautiful women.” Gunsmith Nell Goldstein had said when she had given him back his guns, all polished and fixed, after he had wrecked them on the job again. “They’re your weakness, Tony. Always leading you around by the nose … or something else.” Perhaps, but he never minded.

And as he watched Y/N approaching the door to her home out of the corner of his eye, a bunch of books under her arms, looking for her keys in her bag, Dante knew he would not regret his weakness for women or his decision to refuse the money.

She looked as sweet as he remembered, as delicate as in the picture if not more. And just as her shitty boyfriend had said, she indeed seemed rather innocent and pure. Almost fragile. Nothing like the girls he had met before, especially those he had seen undressed at Love Planet or in one of the magazines he kept in his drawers. “Goodness grac…” She almost dropped her books as she jumped, surprised and somewhat scared, and put her hand over her heart that had certainly missed quite a beat when she noticed this insanely tall stranger on her doorstep. But her sudden fear disappeared immediately when she recognized the silvery white hair covering the icy blue eyes of the man before her. “Tony?” She arched an eyebrow and he smiled with the same childish joy she had witnessed on his face years ago. And just like that, she was certain it was him. “Hello, Y/N” He offered his hand and she briefly stared at it, remembering for a small instant the time she held out her tiny hand to him the same way, the night they met. And so she grabbed it, genuinely happy to see him again and yet curious to know how he had found her and why he was back after so many years. But when she fell something cold and metallic in his hand she got her answer. “My necklace. How?” “Won it back for you.” He simply answered but that was enough for her to understand what happened. “[Boyfriend] lost it on a poker game, didn’t he?” And even though that didn’t really surprised her as she knew how much he loved gambling despite her telling him not to, it disappointed her anyway. “You shouldn’t date boys who have a streak of bad luck in gambling… Except those like me.” She looked up at Dante’s piercing blue eyes, unsettled by his flirtatious humour, thinking he accidentally let that slip but he definitely did not. Those last words, impulsive and yet somewhat well thought out, had rolled off his tongue with a scandalous smoothness and a self-confidence that had rooted her to the spot, speechless, but in a weirdly pleasant way that made her want to slap herself. “Or especially me. Depends if you like trouble.” With a smug smirk, he stared at her, deep in her eyes, almost … hungrily? She didn’t really know. All that she knew was that never a man had looked at her that way. Certainly not her boyfriend. And who knew such icy eyes could set fire to her cheeks like that? “But, judging by that place and your guy, you seem to enjoy some well-ordered life.”

Not really. Not at all. Her life was boring, plain and dull. Nothing like in the books she read. Nothing like what she had dreamed of. But exactly what her mother had wished for her. She was an adorable daughter, a top student finishing up high school, ready to leave Red Grave with her well brought up boyfriend to start a life many would envy but that she cared little about. She wanted adventure. She wanted excitement. Passion. Frivolity. Freedom. And maybe even some danger. She wanted all that and more. And as she looked at the self-assured man in front of her, she couldn’t help but believe that he had somehow managed to obtain all that. And she wanted to know how. How did that life feel? How could he live such a life? How could she have the same? And Dante noticed that small fire, that tamed lonely flame burning deep in her eyes that needed just a drop or two of gasoline to rage and shine brightly. Something he could easily provide if she let him, if that’s what she wanted.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N” He nodded her goodbye and as he shifted to walk away, she opened her lips to say. “Would you like a strawberry sundae?” And she cursed herself for this, so damn loud in her head. You have a boyfriend! A voice repeated on and on, feeling the temptation in her heart and the ideas of what some people would call unfaithfulness seeping in her brain. But as she opened the door to her apartment, ready to finally kick the boredom out of her life for something else, for something more, the voice seemed to fade. Guess the Devil truly finds work for idle hands to do.

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry fanfiction #dante #dmc dante #dante x reader #a dozen ice cream cones #a tab to erase

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willow-salix · 4 years

Text

FabFiveFeb Alan!

Finally got this bugger edited, so here it is, my offering for Alan week of @gumnut-logic FabFiveFeb. Once again I’ve written what my daughter plotted with a few of my own tweaks thrown in.

“Is there really nothing else to do around here?” Alan whispered to Selene, jolting her awake from the sleepy doze she was enjoying stretched out on a sun lounger. “How can you just lay around here all day?”

“Like you don’t do the same every day at home?” she grumbled, stretching out in an effort to wake up. She'd never admit it, but she was getting a bit bored with having nothing to do, hence the impromptu nap time.

“That’s different, I’ve got things there to do.”

“You mean you have technology?” Selene grinned evilly. “Whereas here it’s-”

“Like I’ve gone back in time to 2015 and the graphics suck, " he groaned.

“Come on, it’s not that bad, don’t you like the peace and quiet?” Selene’s family home was indeed very quiet, set apart from the other houses on the street, it backed out into a small but flower filled garden that held nothing but the sun loungers they were currently occupying, the picnic table their drinks were on, a slightly rusted BBQ, some yoga mats and a bird bath in the shape of a frog on a lily pad.

Alan looked towards Selene's cool, but rather weird, younger brother who was currently doing some kind of yoga crossed with Tai Chi that seemed to have a little of that 1970’s disco type of dancing thrown in for good measure.

“Adam, help me,” he begged, trying to invoke the bro code.

“Chill out, little dude, it’s all good," Adam said, his sleepy tone the perfect accompaniment to his snail like movements.

“Nothing about this is good,” Alan huffed, feeling dismissed and beyond frustrated. He was seriously regretting offering to go with her for a visit under the mistaken belief that time spent away from his brothers with his cool sister-in-law would be awesome. But no, he’d been stuck there for three days and they’d done nothing but talk about boring things that he couldn’t really join in with because he didn’t share the same memories that they did and watch TV in the evenings. The only positive thing was the quality of the food on offer.

“How did you grow up like this and not die of boredom?”

“We made our own fun, we’d read, draw, do arts and crafts, go on days out and-”

“Days out? Where did you go?” Alan jumped on that information like John on a double cheeseburger after a month in space.

Selene thought about it for a moment or two. “The seaside?” she offered. "That was always our favourite place to go and somewhere we always looked forward to, a rare treat really."

“The beach? Yes! Can we go?” he gave her his best pleading puppy eyes and she was, as he well knew, powerless to resist.

“Well…” she dithered, caught between spending time in her family home with her mum as it came up to what would have been her parents 30th wedding anniversary and the need to do more than sit around and mope, especially if that moping meant that her littlest love had a crap time. “Ad’s, are you up for a road trip to Southend?”

Her brother paused in his Night Fevering to look at her. He seemed to think about it for far longer than was necessary before nodding.

“I could go for that. Wanna take my car?”

***

“I’m never getting in a car with your brother again,” Alan shuddered, still looking a little stressed out by the whole experience.

“Yet you’ll get in a jet with Scott?”

“Scott goes faster than 25 mph and he knows what road signs are,” Alan explained in the same tone that John adopted whenever he was explaining to her why she actually needed an investment portfolio.

“Road signs are all part of the conspiracy, man, they just want you to follow blindly and never question where they are sending you.”

“To the beach, they were sending us to the beach,” Alan continued to bitch. Selene couldn’t blame him, two hours in a car with her brother's sitar music, cloud of vape smoke and tendency to lose track of their destination was enough to make anyone a little antsy. Maybe now he'd stop complaining when she took too long to fly them to her flat.

They left the car park and headed towards the seafront. Thankfully, with it being a weekday and term time, there weren't too many people about. As always the sea was a dirty grey colour, nothing like the clear blue they were used to on the island and Selene could tell that Alan was looking at it with thinly veiled disgust.

Southend had been promoted to a historic seaside town back in 2038 and hadn’t changed since. The lights of the out of date arcades still flashed in welcome, drawing Alan’s attention almost immediately, the little beach huts still offered deck chair rental and the amusement park with its clanking, clunking kiddy rides and its ancient roller-coaster still drew some crowds.

“See that there?” she pointed out towards the sea. “That’s still the longest pleasure pier in the world.”

“Pleasure Pier? Did you have to make that sound so dirty?” Alan groaned.

“Sorry, but that’s what it’s called, there are different classifications and one that has no purpose but for leisure activities like this one, is known as a pleasure pier.”

“I didn't know that, but it still doesn’t make it any better,” he muttered as she slipped one arm through his and the other through Adam’s to tow them across the road.

The air was filled with a mixture of freshly fried donuts, fish and chips and the unmistakable scent of the sea and Selene was immediately hungry.

“It’s been such a long time since I’ve been here,” she sighed happily, relaxing into the atmosphere of what had once been one of her favourite places in the world. She could vividly remember how exciting it had been to hear the announcement that they were going to the seaside for the day. That meant an afternoon spent playing on the beach, splashing in the sea, eating dinner out of a paper tray with a little wooden fork and, if you were really lucky, a trip around the sealife center and a floaty helium filled balloon to take home with you.

Looking out down the length of the beach she easily conjured up images of childhood days gone by, seeing her father chasing Adam down the beach as he attempted to make a break for freedom or tried to eat a clump of seaweed while her mother screeched at Rufus to run faster and catch him.

Maybe coming here had been a good idea in other ways too, she pondered. Her mother tended to favour being miserable if it was an option, and often when it wasn't, and had been mooching around the house sighing like she was a Victorian ghost haunting the place. She’d gone out to visit friends for the day, leaving them alone and that had been when Alan had seized his chance. And Selene for one was glad he had, he was always good at sensing when she was in need of cheering up and this time had been no exception.

“Can we start at the arcades?” Alan asked, looking more excited than he had in days. Who was she to disappoint him?

“Sure, lead the way!”

***

Two hours later and Selene had finally dragged her brothers away from the bleepy, shiny, flashy machines and back into the fresh air. Alan, it transpired, was almost as good on a claw machine as John and she was now lugging along a whole new family of stuffed toys, all slightly moth eaten and smelling a little suspect but cute nonetheless.

“I’m hungry,” Alan announced.

“Good call, little dude.” Adam, surprising Alan no end, had joined in rather enthusiastically at the arcade, being more active and alert than he’d ever seen him before, displaying a competitive streak that rivaled a Tracy's. But, now that the excitement of gaming had died down, he was back to his chilled and slightly lethargic self.

“Fancy some donuts?” Selene suggested.

“Sis…” Adam drawled.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Selene giggled, shoving the stuffed toys into her brother’s arms as she headed to the donut stalls. “I'll get them, you two meet me on the beach.”

Her arms now free of their burden Selene quickly ordered three dozen of the delectable little morsels, something the English called Dinky Donuts, small little ring donuts, freshly fried and drenched in a sprinkling of sugar. Knowing that they’d need them she bought some drinks too and took her bounty back to the boys, proudly displaying her prize.

“I got them!” she yodeled, but no excited sounds were heard in return. “What’s up?” she asked, nudging Alan as she reached his side.

“What the heck is this?”

“The beach, duh. What else could it be?"

He scuffed a toe into the stones at his feet. “This is not a beach, this is all stones. Where's the sand?”

“It’s a pebble beach, most of the British coast is,” she shrugged.

“It’s wrong.”

“If you say so,” she wasn’t in the mood to argue or defend the virtue of their beaches, she had hot donuts to eat.

“This is not a beach, there’s no surfers, no sand, no lifeguards, no nothing.”

“This is England, we take things at a more chilled pace,” she soothed, dumping a bag on each of the boys' laps.

She took her own and opened it, inhaling the rich scent. Oooh yeah, that hit the spot. She reached in to pluck one out, studying it from all angles, marveling at it's perfection. She lifted it to her mouth prepared for the taste explosion that was about to assault her mouth in the very best of ways…

“Sel!” A sharp Alan elbow embedded itself in her side, making her drop the donut. She watched in horror as it hit the pebbles and rolled away.

“You had better have a good reason for making me sacrifice a donut,” she warned him.

“Over there!”

Selene turned, following the direction in which Alan was pointing.

“What? I don’t see anything?” All she saw was the relatively empty beach, nothing but a few seagulls pecking around hopefully, one coming close enough to snag her lost donut, racing off in triumph with it in its mouth.

“Them,” he pointed again.

“Them? What about them?” The them in question turned out to be a small group of school age boys, the oldest no more than ten years old. They were all holding a number of balloons from the pier, which were bobbing along above their heads and looked perfectly innocent. “They’re just having a day out, could be an inset day or something at school.”

“No, look what that one's holding,” Alan insisted, nodding towards the oldest looking boy who was carrying a small box with holes in it.

Selene squinted closer. “Is that an animal box?” She was amazed that Alan had even noticed such a thing, she hadn’t looked twice at the boys, just seeing a happy group of friends at the seaside on a rare day off school. Alan always seemed like he was paying little attention to anything, more absorbed in his games or phone, but here was the undeniable proof that he was just as good as his brothers and had inherited their danger seeking sense.

“Looks that way,” Alan agreed.

“It could be innocent,” Selene argued lamely. “Maybe they are just taking their pet on a day out too?"

“Sure, that’s what it’ll be,” Alan said, rolling his eyes.

“Honestly, it’s something I’d do,” she retorted, feeling the need to defend herself and her wish to believe that there was good in everyone.

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Alan decided, finally reaching into his own bag for a donut.

As was usually the case, Selene was easily distracted by talking to her brother and just enjoying the novelty of being in a different place to one she was used to. She’d finally grown accustomed to hearing the sound of the ocean at all times of the day and night after so long in a city where traffic was the only ambient noise. b

But here the sound was different to the island, here the waves lapped gently over the pebbles rather than crashing against rocks and she was surprised that she could tell the difference.

She’d worried, when Alan had suggested going out, that this little beach from her childhood which stood out so bright and shiny in her memories, would look pale and dull in reality. Life was often that way, your memories and imagination creating a perfect picture that was rarely obtainable in the real world and she didn't want her memories tainted by the truth. Thankfully she had been worried over nothing and was finding it just as charming as she had remembered it to be.

“Not bad are they?” she asked, turning to Alan to see how he was enjoying his donut feast but the space next to her was empty.

“Allie?” she called, looking around like he might suddenly pop out of nowhere. Surely she hadn't ignored him for too long?

“Alan!” she yelled, trying again. He was a big boy now, an adult in his own right, but she got just as panicked when she lost Scott, which was actually easier if you could believe that. Alan was usually happy to hang near her and chill, Scott was always dashing off to look at something or other and would just vanish into the ether without a second thought.

“Ad’s, have you seen Alan?”

“Yeah, little dude, cool shirt, strange hair.”

“Thanks for that lovely description. I meant did you see where he went?”

Adam nodded, pointing further down the beach to where the small group of school boys stood, Alan beside them, waving his arms violently, clearly yelling at them though she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Shit!” Selene was up in a second, grabbing Adam's arm and towing him along in the process, forcing him to abandon his stuffed animal squad to the mercy of the seagulls as they barreled down the beach after Alan.

"Al," she panted, finally catching up, "what…doing?"

In answer the small box that the boy had been carrying was thrust into her hands, a disgruntled rustling noise along with a manic scrabbling, coming from inside.

"Oi! Give that back!" a boy yelled, his piggy nose turned up to the sky in indignation. "We 'ad ta catch that thing ourselves. Ain't no way you're gonna snatch it."

"You're not getting it back," Alan insisted, his arms folded as he firmly stood his ground.

Selene passed the box on to Adam who was standing there doing absolutely nothing to help, his attention on the balloons floating above them. Once her hands were free she immediately flanked her little brother, knowing that he wouldn't be doing this without a very good reason.

"What's going on?" she demanded to know, her hands on her hips. "What are you boys up to?"

"This idiot won't give us it back," the oldest boy and apparently the mouthpiece of the little hoodlum brigade, continued to yell. Selene had seen boys like him before, usually ones with overly aggressive parents that taught their kids that you got what you wanted in life by being obnoxious, rude and threatening. Well not on her watch and apparently not on Alan's either.

"You're right , I won't," Alan agreed. "Because that is a living creature that you were about to tie to a bunch of balloons."

"Weren't doin' nothin' of the sort. Yer lyin'."

"You were what?" Selene hissed, her attention fully engaged now that there was the potential for injury of an animal. "You were going to send an innocent animal into the sky on the end of some balloons?"

"Nah, we weren't," the little bully boy continued to argue, elbowing one of his friends when they opened their mouth to speak.

"We ain't doing nothin' wrong, were we lads? Nothin' at all. Just a little experiment for school, jus' like teacher said."

"Experiment? What kind of experiment?" Selene asked, narrowing her eyes in warning.

"Why should we tell you?" the mouthy one sneered. "You ain't nothin'."

"We were just seeing if he could reach space, like. Teacher said that people would send monkeys up in rockets a hundred years ago," another boy piped up, sounding pleased with himself. "Figured we'd try the same out ta sea like a note in a bottle."

"You are so not doing that!" Selene yelped.

"Yeah, 'ow you gonna stop us?"

"You wanna say that to the police?" Alan threatened.

"Police? Yeah righ', like yer gonna jus' call up the police like they actually care. An' then wot, 'ave em come running on the say so of a nobody? Fer this? I don't think so, mate. They don't give a crap."

"Listen up you little shit," Selene started, rapidly losing patience. "You're not getting that…Whatever that is-"

"Rat," one of the kids helpfully offered.

"Rat," Selene continued with a little shudder of horror at the fact that they had gone to all the trouble of capturing a dirty rat off the street just to do something cruel to it. "You're not getting it back and you're not going to hurt it. What's wrong with you all?"

"He's been to space," Adam suddenly piped up, like he was only just catching up to the conversation but still missing the main point, pointing at Alan helpfully.

"Space, yeah right," another of the boys, a weedy looking string bean that had previously been hiding near the back of the pack, looking at Alan judgingly. None of the boys looked particularly bothered by their threats or the fact that Selene was practically spitting, she was so angry.

"Al," she demanded, determined to win the little shits respect. "Show them that clip you took last Saturday, the one on your board."

"We can all board, you ain't nothing special," the mouthpiece sneered, not impressed in the slightest.

Alan pulled out his phone, fiddled with it for a second then showed them the screen where a video was playing, taken from his vlogging drone as he boogied around outside Five on his astroboard. The dark heavens were clearly visible all around him while the earth spun quietly below, and there, if you looked closely, was John, in the background, sitting on the outside of the gravity ring, clearly doing all the work while Alan filmed for Brandon’s channel. The Alan on screen zoomed in a loop the loop, the drone following, the camera angle changing to show Three securely docked to Five.

“That actually is space!” one kid gasped.

“And that’s...that’s…” another stuttered.

“Thunderbird THREE!” someone screamed in excitement.

“Still think I’m a nobody that the police won’t listen to?” Alan asked casually as he pocketed his phone. "Maybe I should skip the police and go straight to the GDF? What do you think, Sel?"

"Yep, sounds like a plan to me. They take animal cruelty very seriously, you know."

The ring leader visibly deflated before their eyes, but he valiantly tried to hold on to his ‘couldn’t give a shit’ attitude.

“So you know some people, what’s that got ta do with anythin’? You ain’t the boss here.”

“Knock it off, Wendle, it’s over,” one boy ordered, rolling his eyes.

"Wendle?" Alan mouthed to Selene who shrugged in return. Never had a kid looked less like a Wendle in the entire world.

“Yeah, I never wanted to do this in the first place,” another joined in.

The first one to have spoken walked away, followed by another, then the other that had spoken. Others trailing after them until the small group had dispersed as if it had never existed, all of them hurrying off down the beach with calls for getting donuts or having to head home.

Wendle managed to stand his ground for less than a minute before he gave in.

“Keep the stupid rat then!” he yelled, taking off after his friends.

Adam, being Adam, waved goodbye like it was the most normal thing in the world, still holding the rat filled box.

Alan let out the breath he’d been holding, visibly shaking, either from anger or adrenaline. He had never been one for confrontation no matter what form it took or who it involved.

“You did good, babe,” Selene praised, giving him a hug.

“Yeah, good, little dude,” Adam agreed, “here, have this, I insist,” he handed him the box with the rat in it like it was some great prize.

“Erm, thanks,” Alan said, gingerly accepting the box of rat, which rustled as the creature inside shifted around. He held the box for a second, looking completely bemused and a little disgusted, suddenly having a very real feeling of compassion for John when he walked in on Selene and Scott doing something weird.

“What are we going to do with the rat?” he finally asked Selene, who was the only one there since Adam had wandered off to rescue the stuffed animals they had abandoned, snatching up Alan’s dropped bag of donuts and picking one out to munch on.

“I don’t know,” Selene admitted, “I guess we should take it somewhere to release it. Not around here though, maybe back at Mum’s.”

“I guess,” Alan reluctantly agreed, not liking the idea of sitting in a car with a wild rat in a box.

Since they had gained another tag along, even if it was in a box, they decided to cut the day short, knowing they couldn't drag the rat around with them all day. It had clearly suffered enough, what with being caught and stuffed in a box and having survived a narrow brush with death. It would be better for them to take it straight home and let it go in the relative safety of the garden before it got even more stressed out.

"I'll drive," Selene insisted, leaving Alan to hold the rat in the back seats, Adam calling shotgun so he could 'pick the tunes, man'.

With Selene in the driving seat it was a far shorter, not to mention less frustrating, journey back to Casa de Tempest.

To Selene's intense relief their mother was still out when they got back. She would have pitched a fit if she'd seen them releasing a rat into her garden, she'd never go out there again.

Adam wandered off the second they got home, muttering something about a tofu log, leaving them alone to release the beast.

"You can do the honours," Selene smiled, nodding at the box he still held. "Since you were the one to perform the daring rescue. Seriously, you did good today, sweetheart, but I'm really starting to think that I need to stop taking a Tracy with me whenever I go places, you're all the same, nothing but trouble."

Alan blushed at the praise, as always finding it slightly uncomfortable to be the center of attention in such a way, but still happy to get the validation that he'd done the right thing. With so many big brothers who had all been there and done that before he had a lot to live up to and often felt like he couldn't quite match up to them.

Taking the box over to the bushes near the fence where Selene had indicated, he opened the flaps and stepped back to give the little guy some room.

The rat didn't move at first, staying inside the box, obviously scared by its experiences. They stayed quiet, giving it time to make up its mind. Finally they saw the box wobble as the rat made its tentative way out.

"Shit!" Selene yelped, launching herself off her seat so fast Alan barely saw her move.

"Sel, what are you…doing," he finished, stunned to see her hit the ground, the rat cradled protectively against her chest.

"Help me up," she wheezed and he did as she bid, helping her to her feet as her hands were occupied.

"What's wrong? Why did you catch it?"

"Allie, look," she carefully opened her hands, just a little. A small, pink nose poked out, followed by a pure white snout, a grey face and perfect pink petal ears.

"Is that…?"

"A domestic rat, yes. This was either someone's pet or it's come from a store. We can't let him go, he'll never survive in the wild."

"Wow, he's so cute. Can I hold him? He won't bite me will he?"

"I don't know, he seems tame enough but he's had a fright today so I can't promise anything." She carefully placed the rat in Alan's outstretched hands.

The rat, far from looking terrified, seemed to be perfectly fine now it was out of the box. It sat down on its haunches and began to wash its face with its little paws, one grey, one white.

"Aww, he's great," Alan cooed, cupping the rat in one hand so he could stroke it gently with the other. "I've always wanted a pet."

Selene sighed, knowing exactly what was coming next, there was no escaping it, it was going to happen…

"Can I keep him?"

***

"We gotta move fast," Selene instructed. "I've got the cage and the bedding. Have you got the food?"

"Yep," Alan held up the bag with the food, treats and water bottle they had purchased on their way home. The rat was curled up in his new travel bag, which was hanging from Alan's shoulder.

"Right, we make a break for it, we go straight to your room, don't look back no matter what happens and avoid John and Scott at all costs. Got it?"

"Got it," he nodded, grinning happily.

"They're gonna kill me," she sighed, not that there was much she could do about it. "OK, let's go!"

They raced up the back stairs from the hangars, straight to the upper floors of the villa where the bedrooms were situated, bypassing the more populated communal areas and managing to avoid any and all Tracys.

They dived into Alan's room, Selene struggling a little, burdened as she was with a three storey cage. Alan cleared a space on his desk and took the cage from her.

While Alan set up the cage, filling it with fresh bedding and tasty foods, Selene made herself at home on Alan's bed, the rat happily perched on her chest, enjoying an ear fondle.

"I didn't know you were back," a voice called from the hallway, accompanied by the sound of footsteps.

Selene and Alan both jumped, their heads turning guilty towards the door they had neglected to shut where a suspicious looking spaceman stood.

"Hey, gorgeous husband of mine, I've missed you!" Selene chirped, trying to divert his attention as she quickly grabbed the rat and stuffed it in the pocket of the hoodie she'd stolen from Adam.

John gave her a look that said he'd seen everything.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" she answered, trying to look innocent.

"That tail sticking out of your pocket."

"Tail? What tail?" she poked the tail gently back inside.

"Why does Alan have a cage on his desk that he's trying, unsuccessfully I might add, to hide by standing in front of it?"

"To put Gordon in?"

One sleek ginger eyebrow rose and they both knew they were wasting their time. They were well and truly busted.

Alan held out his hand and Selene passed over the rat, who was none the worse for its impromptu expedition into the depths of her pocket. It sat quietly in his hands, happily nibbling on a piece of cereal bar that had already been occupying his hiding place.

"Where did that come from?" John's foot tapped out a rhythm as he waited for them to spill the beans, leaning against the door frame, his arms folded.

"Have I told you how hot you look when you're all grumpy and intense like this?" Selene tried.

"Where did you get the rat?" he repeated ignoring her blatant attempts at distraction.

"The beach," Alan admitted, caving immediately under the big bro gaze.

"The beach?"

"Yep," Alan looked at Selene for backup, cradling the rat who didn't seem to care about any of the drama he was causing.

"Some boys had him in a box and they were going to tie it to some balloons and let it go but Alan spotted them and stopped them," she explained.

John glanced at the rat, who was looking very adorable and fat.

Ever the master of managing her husband, Selene got to her feet and crossed the room to wrap her arms around John's middle.

"Alan was great, he sprung into action before I even knew what was going on. He rescued him, and really, isn't that what International Rescue does? Rescue people?"

"That's not a person, that's a rat," John argued, but she could tell he was weakening.

"Did I mention that I missed you?" she grinned, standing on tiptoes to place a little kiss on his chin.

John's sigh of surrender was epic.

"I'm banning you from ever leaving the house again with any of my brothers. What next, a dolphin with Gordon?

"No, don't be silly. We couldn't bring a dolphin home in my car."

John rolled his eyes ignoring his wife to face his brother.

"Does that thing have a name?"

"Yep," Alan answered, grinning proudly as he moved closer, holding the rat out for inspection.

"John, meet Fuzz Aldrin."

#alan tracy #selene tempest #adam tempest #John Tracy #fabfivefeb #seaside #day out #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction

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elentary · 3 years

Text

Black as the devil, pure as an angel

Happy 31st Good Omens anniversary! (i’m late as usual)

A little story about Aziraphale and Crowley popped up in my head and I tried to write it down.

This is my first story and my first language is not English (so don’t expect a masterpiece out of this): any correction or comment will be appreciated!

(All material related to Good Omens is the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.)

Black as the devil, pure as an angel

London, Monday, 10th May 2021

"Hey, this is Antony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style"

-biiiiiiip-

"Ah, hello, it's me… ...Aziraphale! Well, ehm, it's been a while since we spoke and I suppose you're still sleeping in this moment because you aren't answering the phone. I just hope you aren't sleeping on the ceiling or on the walls: I'm pretty confident to say that's not comfortable for your backbone and I know for sure you have a perfect soft bed in your room. Also, last time I saw you up there, I almost had a heart-attack and I'd like to avoid it, even if I'm sure I can't die of that since I'm not human, but… ...oh, I wandered off too much with this!

Ehm, I called to inform you that lately the situation here in London seems to have improved and, since some restrictions have been lifted, I thought we could maybe meet again when you'll wake up: my bookshop will be open just for you at every hour!

Oh, don't worry if you'll be a bit sleepy: I'll prepare my special qahwah (kahve/caffè) in a jiffy! Well, it's not so special, it's just an old recipe I learnt because… ...oh, not that, it's a secr…. ehm, it's not important at all!

I… I… hope to see you soon, my chuck-… my dear!"

Aziraphale hung up the phone and started fidgeting with his golden ring almost immediately: "I shouldn't have called him: it didn't go how I planned", he muttered to himself. Unsurprising, the phrase "it went down like a lead balloon" popped up immediately in his head.

He had been rehearsing the call for ten days, preparing himself for every possible scenario, but in the end he went completely off-script after a few words, letting his emotions spill too much in his tone.

But what worried him the most was the moment he let slip the words "old recipe" from his mouth: not for the recipe per se, but because of the little secret behind it.

"I'm quite sure - he said out loud using a hopeful tone to calm himself - I was able to stop in time, thanks goodness! I’m sure that he won't ask anything even if Crowley notices something, because he'll think there is just a boring story behind it".

While he was heading for the kitchenette to make a cup of tea (there is no problem that couldn't be fixed with a good cuppa), he halted midway and wondered: "Why did I call coffee in that ancient way?"

The reason for that ancient name was very old, pretty much as old as Aziraphale's secret: a little more than four hundred years old.

Venice, 1596

"...and just a cup of qahwah for me" said a guest all clad in black who was slouching on a chair in the most luxurious house of the city.

The young waiter who was taking the order, looked at him a bit perplexed for the last order.

"Right, that was Arabic" chuckled Crowley "bring me some kahve or whatever is called here".

"Oh, caffè, here it’s called caffè here, Siór!” [1] , said the young one, ”How much sugar would you like in your cup?” added hasty at the demon's expression.

“I'll have Sade kahve but with a bit of cardamom. Remember to grind finely the beans”.

The waiter was still lost but the other guest at the table helped him with a smile: "He doesn't want any sugar in his caffè, dear"

“I'll bring everything as soon as possible" said the young man and, after bowing a little, he headed for the counter.

Aziraphale was a bit surprised by what just happened: "It seems you are the meticulous one today: I have almost never seen you so specific with your food or drink order, unless alcohol was involved". He also added: "I just hope you didn't want to mess with the poor waiter".

No, angel, I didn't pull a prank. I have been drinking coffee for a while: but since my last mission in Malta [2] I have been loving it: Altan was the best at making it, but he went to Rome", Crowley said with a sigh.

"The funniest thing - he continued, smiling - is that I was lured to that because I thought it was an alcoholic drink since they called it qahwah, that also means wine. At first I was a bit disappointed but later I discovered it helps to stay awake during boring stuff: it did wonder with every task Hell gives me."

"I tasted some qahwah some times ago but it was too energetic for me… but maybe I should try it to deal with Gabr… ehm, with tedious tasks". Crowley politely didn't mention Aziraphale's little slip but smiled a bit inside.

When the order arrived the angel observed how his partner smelled and tasted happily the concoction humming approvingly:

"I didn't think you were a coffee connoisseur" Aziraphale joked.

"It's not so bad for someone with so little experience: you should try it sometimes. If you're done with your food, let's organize our Arrangement. For my report…"

They discussed their work for a couple of hours, drinking coffee. Aziraphale tasted it too (a lot sweeter than the demon) but in the end he still preferred his tea. The angel, however, decided he'd propose another place with coffee, since Crowley enjoyed that drink so much.

Milan, Four years later

"Why can't I have a cup of coffee?" Sulked a very crossed demon who was missing a couple of years of sleep due hellish work. "Lent was over 2 month ago, wasn't it?"

The owner of the shop was distraught: "The priest told us that is not proper now, Sir: the Infidels are using it and - he started whispering - it seems that's a Devil's plant".

"I'm pretty sure that the Devil wasn't involved in any botanical project, even before Falling, and he has never tried any coffee. Instead, if you are speaking about demons, I am the onl-"

"Why don't we order wine instead this time?" Interrupted quickly Aziraphale before Crowley could say something more compromising. The unhappy demon agreed begrudgingly so several bottles of red wine were shared among them.

"I'm sorry for your coffee, Crowley. It seems idiotic banning a plant just because somebody else has it".

"Well, they copied the idea from the Boss: God was the first to ban a plant, you and I should remember that easily" Crowley snickered.

Aziraphale started blushing and his cheeks soon were as red as that famous fruit: "ah, it… i-it wasn't just a normal fruit and that was part of God's plan… I suppose.". That phrase was just commented by the demon with a bemused expression.

"So, Crowley, what are you going to do with this? Are you going to tempt a lot of people to drink coffee?"

"Nah, I'm already too busy with Hell's job at the moment. It would be too troublesome to convince people and especially priests: those at top are the worst."

I'm sure I'll miss the ability of coffee to transform random thoughts into ingenious ideas: humans were experts at using that!" The demon slouched sadly on the chair.

Aziraphale would have missed the improved human genius too but, in his opinion, would have regretted more not seeing his demon's smile but he said nothing. He instead started thinking if there was something he could do and soon became lost in his thoughts.

"...anything there?"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I told you I'll go back to Spain tomorrow for a temptation: do you need anything there?"

"Oh, nothing special, just the usual [3] we can share and those books, if you could be so courteous." Aziraphale happily answered, giving him a neat written list.

"Are you going to stay here long, angel?"

"Oh, no, I'm departing for Rome the day after tomorrow… … I know you don't like it because of the absurd amount of consecrated ground there, you don't need to make a face each time I mention it"

"And every pope makes the problem worse."

The angel assumed a grim expression: "I have to meet pope Clement VIII for the closing ceremony of the Jubilee"

"You don't seems pleased"

"The Archangels, especially Sandalphon, think highly of him, but I don't… appreciate him, especially after he burned at the stake messer Giordano Bruno and other poor humans."

Crowley liked discussing the stars and the universe with Giordano: he tried to warn the poor man but he was too stubborn to listen.

"May I reciprocate your favour from Spain? Maybe some wine?" Suggested the angel.

"Only if you're sure the bottles are not blessed - Crowley shuddered - I still remember last time I was wrong".

"Are you sure it will be enough?"

"I'm sure, angel. Let's party now and forget our troubles for now".

Unfortunately Aziraphale couldn't party happily because he couldn't forget what happened with the cup of coffee and he thought his favour was too small: he decided he should do something about it!

Luckily the following morning was more propitious and he found a way to repay Crowly for his favour: he'll find a way to lift the ban on coffee.

The only remaining problem was how to do that.

Rome, a week later

Aziraphale was reading the same line of the missive for the third time in a row at his desk: the angel was too distracted because hadn't found a solution for his "problem" yet.

"I bet I have the solution under my nose but I can't see it" mumbled the angel touching the pope's sigils on the papers.

"Of course, the pope! - he yelled happily - He is the highest authority for the priests: he could convince everybody that drinking coffee is not bad if he tastes it himself".

"I just need to learn how to make the best coffee ever". A name came back to his mind, the name Crowley gave him: Altan.

Immediately he used a little miracle to locate him that led him to a small cemetery outside the city and on the grave and there were few sweets with a little cup: unfortunately Altan died 10 years before. The angel bowed a little to pay respect.

A big Turkish man came next to him and inquired "Did you know my father?".

"I didn't but my... acquaintance considered him a genius and was very fond of his qahwa, ehm, kahve. He'll be sad when he'll know he died."

"I'm Osmanek. May I ask you what brings you here mister...?

"Oh, I'm Aziraphale. I came here to learn how to make the best coffee ever: I hope his art was inherited by you."

"Luckily it was not lost: I loved to help him make coffee. Before revealing my secrets I have a question for you: are you doing this for your… acquaintance?"

Aziraphale nodded: "I'd like to prepare him some coffee he loves, but at the same time I'd love to see everyone have a coffee whenever they fancy, like in your birthplace. To make that possible, however, I have to let somebody else drink your coffee to.. ..to tempt him saying it's not a bad thing: that person is the pope Clement".

The angel knew what he was asking for and couldn't hold the gaze of the man anymore.

"I understand -he continued sadly- if you don't want to help me since I have seen how much that man has been hurting your brothers and sisters…" The angel couldn't say anything else, overpowered by his memories and bowed his head to hide the tears in his eyes: he has seen too many inconceivable deaths in the name of faith

Osmanek observed Aziraphale for a little moment: he was sure there was no lie in his words. "No, - he smiled - I can't leave you after you poured your heart out: I'll help you and your friend to tempt the Pope."

"Oh, oh, thank you! - and the angel added hastily - But he's not my friend, we barely know each other!"

The man started smiling brighter than ever and guided him to his house.

Immediately after they arrived, Osmanek offered his guest a cup of his special kahve with few sweets. Aziraphale tried just a sip of coffee and he was immediately in love: "Now I know why Crowley likes it so much: it's so scrumptious even without those sweets!"

"I call this Altan kahve in honour of my father: I will teach you how to prepare it for your fr… aquietance but I ask you to not give any of this to the pope. For him, I'll give you another tasty recipe"

"Oh, I agree with you: the pope doesn't deserve that perfection!"

Osmanek patiently taught Aziraphale everything he should know: how to roast and grind the beans, how to use the small pot "cezve", the ratio perfect between coffee and water, how to boil and froth the concoction and which flavours could be used.

In the beginning everything felt so difficult for Aziraphale and he failed a lot. However the angel was very stubborn and, thanks Osmanek's tips and teaching, he was able to make an excellent cup of coffee in a couple of days.

"I hope this will be good enough" mumbled the angel.

"Trust me, it will be too good for the pope", he chuckled. "Now let's see how good you are with Altan's coffee. I'll give you a final tip: imagine you are preparing some coffee for your acquaintance and not me".

"Why…?"

"If I'm right, it will taste better"

Still perplexed and a bit nervous, Aziraphale went into the kitchen and, following the last advice, he prepared meticulously the dark drink, flavouring with cardamom and finally pouring it in two kahve fincanı, a dark one and a light one. The smell seemed quite promising.

Osmanek took the darkest cup and, after smelling the aroma, he tasted it. After a few seconds, he smiled "In my native Country there is a proverb that says the coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love but for your coffee this doesn't sound right". He put the empty fincanı on the table.

"I think - he continued - the Italian expression suit it better"

"I'm sorry but I don't know it" the angel was starting to worry he messed up something even if the man was smiling fondly.

"Il caffè deve essere caldo come l'inferno, nero come il diavolo, puro come un angelo e dolce come l'amore.". [4]

The angel took his courage and drank his coffee: in his opinion, it wasn't perfect as Osmanek's but it tasted like something Crowley would enjoy and that was the best feeling ever.

The angel couldn't stop smiling: "Oh, I am so grateful to you! But I don't know how I can repay you for this"

"Your happiness is enough: I'll bring you everything you need".

Aziraphale didn't agree with him so he performed some miracles and blessings.

Osmanek came back with some coffee beans, flavours and utensils. There were also three kahve fincanı: two were familiar (the dark and the light ones) but the other was new (and very flashy).

"Oh, that's for the pope: I have always hated that cup and I hope it'll break when that man wants coffee most"

"Oh, that cup will do that, I can assure you" the angel promised with a mischief smile.

Aziraphale finally bid farewell, still thanking Osmanek profusely.

Two months later was the time to put the plan in action: the pope was in the library at 2 a.m. and he was getting tired but he had a lot of work to do. Aziraphale approached him: "I may have the right solution for your Excellency: it's a healthy concoction that promotes wakefulness and wonderful ideas. It was discovered b-"

"I don't care, - interrupted the holy man - give me that drink and let's hope it works".

"God gives me strength" whispered under his breath the angel while preparing some coffee that suited the pope's taste.

When the cup of coffee was ready, it was given to Clement VIII: he grabbed it and started drinking absent-mindedly. The smell and the taste were so good that he woke almost immediately.

"Librarian, what is this?"

"As I was saying, this is coffee"

"Why has nobody given me this miraculous drink? The taste is divine and it works perfectly!"

"I suppose nobody wanted to offer your Excellency any drink consumed by Muslims. Some people also believe coffee is a Devil's plant. In my op-"

"I don't care: it's too good to be Satan's plant and we mustn't let the infidels have exclusive use of coffee."

Aziraphale was quite happy: it seemed his plan worked out nicely.

"Maybe we could bless the beans or use some holy wate-"

"NO" shouted the angel, emanating some angelic power unconsciously "Please, DON'T".

For the first time in his life, the pope was scared he felt like a little child in front of a giant warrior.

"Ehm, please - said more calmly Aziraphale - never suggest it again or let somebody do that. Just tell everyone coffee could be drank by anybody".

The pope could only nod affirmatively.

"Right!"

Now the angel was sure he was successful in his endeavour and soon could have a coffee with Crowley.

Aziraphale stayed in Rome for another three weeks, just in time to witness a fincanı to break neatly in two, pouring coffee on some important papal documents.

On his journey to London he stopped to Osmanek's house and updated him on what had happened in that time (especially the broken cup).

London, Monday, 10th May 2021, 30 minutes after Aziraphale's call.

In the end Aziraphale made some of his special coffee with his cezve: he was missing Crowley so much.

"What if i woke him up while he just wanted to sleep a bit more?"

"No, angel, - a familiar voice answered - I want to stay awake with you for a while"

"Crowley" cheered Aziraphale

"Coffee?"

"In a jiffy" and he poured the drink in two old contrasting kahve fincanı.

"So, what's the secret behind this old recipe?" Crowley asked with a mischievous smile.

----------------------Notes----------------------

[1] Siór = mister (venetian dialect)

[2] Malta = Crowley had been at the great siege of Malta in 1565 https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Siege_of_Malta

[3] Usual = local goodies (especially wine and alcohol)

[4] "Il caffè deve essere caldo come l'inferno, nero come il diavolo, puro come un angelo e dolce come l'amore" = "coffee must be hot as hell, black as the devil, pure as an angel and sweet as love"

To write this I took some info from wikipedia about the history of coffee: if you want to learn something more accurate than my story, look here and here.

#goodomens #aziraphale #crowley #coffee #good omens #i should have slept instead #happy 31st anniversary

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wherevermyway · 4 years

Text

like covalence // binchan // oneshot // 18+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

pairing: bang chan x seo changbin | past lee minho x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: friends-to-lovers, past character death, angst, hurt/comfort, insomnia, explicit sexual content. also, this fic is soft as hell and i love it, okay? word count: 9,746 also on AO3

originally posted: 09 december 2020

Waking up in the middle of the night to surprise phone calls always caused a panic to arise in Chan. The last time he received a call so early in the morning, it was his best friend, Changbin. He was panicking because his boyfriend was admitted to hospital and was dying.

This phone call, however, isn't nearly as horrifying. Changbin is having a bad bout of insomnia, nightmares preventing him from sleeping, and he needs a little help. So, Chan offers to talk him through it. Neither of them, however, expect for their conversation to take such a dramatic turn.

Sometimes, two people are meant to be together, their attraction pulling them into each other to make something greater, like covalent bonds.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

Phone calls at two in the morning were never good. When Chan’s phone trilled, ripping him from his dream, he bolted upright, eyes still glued shut from sleep. He reached over to the nightstand, miscalculating the distance and mistaking it for his nightstand back home. A sleepy grumble rumbled in his throat as he pushed himself further and managed to half-open one of his eyes. The bright screen caused him to squint his half-open eyelid further closed in discomfort.

Changbin. Shit, why was Changbin calling him at two in the morning? The last time Changbin called him in the middle of the night… No, it was probably something minor. It had to have been minor.

Chan fumbled his thumb a bit, swiping his finger against the bottom of his phone to accept the call. “Bin? What happened?”

“Shit, I knew this was stupid,” a low voice echoed in Chan’s ear canal. “You…” the voice trailed off. The younger man cleared his throat on the other end of the line and sighed. “You said I could call you if I ever needed anything, right?”

“Did you get thrown in prison or something?”

“What? No, dude.” Changbin squeaked, then cleared his throat again, lowering his voice. “Why would you think that?”

Chan groaned, turning to the desk lamp on the nightstand, fumbling with the drawstring to turn it on. “It’s two in the morning. You don’t sound panicky, so I figured nobody died or some—” Oh. Chan’s eyes go wide, and he slaps his forehead as he realizes the gravity of what he just said. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Changbin decidedly ignores Chan’s statement, and is quiet for an extended pause. “I can’t sleep, Chan.”

“Again?”

There’s a whimper on the other line. “It’s getting out of hand, dude. I’m starting to see shit, hear things that aren’t there. I try so hard to fucking sleep, but whenever I close my eyes, I just feel so tense. I can’t stop thinking. He’s there, he’s everywhere. The dripping of his IV, the beeping of the machines, the alarms, how fucking pale he looked. God dammit.”

Chan settles up against the flat pillow of his hotel bed, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead as he stares up to the ceiling. “You’re having nightmares about Minho again, aren’t you?”

There’s a bit of a sniffle that comes from Changbin. “Yeah. I know it’s only been ten months, and I can’t imagine what I’m gonna be like when the anniversary comes around. All I know is that I miss him and it fucking hurts.”

“You’ll get through it, Binnie. I’ll be there with you once I’m back from this business trip in a couple of days.”

“That’s not gonna help me sleep right now, though.”

“I’d get on a flight back to Seoul right now if I could, just to smack you upside the head really good and knock you out that way.”

Both of them laugh. “That might be the nicest act of violence someone’s ever threatened me with,” Changbin quips.

“I do what I can.” A soft laugh comes from Chan. “I mean it, though. I’m here for you, Binnie. Let it all out. Maybe it’ll help you sleep.”

“Can I,” Changbin pauses, and there’s some shuffling on the other line. “It’s gonna sound kinda stupid, but I wanna see your face. Are you decent enough for video?”

Chan’s face flushes, and he runs his lips in between his teeth for a moment, releasing them with a pop. “Yeah. Hair might be a mess, though.”

“Your hair’s always a mess.”

“Man, fuck you.” They laugh again, and Chan pulls his phone away from his face, tapping a couple of buttons on screen. “Gimme a sec and… okay, there.” There’s nothing but black on Chan’s phone for a bit. Shortly after that, there’s some shuffling and choice words coming from Changbin’s line as he turns a light on.

Chan sees what he assumes to be Changbin’s ceiling, until the younger man comes back into view, grabbing his phone, running fingers through his black hair. “I wasn’t expecting that without notice. You could’ve warned me,” he whines. There’s a bit of a glare reflecting on his glasses for a moment as he flops down onto his pillow. “Man, you look pretty out of it.”

“You woke me up at two in the morning, dude, what were you expecting?” Chan rolls his eyes, feigning irritation, but the way a smile creeps up on his face, showing off the dimple in his cheek, throws any sense of seriousness out of the window. “Those bags under your eyes aren’t helping you, either.”

Changbin frowns and flips off the camera. “You’re an asshole.”

“I could hang up the phone right now,” Chan shrugs.

��Please,” Changbin’s face twisted into a pout, “don’t hang up on me.” There was a sadness reflected in his eyes, something that looked like it had been building up for a while. The younger man turned onto his side, towards the light on his desk, and a tear fell down the side of his face. “Sorry, I know you were joking, it’s just… I’m tired of being alone, Chan.”

The older man pursed his lips, knitting his brows together as he shifted into a more comfortable position. “You’re never totally alone, Bin, you know? I’m here for you. I might not be able to be there right now with you, but I—”

“Can I move in with you?”

The question caught them both off guard.

“Wait, shit,” Changbin shook his head and groaned, burying his face into his pillow. “That was horrible timing. Fuck.”

Chan scoffed. “Of course you can move in with me. That sounds kinda nice, actually,” he smiled, showing off a bit of his teeth. “My apartment’s been quiet lately, anyways. Should probably try and settle down at some point, but I can’t seem to find the right person. While Jisung sure wasn’t good for me, I have to admit that it’s been so quiet since he’s been gone.”

“Oh, god,” Changbin awkwardly laughs, pulling his sweatshirt up over his chin and nibbles on the inner seam of the tip of the fabric. “You and Jisung,” his voice is slightly muffled through the sweatshirt, “you two were a clusterfuck of bad ideas. He was definitely not the right person for you.”

The older man scowls, staring directly at the tiny camera on his phone. “Come on, we weren’t that bad.”

“Chan,” Changbin stresses, rolling his eyes. “I really don’t need to remind you of the time you showed up at my apartment — unannounced, mind you — shortly after midnight, because you found out he was cheating on you the first time.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll give you that.” Chan shrugs. “That was over a year ago, though.”

“He cheated on you three times and you went back twice, dude. Twice!” They look at each other over the phone, and Changbin tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “I’m glad you didn’t go back the last time.”

“Me too,” the older man huffs, then rolls on to his stomach. “He’s dating a new guy now. Some bakery owner. Think his name was Felix?”

Changbin drops the sweatshirt from his mouth and rolls onto his back. “At least he’s out of your hair now. You should seriously stop stalking him on social media.”

“I’m not stalking him!” Chan pleads, “Seungmin’s the one that told me when me met up a couple weeks ago. He thinks he’s doing me a favour by keeping tabs on my ex so that I don’t have to, or some shit.”

“You’ve got some weird friends.”

“You’re easily the weirdest of the group.” Chan smiles. “Kinda why I like you, though.”

Changbin’s eyes go wide for a very brief moment, easy to miss with how quickly it happened. He nervously laughs and looks away from his phone. “Yeah,” he says without confidence, rubbing his hand against his forehead.

“What?” Chan cocks his head to the side. “Should I not’ve called you weird?”

“Nah,” Changbin shakes his head and smirks, bringing his free hand down his face, covering his cheek and part of his mouth with his sleeve. “It’s fine, I am weird, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Why are you acting like it bothered you, then?”

Changbin waves his hand in front of his phone. “It’s nothing, dude. You’re reading too much into it. Anyway, don’t you have to work early tomorrow? I really shouldn’t be keeping you up so late.”

“Stop it,” Chan firmly presses and frowns. His tone causes Changbin to recoil and turn into himself a bit. “Don’t ever apologize for needing me. We’re best friends, this is what we do. So what if I’m a little tired for work tomorrow? I’ll get coffee and deal with it. You’re my best fucking friend and I’ll do anything for you. I can’t take away your pain, so this is the next best thing I can try to offer.”

“Chan,” Changbin starts, his eyes starting to turn glossy again. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead shakes his head, rolling onto his side and buries his face into his pillow. He drops his phone and Chan assumes that he’s about to start crying.

The older man stifles a sigh. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Changbin.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Changbin chokes a bit and muffles something incoherent into his pillow. Chan lets him unravel a bit, knowing that his friend clearly needs it.

The younger man never really showed his emotions to most people; Chan and Minho were likely the only two people that had seen Changbin cry so openly. He put on a tough exterior, only letting it fall just enough around their friend group. Until recently, Chan had only seen him cry a couple of times: once, when he got mad at Chan for going back to Jisung after being cheated on the first time; the second time was when Minho had died. Changbin had collapsed at his hospital bed and completely broke down.

Losing Minho really damaged Changbin. He had steeled himself further in never being outwardly emotionally vulnerable, but in response to suppressing his emotions so dramatically, he broke down like this more often than he would admit. There had been numerous times where Chan had called or stopped by, and it was obvious Changbin had been crying. His voice would be raspy, his eyes bloodshot, face flushed, and he was unusually withdrawn and reserved.

After a bit, Changbin cleared his throat. He didn’t pick up his phone, but continued the conversation as if nothing happened. “Sorry,” he chokes out, then clears his throat. “I don’t know what I did to get lucky enough to have a friend like you. I just,” the younger man sighs and his lips vibrate against each other with a hum, “you and Minho are the world to me, and now Minho is gone. I’ve only got you. I love you, man.”

“I love you too, Changbin.” There was a burning building up in Chan’s chest, almost like he wanted to cry because he knew that his friend was so miserable; it felt like he was going through the emotional turmoil himself. “If I could take away the pain of your loss, I would.”

“I couldn’t put you through that, dude.” Changbin picks up his phone, pointing it back down to his reddened face. “You know, I watched a movie once. Don’t remember what it was called, but there was a quote that stuck with me for a while.” He looks far past the camera, up towards the ceiling. “I didn’t really get it until after Minho died. The quote was something like, ‘there’s a poem at the temple called loss. It has only three words that the poet has scratched out, since you cannot read loss, only feel it.’ It hurts, but it’s true.”

“We watched that movie together, you dumbass,” Chan scoffed, then laughed. “Memoirs of a Geisha or something.”

“Oh,” Changbin laughs softly, biting his lip. “That was our in-house double date, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Chan smiles, fondly looking back on the memory, and how Changbin seemed so happy with Minho. His smile was so bright, so carefree, so full of light and love, so much softer than it was now. “Minho picked the movie at random and none of us were really paying attention to it because we got kinda drunk. It was fun, though.”

A smile spreads across Changbin’s face. “That was a good time. Jisung was kind of annoying that night, but you looked really happy with him.”

“He was just awkward. Barely knew you two, so I can’t really blame him.”

A tsk. “Dude, you gotta stop defending him,” Changbin cocks his eyebrows and shakes his head. “Look, I should’ve told you sooner, but you always deserved better than him. I always thought he was so shallow and one-sided. Like, he never looked at you like you were his first priority in life.”

Chan tries to think of something to say in response, but simply shrugs his shoulders. “I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right, dude. You need someone that loves you like—” Again, Changbin’s eyes go wide, as if he catches himself about to say something stupid, then he shakes his head. “Someone that loves you like you truly deserve. Like you’re their reason for waking up in the morning, someone that’s always happy to see you and will accept you for who you are, no matter what. Chronically messy hair included.”

A gnawing feeling envelopes Chan’s abdomen, causing him to feel a bit uneasy. “Someone like a best friend,” he mutters, then quickly realizes how that comes off and corrects himself, “someone like Minho was to you, yeah?”

Changbin nods, but there’s a strange tension between them now. They stare at each other with slight nervousness behind their eyes. “Like Minho, yeah, or,” Changbin says each word as clearly as possible, looking like he was carefully thinking over what he was saying, “someone like a best friend.” The words came out slowly, with calculus. He knew what he had said, and exactly how it was going to be interpreted.

The feeling in Chan’s stomach had ballooned across his entire torso as he realized what was really happening between the two of them. “Changbin,” he manages to squeak out, nearly dropping his phone on his face from how badly his palms had started to sweat. “There’s something I’ve gotta ask.” Chan sits upright, too enveloped in the moment to pay attention to how he looks on camera.

Changbin sits up, too. He brings the hem of his sleeve up to his mouth and anxiously chews at it as he nods. “What is it, Channie?”

The older man tenses at the nickname rolling off his friend’s tongue. Changbin very rarely ever called him Channie, and that somehow made him all the more nervous. “I,” he stutters out, “maybe I’m just reading into this too much, but there’s something happening here, isn’t there?”

“Something…” Changbin shrinks into himself a bit, looking down at his sleeve.

They sit in awkward silence for several moments too long. The discomfort was overtaking Chan, and he felt like he was about to explode, until he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He let all of his pent up thoughts spill from the bottom of his heart. “It started before Minho. Years before Minho, I know it. Back at the end of high school.”

The younger man peers over the frames of his glasses, but doesn’t move, nor does he say anything.

“I think we were too stupid to realize it when we were younger. Probably too afraid to act on it and fuck up our friendship. God,” Chan wipes his face, not realizing that the nervousness of pouring out all of his feelings had caused a couple of tears to spill from his eyes. “You started dating Minho after we started our senior year of university. I remember you being really scared about it, saying you were worried you weren’t the right person for him, but now I think you were worried he wasn’t the right person for you.”

Changbin buries his face into his elbow, saying nothing.

The burning in Chan’s abdomen starts to alleviate a bit, like a knot is unravelling, but the nervousness still courses through his veins. He was in too deep to stop now. “You got lucky with him, and I know you loved him as much as he loved you. You deserved someone like him, Binnie, you really did. It was unfair that Minho was taken from you so early.”

A choked noise comes up from Changbin as he drops his phone, the camera angled in such a way that Chan can see him pull his knees into his chest as he tries to avoid crying again.

“I know you miss him, and you should. But you’ve been running to me a lot ever since you lost him. I don’t believe it’s because you have no one else to turn to, nor do I think it’s an unhealthy thing. Clearly, we trust each other a lot.” Chan took in a long, deep shaky breath. There was no turning back, so he was going to pull out all of the stops. “You’re my best friend, Changbin. I love you and that’s never gonna change. But, it’s only fair that you know that I love you as more than just a friend, and I’m gonna guess that you love me like that, too, even if you don’t admit it.”

“Channie,” the younger man whines, still curled up in himself.

“You know I’d do anything for you, Bin. I’ve always said that, and I’m always going to mean it. I’m gonna say it again, and I want you to hear it clearly: I love you, Changbin.”

There are tears rolling down Chan’s face, now. Not tears of sadness, but tears of relief. The knot that had been coiled up inside of him for years had finally unravelled, causing all of the tension built up inside of him to finally release.

“I,” Changbin lifts his head from his elbow, then shakily reaches for his phone, bringing it up to his face. “I love you, too. I have for so long, but I didn’t realize that’s what it was until after Minho died. I just thought I was being an idiot about my feelings, and..” His voice trails off, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head. “I didn’t wanna lose you, Channie.”

“You idiot,” Chan scoffs, wiping his face. “It’d take a lot more than that to scare me away. We know too many dark secrets about each other to have something threaten our friendship like that.”

“You mean too much to me,” the younger man whines, tucking his chin into his chest. “It sounds nice, though.”

“What does?”

“You telling me that you love me. It feels different now, but I love hearing it.” Changbin flops backwards onto his pillow, turning his head to the side so he can rest his phone against the pillow as he closes his eyes. “It’s like the way a satisfying chord hits in a song and you just feel warm in your entire body.”

Chan hums, gently rolling onto his back, imitating Changbin’s positioning. “That’s oddly specific.”

A grin spreads on the younger man’s face. “I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, dude. Let me be weirdly specific.”

“Changbin,” Chan whispers with a smile.

“Hmm?” Changbin cocks his head upward.

“Look at me.”

The younger man whines as he opens his eyes. “What?”

“I wanted you to see my face when I tell you that I love you.”

There’s a soft shade of scarlet that tints Changbin’s face as he parts his lips, mentally replaying the words over in his head. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Changbin.”

“Yeah,” the younger man closes his eyes again, smiling widely. “I love you too, Chan.”

“I suppose that does sound good, doesn’t it?”

Changbin softly nods his head and hums.

“Are you falling asleep on me?” Chan’s eyes grow heavy as he watches Changbin slowly melt into his pillow.

“No,” the younger man whines, pulling his brows together, as if he were going to protest. “Insomniacs don’t sleep, stupid.”

Chan smiles a bit and nuzzles his cheek against his pillow. “Yeah, yeah,” he closes his eyes and listens to Changbin’s breathing on the other line. “Insomniacs…” his voice trails off as he drifts into sleep.

“Fuck!” Chan bolts upright in a cold sweat as the soft rays of dawn start to pour into his hotel room. He looks over his shoulder at the digital clock, reading 05:47. Once he realizes he hasn’t slept through his alarm, like he did in his dream, a sigh of relief escapes his lips. He unceremoniously flops back down onto his pillow, grabbing his phone to watch Changbin.

The younger man is still asleep, covering his face with his elbow. Some soft snoring can be heard if Chan really focuses on it, and taking in the moment warms his heart. There’s a moment where Chan realizes something, and he gets a look of determination on his face as he taps around on his phone.

“Oh, that’s perfect timing.” He mutters some other words incoherently to himself as he continues tapping away until he sends off something and relaxes. “Well, that’ll take care of that.”

Changbin didn’t mean to pass out on the line, but it was inevitable. For the first time in months, he actually felt relaxed enough to sleep for longer than a couple of hours at a time. His eyes fluttered open, greeted by the sunlight from his window. It felt later than Changbin expected as he stared out at the Seoul skyline. He sleepily reached for his phone, not surprised that the call had been terminated.

It was 09:13. He had a mass of texts from Chan, which he immediately opened after he unlocked his phone.

06:57 | chan: ok so i’ll admit i’ve been up for a while just staring at you, watching you sleep and it’s just 06:58 | chan: holy shit that sounds really creepy without context… whatever 06:59 | chan: i don’t know what to say 07:00 | chan: i love you binnie 07:01 | chan: sorry i have to cut our video call short before you wake up but i’m glad you finally slept for once 07:02 | chan: i’ve got a busy day ahead of me but we should chat later, yeah? 07:02 | chan: gonna say it again just because i can, you can’t stop me 07:03 | chan: no, literally, you can’t because you’re asleep lol 07:04 | chan: wow that was a stupid joke. anyway! 07:04 | chan: i love you, text me when you wake up

“Oh,” Changbin whispers to himself. Memories of the night prior had started to flood back up, causing him to flush in slight embarrassment. He really admitted that he was in love with his best friend, and he hadn’t just dreamt of it. It was completely unexpected, but he welcomed it with open arms.

He shot off a quick “morning, love you too, weirdo” text to Chan, still nervous over what exactly to say. Honestly, the encounter last night felt a bit like a fever dream, caused by his insomnia. He figured that he had exaggerated a bit of it, but these texts confirmed how real it all was.

Changbin stared at the ceiling for longer than he’d like to admit, eventually shifting his way to his feet, shuffling away to his washroom to shower. As he stripped his clothes off, nearly ready to step into the warm shower, his phone vibrated against the porcelain of the sink. Normally, he would have ignored it, but on the off chance it was Chan, he didn’t want to risk missing it.

09:40 | chan: “insomniacs don’t sleep” huh? 09:40 | chan: are you working today?

A bit of a grin curls up on Changbin’s face as he reads Chan’s messages. He shoots off a “nope, stuck at home so you should call me when you’re free” text, then sets his phone down on the sink before retreating off into the shower.

His shower is brief, just enough to quickly wash off. It couldn’t have been more than maybe eight minutes before Changbin was back out on the cool linoleum floor, rubbing a towel around his head, then wrapping it around his waist. As soon as the towel is securely tucked around him, he grabs his phone to see he’s missed two calls from Chan. He wastes no time returning the call, surprised when Chan picks up on the second ring.

“Changbin!” The excitement in Chan’s voice startles Changbin a bit. “I thought you said you didn’t have to work today?”

“I don’t,” the younger man grumbles, “I just wanted to take a quick shower. Didn’t think you were gonna be so quick to call me.”

“You said you’re staying home today, right?”

Changbin squints as he looks at himself in the mirror, parting his hair with a comb. “Yeah, I mean, I usually do on Sundays. Why?”

“What are you doing right now?” Chan sounds a bit too excited over the phone, causing Changbin to feel a bit suspicious.

“I just told you, dude,” he sighed, setting the comb down on the countertop. “I was showering, saw I missed a couple calls from you, so I’m standing in the washroom, freezing myself half to death because I didn’t grab any clothes to put on right after.”

There’s a deep breath on the other line. “Changbin,” Chan starts, his voice a bit nervous.

“What?”

“You should go to your front door.”

Changbin furrows his brows in confusion, shaking his head a couple of times. “Why?”

“Would you just trust me? Go on, just go.”

The younger man opens his mouth to protest, but the line goes dead. Changbin pulls his phone away from his ear, staring at the “call terminated” message on his screen before it disappears. “What a fucking weirdo,” he grumbles to himself, but makes his way out of the washroom and towards the front door anyways. “This is dumb,” but yet, he still unlocks his front door and opens it. He looks down at the ground, seeing nothing, then pulls the door back, looking at the front of it and, again, sees nothing.

“The fuck? Goddammit, Chan.” Admittedly, Changbin had gotten his hopes up that something or someone would be there because, honestly, why else would Chan have called him to tell him that, then hang up on him? As he slipped back behind the door, moving to close it, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“You know,” the voice chirps up from around the corner, and Changbin’s eyes go wide, “I did say I’d come by and smack you upside the head to knock you out, but you already slept. Guess I’ve gotta come up with something new, huh?” Chan came around the corner, wearing a cocky grin as he made eye contact with a very surprised Changbin.

“I thought,” the younger man shakes his head in shock, “you weren’t supposed to be back for… how are you even?”

Chan shrugged his shoulders and waved a hand in the air. “I may or may not have fabricated a bit of a lie, saying that someone I knew was sick and I needed to come back to Seoul to take care of them. They didn’t need me there to begin with, anyways.”

The air between them is tense, but not with a nervous tension. There’s a pining energy between both of them, causing Changbin to take an inviting step back as Chan steps forward into his apartment. He swallows hard, letting go of the door as he backs up into the wall. “So, this person that’s sick, I assume you mean that’s me?”

The older man closes the distance between them, and the front door slams shut. “Yeah,” Chan lowers his voice. “Guess you’ve come down with something.”

“That’s a drag,” Changbin’s voice quivers a bit with nervousness, yet he confidently looks up at Chan. “Suppose I need someone to help take care of me with whatever I’m sick with, huh?”

Chan takes his hands, placing one on Changbin’s hip, and places the other one on the side of his neck. The touch causes the younger man to shiver and melt into his hand, softly exhaling. “Lovesickness,” Chan whispers with a coy smirk on his face, craning his head down next to Changbin’s ear. “There’s only one thing that cures that.”

Changbin wants to laugh at the stupidity of how cheesy that sounded, but instead, he found himself bringing his hands up to Chan’s back, digging his fingers into the soft cotton of his shirt. He gently rubs his cheek against the older man’s, whispering into his ear. “How are you going to cure me?”

“With this kind of sickness,” a quiet tsk comes from Chan, and it causes the hairs on the back of Changbin’s neck to rise, “the only thing I can do is give aggressive treatment.”

Before Changbin can make a proper comeback, Chan takes the hand around the younger man’s neck, sliding his thumb around his jawline to get a steady grip. The older man pulls back, making brief eye contact with Changbin before he hastily brings their faces together, crashing their lips against each other.

There’s soft electricity that bounces between the two of them, like this moment was meant to happen for so long, and there was finally a delicious payoff. Changbin expected more awkwardness between them for their first kiss, but everything just blended together. He drags a hand up to Chan’s neck, pulling him in closer.

Chan chuckles against Changbin’s lips, opening his mouth a bit as an invitation. The younger man wastes no time pressing his tongue forward, rolling it around cautiously against the older man’s tongue. He accidentally lets out a bit of a whine, which causes Chan to pull the two of them together, subconsciously grinding up against one another.

Changbin pushes up against Chan, bringing his hands down the older man’s body, down to his hands. He pulls away from the kiss, tugging at Chan’s hands. “Come on,” he whispers, “I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

“Impatient, are we?” Chan grins, not budging as Changbin tries to pull him along.

“It just feels,” there’s a pause as Changbin sheepishly looks down at his feet. “Feels like it should happen, you know?”

Chan shakes his head and scoffs. He pulls back, then ducks down and scoops Changbin up under his knees and pulls him off the floor and into his chest.

“The fuck are you doing?” Changbin practically shouts, eyes wide with panic as he’s hoisted up into the air.

“Working on giving you what you want, duh.”

Changbin huffs in embarrassment, but still wraps his arms around Chan’s neck. “Awfully brash of you, don’t you think? We’re not even dating, dude.”

“Oh, come on. You were thinking about this, too. You literally just said it feels like it should happen,” Chan scoffs as he maneuvers them both through the bedroom door. “Like not dating someone ever stopped either of us from sleeping with people in university. If you’re worried I’m gonna see you naked and be upset,” he pauses, gently placing Changbin onto his bed before crawling over him. “Well, I mean, really, every time we’ve gone to the gym together? Really?”

“Your arrogance truly knows no bounds,” Changbin frowns as he quips.

“Admit it,” Chan smirks, “it’s a big reason you love me, isn’t it?”

The words cause Changbin’s brain to short circuit for a minute before he rapidly blinks himself back to reality. “Yeah,” he sputters out, “yeah, I love you. All of you. Your stupid arrogance and all.”

It’s apparent that Chan wasn’t expecting such a serious response, but he smiles genuinely down to Changbin. “I love you too, Binnie.” He presses a quick peck to Changbin’s forehead, then pulls back and grins. “It’s way better saying that in person.”

“It’s better hearing it in person, too,” Changbin reaches his hands up to Chan’s face, pulling him back down for a proper kiss. “It’s not fair, though,” he whines in between kisses, “you’re a bit overdressed for the occasion.”

“That so, eh?” Chan pulls back, sitting on his heels. “Guess we’re gonna have to do something about that.”

Changbin sits up and cocks an eyebrow and smirks with arrogance. “Way ahead of you.” He reaches down to the bottom of Chan’s shirt and pulls it up, the older man easily complying with his nonverbal demand. Changbin haphazardly tosses the shirt to the floor, then catches himself staring a bit too long at Chan’s torso. “Oh,” he manages to breathe out. “I must not have looked at you close enough the last time we worked out, because this definitely would have gotten stored in my head for later.”

“For later?” Chan smirks.

“Wait,” Changbin vigorously shakes his head and his face reddens. “No, no, no, not like that. I mean, yeah, I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about it, but I wouldn’t just…” He stops speaking, and sighs heavily, burying his head in his hands with embarrassment. “Fuck.”

“You think about me, hmm? You only think about me, or is there something more to that blush you're trying to cover up?”

There’s an awkward pause between them, and Changbin grumbles something to himself before speaking coherently. “Goddammit. Fine, yeah. But only, like, a couple of times.”

Chan reaches forward, gently pulling Changbin’s wrists away from his face, forcing them to make eye contact. “Guess it’s only fair to tell you that the feeling’s mutual,” he whispers.

“What? Seriously?”

“Yeah, but that’s not important right now, not when I’ve got the real thing in front of me.” Chan shrugs and presses a quick peck to Changbin’s lips, then continues offering small kisses down his jawline to his ear. He takes the lobe between his teeth and softly nibbles on it. “Tell me about what you think about when you think of me. Maybe I’ll make it happen.”

Changbin squirms, gasping softly as a jolt runs through him when Chan rolls the sensitive flesh between his teeth. “All I can think about is the fact that you’re still overdressed,” he manages to speak, his voice airy and distracted. Changbin’s clammy fingers tremble as they dance down Chan’s shoulders, down his torso. “You wouldn’t be this dressed if I were to think something distasteful about you. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Hmm,” Chan steadies himself on his knees, reaching down to grab Changbin’s wrists. He pulls them up and brings the younger man’s arms above his head, looking down with confidence. “Have a little patience.”

“I don’t wanna be patient.” Changbin pauses, darting his eyes down, pursing his lips together. “I’ve been waiting for what feels like years, Chan.” His words come out at a low voice as he nervously mutters down into his chest.

Chan must have picked up on the nervousness the man beneath him was feeling. He takes one of his hands and gently lifts Changbin’s chin up. “Look at me,” he whispers as they make eye contact. “Trust me, I’ve been waiting for this for a while, too. I don’t wanna fuck it up,” he sighs and his confident aura drops a bit, “and I guess I’m a little nervous, too.”

Changbin frowns slightly. “Are you hesitating?”

“A little bit, I guess?” Chan shakes his head and shrugs. He scans Changbin’s eyes over a few times, then starts to pull back.

“No,” Changbin interrupts, taking his free hand and quickly pulling Chan in closer to him by the back of his head. They crash their lips together in an awkward, rough kiss. Chan lets go of Changbin’s wrist, softly caressing the younger man’s face as he pushes deeper into the kiss. “You wanna know what I think about?”

“What?” Chan’s response comes out muffled against Changbin’s lips.

Changbin takes Chan’s wrist, guiding his hand down to his neck. “I think about how your hands would feel here,” then he drags the hand down to his sternum, “how your fingernails would scratch against me here.”

Almost as if on reflex, Chan digs his fingers into Changbin’s skin, grazing them down ever so softly. “Like that?”

A soft gasp comes between Chan and Changbin in response. “Yeah,” the younger man breathes, letting go of Chan’s wrist. “I think about how your nails would feel as they dragged down my stomach, all the way down…”

Chan continues trailing his fingers down, as if Changbin’s words were a set of instructions. “Then what?” His fingers stop at the younger man’s hip bones, and he dips his thumb into the corner of the bone, causing Changbin to arch his back and break away from the kiss with a strangled cry.

“Fuck,” he whines, “I wasn’t expecting that.” He dips his head back down, looking up to the older man with nervousness and excitement.

“Well, what’s next?” Chan cocks his head to the side, brushing his thumb against the skin above Changbin’s hip bone. “What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Changbin whines, rolling his hips up into Chan’s touch. “I want you, Chan.”

For a fleeting moment, a soft smile appears on Chan’s face, before he takes his hand and slides it down, hooking into the towel around Changbin’s waist. This causes the younger man’s eyes to go wide. He licks his lower lip, then nibbles on it as he anxiously nods. “Please,” he whines.

Chan tugs at the taut towel, eventually causing it to unravel. Changbin sighs in approval, letting his eyes flutter shut. He keeps his eyes closed until he feels the bed shift and sees Chan rifling through his nightstand. “What are you doing?” He grumbles, frowning at the distraction. “Why are you going through my shit? Are you looking for something?”

“Yeah,” Chan bites his tongue as he sifts through various papers and paraphernalia in the drawer. “Where the fuck is your lube?”

“Have you ever thought about asking, dude?” Changbin rolls his eyes and moves to the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. “You really think I’m dumb enough to keep it in the nightstand that’s close to my bedroom door?”

“Come on,” Chan pulls back a bit, desperately trying not to let his eyes wander down. He watches Changbin rifle through his belongings, as he brings his fingers to the waistband of his jeans. The button pops out of the hole effortlessly, and he can’t help but feel relieved as he tugs the zipper down, giving his erection a little bit of relief as it presses up against his boxer briefs.

“Here,” Changbin says, tossing the bottle of lube over towards Chan, not realizing that he wasn’t prepared to catch it. The bottle smacks Chan in the chest and falls just to the side of Changbin’s legs, somehow, thankfully missing any tender areas.

“Ow,” Chan rubs his chest and glares at the younger man. “Why the fuck did you throw it at me?”

Changbin, however, doesn’t respond. He finds himself too distracted by the way the colour of Chan’s navy briefs complements his skin. His head slowly tilts to the side and he stares at the outline of Chan’s cock against his underwear and he blinks a couple of times.

“Why are you staring?” Chan tuts, resting his hand on his hip. “You’ve seen it before.”

“Context,” Changbin shakes his head and stares up at Chan in disbelief before he sits upright, getting into the older man’s face. “Yeah, I’ve seen it, but like, I’ve never seen it like this. Not hard, and definitely not hard for me.”

A bit of a smile creeps up Chan’s lips. “You don’t know that. Maybe you didn’t pay enough attention before.” He winks as he hooks his thumbs into his jeans and underwear, making deliberate eye contact as he slowly pulls the clothes down.

It’s obvious that Changbin is desperately trying not to watch Chan’s clothes sink to the bed, pooling down at his knees. “I’m paying attention now, though.”

“I can tell. Now,” Chan grabs the lube next to Changbin’s leg and takes a finger, pushing it against the younger man’s chest, “lie down, so I can give you what you want.”

Changbin rests back on his elbows, still trying to maintain eye contact with Chan. “What makes you think I belong down here? Maybe I’d rather ride you?”

“Oh, please,” Chan rolls his eyes as he squeezes some lube onto his fingers, then haphazardly discards the bottle to the side of the bed. “I know you too well. You’re an observer, not a performer. You’d rather be down there watching me put in all the effort.” The older man winks and slides his fingers between Changbin’s legs.

A frustrated huff comes from Changbin as he lies fully on his back. “Yeah, yeah,” he frowns. “I guess you have a point. I’m not always like that, though. Besides, this lack of sleep has me exhausted, so I really don’t wanna put in too much energy.”

Chan raises one of his eyebrows as he teasingly rubs a finger around Changbin’s entrance, eliciting a soft gasp from the younger man. “You know,” he whispers as his index finger slowly glides inside, “I did just get on an hour-long flight on very little sleep to come and see you. I even lied to my boss, saying you were sick. Maybe I don’t wanna put in effort either, and maybe I do wanna watch you ride me.”

Changbin’s eyes shut tightly as he loses himself in the sensation of how Chan’s finger explores his insides. “We agreed, though,” he breathes out and grips the sheets underneath him, “lovesickness, or whatever stupid cheesy thing you came up with. You said you were going to ‘aggressively treat’ me, or something like that.” He opens one of his eyes and looks up at Chan. “So do it. Show me what you’re gonna do.”

“Oh, I’ll show you what I’m gonna do, all in good time. I do have to commend you, though,” Chan tuts as he slides his middle finger inside, causing Changbin to choke on his own saliva, “you’re a lot bolder than I expected you would be in the sheets. Always pinned you as the pillow princess type, and you’re kinda proving my point.”

“Fuck you,” Changbin shakes his head and growls at Chan. “I am not a pillow princess.”

Chan slips his middle finger completely inside and grins as Changbin’s cocky demeanour falters a bit in reaction. “You totally are. You wanna roll your head back and let go completely right now, that much is obvious. You’re just pretending to channel some arrogant energy and I see right through it.”

“I hate you,” Changbin spits through his teeth as he reaches up to Chan’s shoulders, gripping them tightly.

“No, you don’t.”

Changbin rolls his eyes and shoves Chan back a bit, then rolls him around onto his back, causing the older man’s fingers to slide out of him. “You specifically riled me up because you knew I’d do this, didn’t you?”

Chan, while still a bit shocked by Changbin suddenly reversing their roles, manages to flash a cheeky grin. “So, maybe I did? It worked, didn’t it?”

“You’re insufferable, you know?” Changbin rolled his eyes, then grabbed Chan’s lubed hand as he positioned himself over Chan’s stomach. “I’m not done with you, yet, though.”

Picking up on Changbin’s intentions, Chan moved his hand closer to the inside of Changbin’s thighs. He worked his fingers back inside the younger man, causing him to stumble forward a bit and grab the headboard. “So nice of you to consider my exhaustion in all of this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the younger man sighed. “I still can’t believe you think I’d lay here and do nothing, though.”

“Come on,” Chan scoffs and slowly works his ring finger inside, making Changbin dig his nails into the headboard a bit harder. “I don’t actually think that. Honestly, I have no idea what to expect from you. All I know is that you’re easy to rile up.”

“Seriously? Fuck you,” Changbin whines with insincerity, arching his back as Chan’s fingers stretch him out.

Chan licks his bottom lip, nibbling on it a bit as he watches the arrogance dissolve from the younger man above him. He rotates his middle finger around, offering soft, circular strokes inside of him. When he pushes a bit firmer, it causes Changbin to twitch and let out a bit of a mewl. The older man arrogantly smirks, circling around the sensitive spot a bit more before he pulls each finger out slowly. As Changbin stares down at him in disbelief, Chan shrugs his shoulders. “You could do that. You seem stretched out enough to fuck me.”

For a moment, Changbin looks like he was considering saying something unsavoury, but instead bites his tongue — literally. He shifts back a bit, then grabs the bottle of lube, carelessly squeezing some of it into his hand, then works some of it on to Chan’s cock. “So much for ‘aggressive treatment’, if I’m the one doing all the labour.”

“Hey now,” Chan breathes out, clearly enjoying the way Changbin’s hand feels on him. “Sometimes, you’ve gotta put in effort to be fully healed. Besides, I did my part in stretching you out.”

Changbin shakes his head in feigned irritation. “Yeah, I guess you’re technically right. Makes you the pillow princess now, though.” He playfully winks, then rubs up against the head of Chan’s cock to prevent him from protesting. Once he’s lined up, he slowly slides down, electricity coursing through his veins as the sensation of being filled overtakes him.

“Fuck,” Chan slaps a hand down on to Changbin’s thigh, rolling his head back into the pillow. “Bin, you feel incredible.”

“You’re not even completely inside of me yet,” the younger man’s voice trembles a bit as he grits his teeth. Changbin takes his hand, placing it on top of the hand on his thigh. They both scramble around for a moment, fingers shakily interlacing into each other. “Other hand,” Changbin whines, “gimme your other hand, Channie.” The older man obliges, reaching out to Changbin. They tangle their fingers into knots, and Changbin finally takes Chan fully inside of him, tightly gripping the fingers interlaced with his.

Changbin looks down to Chan’s torso, catching his breath as he lets his body acclimate to the feeling of being connected. Chan presses his elbow down into the bed, releasing his hands from Changbin’s, as he sits upright. He takes his other hand and grips the younger man’s surprised face. “I wanted to be able to kiss you,” he whispers, then tentatively presses his lips to Changbin’s forehead.

“You could’ve just told me,” Changbin sighs, not from irritation, but from contentment.

Chan tsks, kissing a line down from the younger man’s forehead, down his nose, then softly presses his lips against Changbin’s lips. “Wanted to be closer to you,” he punctuates the space in between each word with a quick peck. “I’m not gonna fuck you like a one night stand.”

“Ah,” Changbin nods his head once, grinding his hips up, “so you’re a romantic type, huh?” His voice quivers a bit, and he presses his forehead against Chan’s. “Guess I should’ve known.”

“Doubt you’d complain,” Chan whispers, digging his fingers into Changbin’s back and gripping his neck a bit firmer. “Are you ready, Bin?”

The younger man nods rapidly, hastily pressing his lips against Chan’s. “Yeah,” he affirms, dragging his teeth against Chan’s bottom lip.

The movements are slow, calculated. Chan rolls his hips up into Changbin, letting go of the younger man’s face, placing his arm behind him to support both of them. Changbin leans forward, pressing his weight into his knees as he holds both sides of Chan’s face between his hands. He lifts himself off of his heels, slowly making his way up and down Chan’s length, both of them working in tandem with each other.

“Chan,” Changbin whines, trying to connect their lips together as he gradually increases the pace at which he moves. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Changbin,” Chan complies, bringing his hand up from the younger man’s back, digging his nails into the soft skin as his fingers glide up. “You mean everything to me.” He brings his hand to Changbin’s neck, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Chan breaks away from their sloppy kiss and presses his forehead to Changbin’s.

“I’m thankful you let me be your best friend,” Chan continues. “You’ve been there with me for over a decade now, and I know I wouldn’t have been able to get through half of the things I’ve been through without you.”

Changbin sarcastically scoffs, breathing heavily as he keeps riding Chan. “I wouldn’t be here,” he shudders as Chan rotates his hips up, changing the way he feels inside of Changbin, “fuck, I wouldn’t have made it through this last year without you.” The younger man whimpers a bit, trying to catch his breath. “I needed you, and you were there. I just, fuck— I love you, Chan. I love you, I love you so much.”

Chan pulls Changbin in closer, trying to kiss the younger man, making a pointed effort to make sure their lips connect. They awkwardly kiss a bit until Changbin moves his hands down to grab Chan’s shoulders, allowing for a bit more control. He moves faster, getting more of a verbal reaction from the older man underneath him. Changbin opens his mouth and Chan wastes no time pushing his tongue into the open space.

They let their tongues dance around each other, exploring the new unknowns, trying to memorize the warmth and dampness of the other’s mouth. Chan drops his hand from Changbin’s face, and the younger man pulls away to protest until he feels the warm hand wrap around his cock, his protest being replaced with a mewl.

“Sorry,” Chan pulls away with a gasp, looking at Changbin with a bit of embarrassment. “I’m already close and I wanted to make sure you got there, too.”

Changbin twitches and rolls his head back, letting out a desperate moan. “Chan,” he whines, “if you keep going, it’s not gonna take me long to…”

“I don’t care,” Chan interrupts, “I wanna see how cute your face looks when you come all over me.”

“Fuck you and your stupid, ah,” Changbin grits his teeth, losing his train of thought as he tries to contain his emotions and fails. “I’m gonna… Chan, I—” He involuntarily leans back on his heels, his head rolling back as his back arches. His shoulders roll up to his ears and he lets out a whine as his body convulses, cum shooting up into the air and landing on both of their stomachs.

Chan bites his lip as he watches Changbin fall apart in front of him. “Can I come inside?” His voice is breathless, words caught between pants as he continues rolling his hips, haphazardly thrusting upward as his motions become slightly jerky and more erratic.

The younger man pants as he nods and reorients himself, bringing himself to collapse into the chest in front of him. “Yeah, yeah, come inside me, Chan.” Changbin nuzzles his head up into Chan’s neck, then firmly sinks his teeth into the sensitive flesh in front of him, eliciting a small gasp from the older man.

“Changbin,” Chan whines, drawing out the last syllable of the younger man’s name as he curls inward and his body trembles. He grips Changbin’s back tightly, squeezing him into a close embrace as he comes. His body quivers for a few moments, then eventually calms down. As his breathing slows to a normal pace, Chan shakily sits upright, exchanging a smile with Changbin. He kisses the younger man’s lips softly, reaching up to his shoulders and pulls them both down to the bed.

A tiny squeal comes up from Changbin as he’s rendered horizontal. “Chan,” he whines as he tries to sit upright, but Chan pulls him into a deep kiss.

“Shut up for a minute,” Chan whispers against Changbin’s lips. They exchange tender, tired kisses for several minutes, until Chan pulls back. He looks up to Changbin, smiling softly. “I love you so much. I really do mean it, Bin. Like, you mean the world to me.”

“I love you too, Chan. More than I could put into words.” Changbin smiles back, brushing some of Chan’s stray hairs out of his face. “You also look really hot right now, literally and metaphorically.” He sighs, taking in the way Chan looks, glistening in sweat and covered in his cum. “As much as I love looking at you like this, though, we’re gross and should absolutely shower.”

“Ah,” Chan shakes his head, trying to force himself to stay awake. “Yeah, good point. Sorry to make you shower again so shortly after you already cleaned yourself up once.”

“It’s fine, I’d say it was a fair trade-off.” The younger man dismissively waves his hand in the air. He shudders as he gets off of Chan, making his way to his feet and offering a hand to the man curled up on the bed beneath him. “You can throw the sheets in the wash and help me make the bed later to make up for it, yeah?”

“Deal.”

Changbin rests his damp head against Chan’s chest, listening to the way his heartbeat thrums against the walls of his ribcage. “As much as I love hearing you tell me how much you love me,” he whispers, “I think listening to your heart might be my favourite thing.”

“Why’s that?”

“Means you’re alive.” Changbin lets his eyes flutter shut. “I could record you saying ‘I love you’ to me and listen to it over and over, but it would be hard to capture exactly how your heartbeat sounds over a recording.”

Chan laughs, the sound blending in nicely with his heartbeat. “As romantic as that sounds, you sound like a bit of a serial killer.”

“You never know,” Changbin tuts, tilting his head up to look at Chan. “I could be. Maybe I hide the bodies in my laundry closet.”

“Oh, please,” the older man rolls his eyes, “you don’t have it in you.”

Changbin walks his fingers over Chan’s chest, towards his nightstand, but stops halfway. “I could keep a knife in there, you know.”

Chan deadpans. “Dude, I know you have one in there.”

“What?” The colour drains from Changbin’s face.

“Yeah,” a laugh bubbles up from Chan’s stomach. “I mean, I don’t know where exactly you keep it, but you told me you had one in your bedroom somewhere. Remember that one time you told me that Minho wanted you to do some kinky shit with a knife, but you both chickened out because you were too afraid you were actually gonna hurt him?”

Changbin’s forehead collides against Chan’s sternum with a thud. “Fuck,” he groans, “I forgot I told you that.”

“You were drunk and Minho was really fucking embarrassed. ‘I can’t believe you’d tell Chan that!’, he yelled at you, and you were all like, ‘Chan knows everything about my sex life, I tell you this all the time!’ and then Minho threw the last of his rice at you and missed.”

Both of them laugh so hard, recalling the memory. “Oh my god,” Changbin doubles over as he laughs. “I totally forgot about that. Then he cried because he couldn’t believe he threw something at me, but then he was more upset that he had missed.”

Chan calmed his laughter down and sighed. “He was quirky. I liked that about him.”

“Me too.” Changbin wraps his arm around Chan’s torso and closes his eyes. “Sometimes, I can still hear his laugh when I walk through the empty apartment. It’s like I can see him on the couch, cats curled up in his lap as he had his feet up on the table, working on some management proposal.

“He’d bite his lip until it bled,” the younger man continued, “he’d get so focused on his stupid work projects. ‘I can’t let them be lost without me,’ he’d tell me after I would’ve scolded him. ‘Gotta make the transition easy, since it could be any day.’” Changbin sighed and shook his head, burying it further into Chan’s chest. “That idiot was more concerned about work than his own health.”

Chan brought up a hand to stroke Changbin’s damp hair. “Concerned over work and you. I think you forgot that he was always so worried about you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Changbin rubbed the back of his hand against the underside of his nose as he sniffled. “He put everyone before himself, which is probably why he got so sick so fast.”

“Hey, no, stop it,” Chan whispered, rolling on to his side as he pulled Changbin into an embrace. “You sound like you’re about to start blaming yourself for something you and I both know was out of your control.”

“But—”

“Changbin,” the older man interjects, “it was terminal. Sure, Minho dying was out of the blue, but you couldn’t’ve stopped it. None of us could have.”

There’s an air of tension in the room, silence filling the void for several moments. “You’re right, I know,” the young man buries his head into Chan’s chest. “Doesn’t make it suck less.”

“It doesn’t,” Chan agrees, “but you’ve gotta live on, keep living the best life you can in his memory.”

“I suppose you’ve got a point.” Changbin nuzzled his way around Chan’s chest to hear the older man’s heartbeat again. “Don’t leave me, Chan.”

“I would never dream of it.” Chan whispers as he runs his fingers through Changbin’s hair. “I’m never gonna leave you. I love you, Changbin.”

“I love you, too, Chan.” Changbin whispers back, and the two men lay there in silence, wrapped up in one another, until sleep overtakes them.

For the first time in nearly a year, Changbin finally slept through the night without a nightmare haunting him.

#like covalence #skz smut #skz fics #binchan #bang chan x seo changbin #seo changbin x bang chan #chan x changbin #changbin x chan #wherevermyway

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imaginesmai · 5 years

Text

Tom Holland - Forgotten aniversary

So, I heard Tom was thinking about taking a break next year! I’m really happy for him, becuase I think 2020 is going to be pretty stressful. Anyway, I got a fic idea because of that. I hope you like it!

Plot: working so hard had consequences.

Angsty and fluffly!

The water burned as it flowered over your hands.

Hands that tightly gripped a sponge as they angrily scrubbed away at the pan. You muttered unintelligibly under your breath as your hands worked away at the cooked on bits. Cooking wasn’t your strong point, and more than once you had burnt the food on the pan, creating a mess. But that wasn’t the case. The pan was hard to clean, because it had been just too long for the food to stick to the material.

Your breath hitched as your hands finally recognized how hot the water had actually gotten, and you cropped the pan into the water, splashing yourself in the process.

“Fuck!”

You moved quickly to cut off the water, the silence welcoming you like a needed blanket. As you grabbed the edge of the counter and closed your eyes, you forced the tears back and focused on breathing through your nose in normal patterns.

You weren’t mad. You were mad two hours ago, when the dinner you had cooked grew cold on the table you had set up in the balcony, and the screen on your phone had remained black. You were mad when you were taking off the new lingerie set your best friend had helped you pick last weekend in favour of the ratty pyjamas you wore normally to bed. You were mad as your phone finally lit up, only to be a message from your mother asking how the anniversary was going, and to wear condom. Then, as the clock hit midnight and you poured yourself your third glass of the expensive wine you were going to open up for the occasion, you weren’t mad at all.

Pissed. Disappointed. Sad. On the verge of crying, too.

The sound of keys rustling outside the door made you open your eyes, and you knew it was Tom who was outside the door. He sounded in a hurry, the keys falling to the ground twice before he finally put them right. You heard him curse under his breath, and finally the door opened and Tom walked inside the apartment; where he was supposed to be two hours ago, when the food was still hot.

Secretly, he had hoped for you to be asleep. It wasn’t his intention to be late, but Harry had wanted to wrap up their last project and he had promised him that it would only be a few minutes tops. Turned out, it was longer than that; and when he had finally looked down at the clock and had seen your single message of ‘everything ready, luv u’, he had ran out of Harry’s house and ignored a few traffic laws.

When he looked inside, he saw you nowhere in sight, so he left his jacket and his papers on the desk and spared a glance at the table in the living room. He knew it had been in the balcony for a long time, since it didn’t have the usual ornaments on. He looked at the kitchen, where there was no proof of any kind of food. Only an open bottle of wine.

“Darling?” he tried, walking a bit farther into the apartment. He repeated the name, with a little bit of more power. “Y/N, you there?”

Tom stepped into your shared bedroom and saw you sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard with your legs crossed. You spared him a quick glance, and Tom got the message clear enough; you were mad. You had all the reasons to be, but sometimes Tom wished you a different type of mad. The one who screamed and kicked, the one who cried or the other who talked things out. From the few fights you had had, he knew you weren’t neither of them, but rather the one that kept everything inside.

Nothing and lames ‘I’m sorry’ was what came into his mind, so he decided to give it a little time before he could screw it up even more. So he started by taking out his shoes, sitting on the bed to take out his socks and shirt. Every button that came down was another brick of guilt on his back. When he had put the whole set of pyjamas, he was close to tears himself.

He turned around and hoped that you were already looking at him, demanding an explanation or something. Instead, he got more silence and wall staring. Tom wasn’t known for making very sharp choices when he was under pressure. Probably, there was only one thing that he could say that would make the pressure cooker explode.

“Hey” Tom started, standing up and crossing his arms in front of his torso. “So, happy anniver –“

“What?”

Tom gulped at your sharp words, and finally met your eyes. They weren’t the sweet loving orbs that he looked everyday at, not even the annoyed ones from when he teased you too much. Instead, there was pure anger behind them. Tom didn’t have time to say anything else, because you shifted until you were on your knees in front of him and talked again.

“So you dumped me in our anniversary, didn’t call in all day, not even a message, and you appear two hours late with a fucking happy anniversary? Really, Tom?” you spat at him. “Not to talk that I’ve worried sick because I haven’t known anything of you since this morning”

“Darling, I’m sorry” he said and took a chance by stretching his hand forward. You swatted him away. “Look, Harry told me –“

“No! You’re not sorry!” Tom blinked surprised at the sudden outburst. “Maybe, when you would’ve been just thirty minutes late, maybe you would have been sorry. Or maybe, if it was the first time it happened, you can be sorry. But it’s our anniversary, you promised you would be here, and I fucking believed you like the last ten times!”

There were tears in your eyes, and Tom’s heart broke with them. It was true that, lately, he had been too caught up with work to have life outside of it. All the projects he was working in, the brother’s trust foundation, his own film with Harry… It wasn’t the first time he was late for one of your dates, and that it was your anniversary only made it worse.

“I… um, I – I” Tom tried to come up with something to say, but his stuttering only made more tears be contained in your eyes; and that made Tom stutter more.

“You were – have you been cheating?” you said, finishing in a small cry that let the first tear fall. “Is that why –?”

“No! No, I’m not cheating!” Tom let his knees fall on the top of the bed, so that he was almost at the same level at you. “I promise I would never, ever – I wasn’t… I w-was with Harry! We didn’t, we lost track of time and – and –“

“Is your work more important than me?”

The question wasn’t yelled, just whispered. You voice had finally cracked and the tank of tears that you had been keeping at bay for almost two hours broke. Big, fat, droplets of water went running down your cheeks as you tried to keep your sobs down, while Tom could only babble incoherent things.

It was as if someone had tied a brick to his heart and had let it to drown, because suddenly he couldn’t breathe. You had had the same argument before, when he had forgotten a date or missed an important event for you for his work. But never, not once in your relationship, had he seen you cry over it. Tom was a pretty emotional guy, so he couldn’t do nothing against his blurry vision.

You fell back to you butt in the centre of the bed, propping your elbows on your thighs and covering your face. Your breaths were becoming raspy and the hiccups were the only thing cutting through the sobs. Eventually, Tom moved fully into the bed, until he was in front of you and could drag you into his lap.

The bed that you had bought in IKEA two months ago wasn’t perfect. You were in a hurry because the last one had broken a leg, and you decided you would have time to buy another one. At one in the morning, the decision to buy online hadn’t been the brightest; but you had had so much fun putting it together, that Tom and you had decided to keep it.

It cracked when Tom sat on the bed with you on his lap, still crying. He missed the way your hands would wrap themselves around his torso when he did that, but he understood that he didn’t really deserve you attention. It was enough for him that you weren’t pushing him away.

“I’m sorry” he sighed, and kissed the side of your head. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I promise. I’m sorry”

The sounds of the city leaked through the window. Cars horning, people shouting in the distance, some laughs. All of that was insignificant in front of the sound of your despair, which Tom wished more than anything to go away.

He held you as you cried, sometimes whispering how sorry he was, sometimes crying with you. The minutes passed by, and he knew it wasn’t just one night tears. It had been going on for a while, the obsession to do as many things as possible was finally having it’s consequences.

The time you took to calm down, was the time Tom used to put a solution to all of that.

“Y/N” he called your attention when your tears were almost gone. You didn’t look up, but tried to move away. “Y/N, please. Listen to me”

“Why, Tom? So you can tell me how busy you’ve been with Harry?” you snapped. “How this new project is just very long and hard? I’m tired of you putting your work in front of me always”

“I won’t anymore” Tom’s grip lessened, and he ignored the pang of hurt when you finally moved to your side of the bed.

“Until next time, right?” you gave him a tired glance. Your eyes were swollen and red, and your lip was trembling again. “I just want to go to sleep. We can talk about it in the morning”

“But – “

“Night, Tom”

You went to lay on your side, back facing Tom. The clock showed twelve forty-five in the morning, and you turned off the night lamp. Darkness filled your room and you closed your eyes, trying to fall into a dreamless sleep that let you calm down.

Tom, however, had different intentions. You felt the bed dip under his movement and the light being turned again. That time it was farther, on his side of the bed; and then, he moved towards yours and rolled you on your back by your shoulder. You were ready to yell at him a bit more when you were met with his face inches away from yours.

His hair was longer than what you had noticed last, the first notice of curls showing, and his smile was sadder. You tried to think of a time where you had stopped and just looked at him, enjoying a lazy morning between lovers. Sadly, you couldn’t find none. Tom took a while to talk, seeming as memorized by you as you by him.

“I’m sorry. And I mean it. Sorry for being away for so long, for putting my work before you and for forgetting that you’re the most important part of my life. You’re my family, and that’s always before everything and anything” Tom let out in one row, stopping barely to breath. “I’m sorry I’ve forgotten the anniversary, and your mother’s birthday party, and the date at the Italian restaurant. I’m sorry”

Tom waited for you to talk, and when you didn’t, he took it as a good chance. He breathed the nerves out and continued.

“I… I was thinking about taking a break for a while” he went back to his part of the bed, leaning against the headboard. It was your turn of moving up and open your eyes wide.

“What?” the sheets fell out of bed. “I-I didn’t mean, like – like a break! We’re, we’re – we can –“

“Not from you!” Tom quickly corrected you, before you could start crying again. He seemed horrified that you could think something like that. “I wasn’t – God, I meant for work! A break from work! Like – a sabbatical year, or something. We could… we could go somewhere. Or stay here. Whatever you want. If you want. Because – because I wouldn’t want to take a break with you. But if that’s what you need, I guess –“

“You don’t have to take a break just because I cry” you scoffed out, interrupted him.

There was something that neither Tom or you tolerated; pity. When you made a decision for each other, it had to be because it grew out of your love, not because you thought it was the best thing to do to stop the other one from being sad.

You crossed your arms and sat against the headboard too, and almost laughed. To anyone who was outside, it seemed that you were an old couple ready to go to sleep after taking out their prosthetic teeth. You stood serious and focused on your socked feet, covered by a cute pair of spiderman socks that had small Christmas trees and webs all over. You entertained yourself moving your toes while Tom decided how he wanted to express his thoughts.

“I’m not doing this because what has just happened” Tom started, voice as low as a whisper. You had to lean a little closer to hear him. “I just – I’ve tried to do more. I want to achieve great things, and there are a lot of good opportunities coming my way right no”

“You don’t have to leave all of that behind for me, Tom” you tried to reassure him, in case he didn’t want to do so. Because even if it meant you and Tom broke up, his happiness would always be your one priority.

“The thing is, I’m searching for the perfect life in the industry, and sometimes I forgot that I already have it here with you” Tom declared.

He turned his head to the right so that he was looking at you. His cheeks had a pinkish colour and his jaw was clenched tight. For a second, you didn’t see the grown man that was working every day until late night and missing all your dates. You saw the boy who asked you out with a bouquet of flowers when he was allergic to them. The boy who you fell in love right when you finished highschool. And the man you had loved and wanted by your side till then.

“I promise I won’t forget any other anniversary, dates or birthdays. I’ll be home more, and we’ll do things together. And if I do forget, you’re allowed to fill the house with cats” Tom joked, giving you a hesitant smile. When he saw your fond one, he finally relaxed. “I love you. And I’m sorry, I’ll say it as many times as you want”

“Maybe another thirty will be necessary” you teased back. “But tomorrow. I really want to sleep now”

Tom was ready for you to turn your back to him again and go to sleep on his own, but got pleased when you scooted closer and forced him to lay down on his side. It had been probably months since you had laid down that close, cuddling like when you had time for each other.

You laid your head on his shoulder and trapped his body with your arm, that gripped the pyjama. Tom wrapped himself more tightly that what he used to and closed his eyes tightly, thinking about how lucky he was that you were by his side. Just when he stretched his arm to turn off the light, he heard your sleepy voice.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook because you made me a promise” you warned him, and he actually stopped his movements. “But I love you too, Tom”

Tom smiled softly and finished turning off the lights. You nuzzled your nose against his neck and he closed his eyes peacefully. If it was necessary, he was sure he could give up his whole career for you. Because nothing was more important to him.

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Note

Ok, I have a prompt for you. Can you do a one-shot of Jake and Amy's first morning together (preceded by the shot of them in bed in 3×01). Things like breakfast in bed, cuddling etc, even sexy talk of the previous night's events is all requested. Thanks♥️

HI @obsessiveperaltiagofangirl! I had every intention of finishing this in time for their anniversary but time ran away from me a little 😅 Anyways, I hope you enjoy! 💖

(G rated, for anyone who may be wondering! 😇)

in the light of day

There’s barely any light creeping across the floorboards when an only slightly hungover Amy Santiago opens her eyes, the dull lighting working in her favour as the effects of last night’s shots rush straight to her head. Despite the miniature hammers that seem to be tap, tap, tapping along the inside of her skull, a tiny part of her mind (the part that isn’t still trying to piece together exactly what happened last night) knows it’s a Thursday; and on Thursdays the routine is an early wakeup, followed by a seven mile run before work. She forces her eyes close for a second, cursing the efficiency of her body clock, and as her nose burrows into an unfamiliar pillow her eyes flutter open again.

She takes a deep breath as her blurry eyes take in her surroundings, recognising the exposed brick walls and proximity of the kitchen to the bedroom as the familiar trappings of Jake Peralta’s apartment. To her right she makes out the draped red fabric of a dress thrown onto an armchair - her dress, the one that she may or may not have purchased only yesterday afternoon - and as she stretches ever so slightly the sensation of cotton sheets rubbing against her skin confirms her suspicion that she is, in fact, completely naked.

There is one other detail that Amy picks up on (something so important that, once registered, does in fact outweigh all the others), and that is the proximity of said Jake Peralta’s warm arm against her skin. An arm connected to a body that, if their tangled legs are anything to go by, is just as naked as hers.

Naked, because despite both of their best intentions, stuff had definitely happened last night.

Jake’s arm feels surprisingly light as it lays stretched along the edge of her ribcage, his elbow bending faintly to bring his hand to rest on her chest. It’s an embrace that keeps their bodies close, but in no way feels possessive, and as her brain begins to catch up to the events of the night before Amy realises that not once, in their ten months together, did waking up with Teddy ever feel like this.

From his position behind her, Jake stretches - most likely a reaction to Amy’s own elongation mere seconds ago - fingertips scraping against her skin and remaining splayed across her upper chest as the bridge of his nose presses against her shoulder blade. She listens as his breathing returns to a regular rate, smiling at the feeling of his breath against her skin, and hovers her free hand ever so slightly above his.

She’s dying to touch him. To run her fingertips along the raised edges of his knuckles, the tiny bumps that can hold such power when aimed at those who dare to harm others. Circle the lopsided scar down by his thumb, the one he insisted was from an undercover gang initiation for years until Gina finally rolled her eyes and told everyone it was from her oven when he cooked her pizza once.

Trace the length of his fingers, and remember how they made her feel last night.

These were the hands that had occupied her thoughts frequently - admittedly a lot more in the past six months or so - and the reality of them pressing against her very bare skin this morning was turning out to be even better than anything Amy could have imagined.

She keeps her breath even, denying her heart the chance to race despite the memories that have begun playing in her mind. Tries not to think about all the times she’s watched these same hands cuff a criminal, or type furiously at the keyboard across from hers … run through his hair when the frustrations of the day began to be too much.

Speeding hearts wake up sleeping partners after all, and right now, Amy wants the uninhibited chance to explore.

Slowly, her fingertips skim against the soft, barely distinguishable hairs that run along his hands; movements growing bolder as Jake’s breath remains steady on her skin.

They were larger than she realised (a discovery that was not specific to just his hands), slightly calloused and entirely welcoming. She runs the pad of her fingertips against his, his fingers flexing instinctively to her touch, and with a blink Amy remembers it all.

The feel of him; the tentative brush of the outside of his hand grazing hers as they left the restaurant, remembers how right it felt when he finally took the plunge and pressed his palm against hers. The smile stretched across her face that had been ridiculously big - only one glance out of the corner of her eye had shown her that Jake’s was exactly the same - and then she was pulling him in the direction of her favourite frozen yoghurt store: a building they never got a chance to enter because suddenly, she was being pressed against a brick wall and suddenly, Jake’s lips were crushed against her own.

He towers over her in almost every way, and even now as she lay bare in his bed and carefully links their fingers together, Amy notices just how tiny her hand is compared to his - a curse of her tiny stature that she’s ignored most of her life. But with Jake, Amy realises, she’s never felt small or drowned out. With Jake, she was equal - even if she did stand a few inches shorter than him at the best of times.

Jake’s grip around her tightens, the steady breath in her ear changing rhythm as he slowly begins to wake. She feels his arms stop midway into a squeeze around her middle, frozen in place as the recognition of who they’re wrapped around begins to flood his mind, and already Amy knows that he doesn’t want to be seen as some kind of gross, regrettable one night stand that cannot keep his hands to himself the morning after. But she wants him to touch her - her suddenly fluttering heartbeat was proof of that if nothing else - needs to feel the warmth that only seems to come from being around him. And maybe (okay, definitely) they’re barreling towards that gooey can’t-get-enough-of-you stage, but there’s nobody that she’d rather be in that stage with; and so she strengthens her grip on his fingers, pulling his arms close to her body as she turns her head towards his.

His voice is gruff, but his breath feels warm against her skin. “Mmmf. Early.”

Amy nods, hoping that he can pick up her response from his position behind her. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Taking in a deep breath, she wills the ache in her head to go away. “Body clock.”

“S’okay.” The room falls silent, save for the soft breaths between them, and gently Jake’s fingers stroke a circular pattern along her chest. “How are you feeling?”

It’s a loaded question, one that Amy knows he’s chosen out of the several options she’s certain are running through his head, purely for its ability to be answered in multiple ways. And honestly, she could take his lead and give him a polite but vague answer, find a way to excuse herself and head home … get dressed for another normal day at work while they continued to dance around their feelings for each other.

But she was tired of hiding - tired of pretending to be nothing when they were clearly something. Last night had been a culmination of months of yearning - all of the furtive glances across desks and tension filled silences bubbling together into a table for two at a restaurant that really did make an excellent Kamikaze - and she’s never been one to break the rules (especially the ones that she herself had created), but sometimes you just have to let go of the responsibility and just enjoy the ride. And she didn’t regret it for a second.

Letting go of Jake’s hand, Amy turns slowly on the mattress, brow furrowing slightly as an unfamiliar lump in the mattress digs into her thigh. From beside her Jake shuffles slightly back, obviously already preparing for the worst, and before he can say anything she wriggles her body closer to his, gripping the top of the sheet as she closes the gap between them. “I’m feeling good. Pretty great, actually.”

HIs smile is so sweet in response, one hand bashfully sneaking out of the sheet to scratch the stubble on his cheek in what Amy guesses is an attempt to hide the blush creeping up his neck. Briefly, she thinks of the selfie they took last night on her phone - the same steady arm wrapped around her waist as he pulled his chest close to her back, the same smile on his face enticingly bright as he rests his chin against her shoulder. It was a great photo, even if the intended purpose of having her phone out was actually to order them an Uber, and she wonders if it’s too soon to make it his contact photo.

“Yeah?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

(Frankly, she could use some coffee … perhaps a little breakfast. A paracetamol or two wouldn’t hurt, either. But none of that held a candle to the sheer joy that was bubbling under her surface - the mixture of elation and trepidation that had joined forces to release a kaleidoscope of butterflies in her stomach the very second Jake smiled at her. So yeah, she was feeling pretty great.)

As one warm hand tentatively wraps itself around her waist again Amy moves just that little bit closer, watching as his eyes soften at her proximity. His hair is messy, poking up in various directions, and even though Amy knows it’s entirely her fault from running her fingers through it multiple times the night before, she’s itching to do it all over again. “Me, too. I mean, I did wake up to a naked Amy Santiago in my bed, so that’s naturally going to make anybody feel pretty great, but …” he laughs as her fist pushes against his chest in mock annoyance, grabbing her wrist before she can pull away and leaving a kiss against her palm. “Best reason to break a rule, ever.”

The free hand around her waist tugs her forwards, and as she feels the rush of blood hit the tip of her ears Amy leans into her partner, revelling in the still-new sensation of Jake’s lips pressed against hers, morning breath be damned.

They linger together for a moment, the lazy morning kiss of two people who are both still in a little bit of awe that this is actually happening, and the look of pure contentment on Jake’s face when Amy finally pulls away makes her heart skip just a little. He tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear - last night’s perfect blow wave long gone - and blinks a few times as though finally taking in the rest of his apartment. “Wait. Just how early is it?”

Wincing, Amy chews the bottom of her lip slightly before pulling the sheet up until only her eyes are showing. “I mean, I haven’t checked my phone yet but .. I’m pretty sure it’s about five.”

“Five? As in A.M?!”

“I told you, body clock!”

“Honestly, Santiago. You are the only person I know whose body clock would wake them up at five.”

His clear indignation was adorable (and surprisingly - a little bit sexy), and Amy drops the sheet and shuffles herself closer to Jake, just as intent on seeking his warmth as she is on fulfilling her growing urge for more. “It’s not so bad, you know …” she whispers, wrapping her left leg around his waist and pushing him towards the mattress, a silent request that Jake follows willingly. Pressing her knees down into the sheets on either side of him, Amy straddles his lower abdomen, smiling as Jake’s breath hitches obviously in his chest. “After all, being awake early means extra time for … other stuff.”

She plants her hands on his chest, grinning in satisfaction as a visible line of shivers begin to run over his skin. Jake’s hands slide over her legs, moving up to cup her butt before sliding up her waist reverently, and this time it’s her turn to tremble. Truthfully, if someone had told her three days ago that something like this would be happening so soon, she would have laughed in their faces (before immediately disappearing somewhere private to fantasise about such an impossible moment, naturally). Things were moving quickly, and she should probably feel way more exposed, resting the weight of her naked body on her partner’s waist, but his touch on her skin felt more right than anything Amy can remember.

Jake’s upper body lifts slightly off the mattress, craning his neck to meet her lips in another kiss; and she knows why it took them so long, and why they were both so hesitant to take that first leap, but oh, this feels like coming home. She grinds her hips into the new angle their bodies are making, sighing into Jake’s mouth as she feels him begin to respond, and as Amy wraps her arms around his neck Jake flips them gently, covering her body with his own as his lips press harder against hers.

“I’m a big fan of the other stuff,” he mumbles into her neck, peppering the statement with kisses and gentle nips as Amy chuckles softly, carding her fingers into the short hairs on the back of his head and holding him close. His hands roam the dips and curves of her carefully - the practised gentleness of a man who knows how easily great things can slip away from him - and with a satisfied sigh Amy closes her eyes to take it all in.

It had only taken them one night to grow from a jumble of nerves to something far greater (okay - one night, months of pining and a couple of years pretending it was all nothing), and even in the light of day, it was turning out to be better than she could have ever imagined.

It takes another few hours, lightly burnt toast in bed and a quick stop past Amy’s apartment before they’re both sitting in the respective desks, doing their absolute best to keep up the illusion that everything is exactly the same as the day before. It’s an appearance than barely lasts more than half a day - because clearly, everything has changed, and only for the better - and despite her tiny and slightly disruptive meltdown, Amy has the strongest instinct that this time she and Jake just might have managed to capture lighting in a bottle.

(And six years later, when Amy wakes up on their third wedding anniversary to the sound of her husband singing off-key to their son through the monitor on her nightstand, she cannot help but think that while that first morning together was pretty great, this one just might be her most favourite yet.)

#bit of a throwback for anniversary time!#jake x amy #ask prompts #the early days were so sweet and bubbly I could read about it forever #hope this is what you were looking for!#b99 fic #b99fic #b99 fanfic #peraltiago fanfiction #peraltiago fluff #my writing

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slytherinknowitall · 4 years

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Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 20: Celebrating You

(Click here for chapter 19!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

“Hermione, my dear, I keep telling you that you’re getting too thin! Would you like a piece of my famous cinnamon apple pie? It’s fresh out of the oven!”

The young witch smiled. Sitting at the large wooden table in the Burrow’s kitchen, the family’s famous clock ticking away in the background, she was flipping through the morning edition of the Daily Prophet as the Weasley matriarch was busily preparing breakfast for everyone. Coming back had felt like returning home – she had desperately needed some time away from all the N.E.W.T.s pressure at school, and it had been so nice to see the redheaded nonuple in its entirety again. And while she and Ron were still a bit uneasy around each other, they were at least back on speaking terms.

“No, thank you, Mrs Weasley. Personally, seven in the morning is just a bit too early for dessert!”

Hermione turned her attention back to the newspaper in front of her, but she could not seem to focus on the words written there – because the only thing busier than Mrs Weasley’s kitchen was her mind. She could not stop thinking about Professor Snape. The two of them had unarguably got close over the past few months. While he had definitely hated having her as an apprentice at first, it did not seem like that was the case anymore; or at least he did not show it any longer. She could not be sure, of course; but she had the feeling that he enjoyed being around her just as much as she enjoyed being around him.

Though she had initially felt uncertain following her talk with Ginny, she had ultimately decided that she simply could not stay away from the Potions Master. He was her safe space, her rock. Whenever she was around him, she finally felt alive again. A rush of ecstasy would travel through her entire body like wildfire every time he brushed against her or even merely called her by her first name. And so she had come to the conclusion that maybe fancying one of her teachers was not that bad, after all. She obviously knew that nothing would ever come of it, but she figured she could at least enjoy their unlikely companionship while it lasted. Still, she would probably not let her best friend know that she had chosen to disregard her advice.

However, there was one thing that was bothering her. From her apprenticeship application, Hermione knew that it was Professor Snape’s birthday in one week’s time; all possible tutors had been listed with both rank and date of birth. But what made her sad was knowing that no one, not even he himself, would care. With how self-isolated he was, she was certain that there would be no party, no birthday cards and no presents (except for one from Dumbledore, perhaps), and he was worthy so much more than that! He might be kind of a grouch and not the most pleasant teacher, but he was a brilliant man and deserved to have his life celebrated. And after the amazing gift he had sent her for her own birthday, she wanted to give him something in return.

Suddenly, she had an idea.

“Hey, Mrs Weasley?” The older woman turned around, a pan of still sizzling bacon in her hand. “Can I ask you something?”

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

If there was one place in the entire castle where you did not want to be during the winter, it was the dungeons. They were already disgustingly cold and permanently damp under normal conditions, but the colder months made them almost unbearable. And so on this particular Friday night in early January, as Severus was working in his classroom, the temperature was so low that he could see his own breath.

He was slowly walking around the room, placing a sheet of paper on each of the student desks one by one. His first class after the weekend would be the second year Slytherins and Gryffindors, and he had prepared an especially difficult surprise exam for them. He obviously knew that none of them had studied for Potions over the holidays, but he did not care – after all, there was a reason for his reputation as the meanest teacher at this school. But always one to favour his own house over those troublesome Gryffindors, he was planning on casually dropping a small hint while conducting his weekly visit of the common room the following day.

Now, one might think that Severus was simply being a very diligent teacher who liked to make sure that all of his tasks were done ahead of time – which was true. But on this specific day, his actions had an added motive as he was trying to distract himself from the fact that today was his 38th birthday.

He had never been one to attach much significance to the date that marked the anniversary of him taking his first breath. Truthfully, he could not remember the last time he had celebrated it; it had always just been a day like any other. But this year, it was different. This year, he had been loathing its arrival. Why? Well, because turning a year older merely served as yet another reminder of how messed up this attraction to his student really was. It pulled him out of a dream world in which he was not her professor, in which he was not a lot older than her and in which he still had a chance to get with her. A twenty-year age gap – how could he not feel like detestable reprobate?

Deep in thought, he startled at a sudden knock at the door.

“Professor!” Sticking her head through the open crack, Hermione immediately started to beam from ear to ear once she spotted him in the poorly lit room. “There you are! You know, after checking your office and your rooms, I almost thought you had vanished into thin air!”

Severus was completely nonplussed. “Wha-”

But before he could even get a proper word in, her head swiftly disappeared behind the door again. After about ten seconds of weird noises and sounds – and even the occasional swearing under breath – the door was pushed open to reveal a party hat wearing Hermione Granger, a lit Muggle sparkler in one hand and a relatively large gift box in the other. Taking five big steps into the room, she arrived in front of him and held out the package with both hands, almost risking setting it ablaze with her hand-held firework.

“Happy, happy birthday, sir!”

The wizard was speechless. He felt like a young pubescent boy all over again as all he could do was stare dumbfounded at this perfect woman standing across from him. After a long day of studying, this wonderful creature had made her way into the glum dungeons to congratulate him, even putting in the effort of wearing one of those ridiculous paper cones on her head. Severus did not know what he had done to deserve her. Just two minutes ago, he had hated himself and the world and had wanted nothing more than for this day to be over. But like the wind, she had swooped in and brightened his day, completely overwhelming him with emotions. The way she was looking at him, full of excitement and joy, and the beautiful colour of her rosy cheeks made his knees weak. Who knew that he would one day find happiness like this in a friend of Harry Potter?

“Come on, open it!”

Her exclamation abruptly brought him back to reality. Trying hard to ignore how inviting her plump lips were looking at that very moment, he accepted the box before replying, “Another gift, Hermione? You really should not start to make a habit of this. Otherwise, some might begin to think that you are trying to bribe your way through school.”

“Oh, stop it!” she called out, the delightful melody of her laughter filling his ears.

“But why would you get me a birthday gift? Apprentices do not have to give their tutors anything; it’s not part of the tradition.”

“I know,” said Hermione as she placed the now burned-out sparkler on the desk next to her. “But I just wanted to.”

Severus felt his heart melting. He truly did not deserve her. She was too good for him, an angel.

Opening the lid of the box with a shaky hand, he pulled out some sort of emerald-coloured piece of fabric.

“What is this?” he asked confused.

“It’s a jumper!” she said, taking the garment from him and holding it out so he could properly see it. Indeed, it was a deep green pullover made of thick wool. “I know you normally only wear black, but I thought that this shade would go well with your light complexion, and it also fits your house colours! So even if you won’t wear it on the daily, it would at least be good for Quidditch games.”

He had to admit that he was amazed by how much thought she had put into this. “Hermione, I appreciate this greatly, but you really should not have spent your money on me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart; however, I cannot accept this gift.”

“But I didn’t spend anything. I made it myself! I asked Mrs Weasley for help as I’m not really acquainted with the art of magical knitting. I didn’t tell her why I wanted to learn it, of course; but you wouldn’t believe how excited she was to pass on her secret housewife tips and tricks to me. I guess that Ginny has always been a little too much of a tomboy for her.” She let out a small snicker.

Severus experienced a warm sensation spread from his middle all the way to his fingers and toes. Not only had she remembered his birthday, but she had also taken time out of her busy day to carefully craft this sweater for him – no one had ever genuinely cared this much for him!

“Hermione.” He had to swallow as it suddenly felt as though he had a frog in his throat. “Would you perhaps like to join me in my quarters for a cup of tea? Plain, of course."

(CHAPTER 21 COMING SOON!)

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astraltrain · 4 years

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i realize i haven't talked about gorillaz hcs on here in a Fat Second so here i go. trigger warnings for uhhh abuse, trauma, suicide mention, alcohol mention, death mention, experimentation (for noodle) - this is gorillaz there's a lot. this is also SUPER LONG so i'll try and add a read more

every one of em has Trauma To The Max babey!!!! these guys have been to hell and back!!! literally in murdoc's case

cyborg could talk! she just chose not to. also murdoc realized programming her with a voice was annoying because she Looked like noodle but he couldn't make her sound exactly like her and it pissed him off. every word cyborg learned was through murdoc/2D/the book of man/various other scrap pieces of paper she found

russel n del were boyfs. fuck you

2D is the only straight member. i think this is canon actually ngl (was it ever made canon that russel n del were together?? i don't remember)

russel truly believes del was his soulmate and that he'll never find love again

every year on the anniversary of d-day 2D goes back to the place where the uncle norm's organ emporium was (which is now a greggs. i know my gorillaz lore) and just vibes for a bit

russel likes to visit graveyards and play music for the lonely spirits who don't get visitors

2D accompanied him once on one of these trips and it was wild cause 2D's like "russel russel russel are there any spirits near me" as like. all of the spirits huddle next to russel because 2D is loud and annoying. russel's like "oh yeah dee there's tons of spirits over there they really like you. why don't you sing for them" and dee's like :DD

2D is generally pretty oblivious. but. he noticed russel was really sad and missing del during phase two and wrote mr softy's balloon race to cheer him up. it was one of the nicest things russel had received in years and he cried over it for hours. what 2D Didn't know was that he'd just saved russel's life and he didn't even know it.

noodle as a ten year old didn't realize How Bad the relationship between murdoc and 2D was. obviously she'd had a really fucked up childhood so far so when murdoc would hurt 2D and 2D would laugh and play it off so as not to scare noodle, noodle was just like :DDD thinking it was all ok

it was during the time that noodle was alone in phase two after remembering her past that she was like. o h n o that was bad wasn't it

noodle met a girl in japan and lowkey fell in love with her, but they had to split so noodle could go back to kong. she wrote every planet we reach is dead for her

2D and noodle never got to properly reunite in phase three. by the time doyathing happened, 2D hadn't seen her in like seven years

murdoc is trying to be less of a terrible person now and all the other members take advantage of it. russel's like "can i get a coffee please murdoc" and murdoc goes "fuck off" but all russel has to say is "remember when you thought i'd offed myself so you replaced me with a drum machine" and murdoc's like. "how many sugars" dhdgdgdh

noodle n 2D fucking love to dance together like absolute nerds

2D is like. the awkward big brother

they are each others wingmen when picking up girls

except 2D doesn't do that as much anymore so in reality he tries to be noodle's wingman but it fails miserably because 2D Can't Do Social Interaction

the boogieman and the evangelist were murdoc's parents

all the band have really bad insomnia and nightmares so sometimes they all have sleepovers in one room and just. watch a movie and sit on their phones but they're in each other's company and that's all they need

they all have a fear of helicopters, especially noodle

russel became extremely claustrophobic after his time in north korea which was very understandable

all of them have pretty weird triggers but none of them question them. noodle starts freaking out cause 2D's eating bacon and he's like "o shit sorry i'll go to another room" they're all very respectful and it's great

the reason 2D had that bead curtain door in phase four was cause after plastic beach, he couldn't stand to be in rooms with closed doors anymore

also! more 2D angst! he didn't sing for like. a good couple years after plastic beach because Trauma Babey!! so when he had to sing again for humanz, the first time he got into the studio he just. had a complete fucking meltdown because he was so scared to sing again. eventually he managed it but he literally couldn't sing with murdoc around because he was so afraid of him

noodle sometimes does really childish stuff because obviously she had no fucking childhood and the others just let her go for it and support her if she gets embarrassed about it

noodle has killed people. lots of em. some against her will as a kid, some more recently. she has a lot of nightmares about it but unlike the rest of the band, she does Really good self care and looks after herself really well

the band sometimes go on spontaneous road trips and usually end up getting lost and taking aesthetic pictures at gas stations

noodle very rarely cries because she would have gotten into trouble for that as a kid so she bottles all her emotions up in favour of helping her family. when she started going to therapy she pretended all was well for a little while but that didn't work for very long and she completely broke down. russel was very surprised to see noodle come home that day in tears and just throw herself into his arms

noodle really likes fashion and clothes and makeup!! she likes to be Colourful and Bright

when she first arrived at kong at ten years old, she really didn't understand what was going on. none of the band spoke any japanese so she was under the impression that these people were new doctors who were going to train/test on her. she stuck to the routine she was given back in japan and was very surprised when the others didn't do the same. like small green man it's three in the afternoon why are you just up?? big bald man why are you just going to bed??? where is the tall blue man WHAT IS GOING ON

none of the band members were qualified to be parents. at all. they were all very messed up mentally and therefore noodle just kinda did what she wanted as a kid

noodle was exposed to a lot of bad shit while in kong. 2D and murdoc were not responsible at all about what they did and said around noodle so russel tried to be more responsible about that, but little noodle's just like "oh don't worry i've seen worse" and russel's like ?????

noodle was the one to rebuild cyborg out of the parts she had left from plastic beach. she did this while murdoc was in prison just to prove she could

2D has an extreme fear of cyborg, which is. obvious

noodle didn't tell 2D she was rebuilding cyborg. when he finds out he flips his shit and noodle's like. ah. maybe this was not a great idea

cyborg has now formed her own band! the rejects!

2D wears little bobby pins in his hair behind his ear which the band sometimes lowkey makes fun of him for until one day noodle asks why and he tells her it was because back on plastic beach, murdoc would sometimes be too drunk to remember to bring 2D food so he had to pick the lock and go steal some. so Yikes babey!!!!!!

writing the fall was the only thing that helped 2D cope during plastic beach. that's why there was barely any singing on it - this was HIS album, HIS voice, not murdoc's. he could do what he wanted with it. writing it was the only thing that kept him sane

noodle's the only member who hasn't tried to off herself at any point oop

they're all doing a lot better now cause they're all going to therapy yes even murdoc! yay fun happy times

russel taught noodle english and in return noodle taught him japanese. russel can now speak pretty good japanese and 2D knows like. the most basic of shit *flashbacks to the gshock interview video*

there was a while where noodle believed that literally all she was for was other people. that she was either a weapon or a guitarist and nothing more. it was only after she disappeared after phase two that she realized she could be more

she still has a scar from el mañana but she covers it up with makeup

2D and murdoc have made a pact to smoke/drink less, respectively. they also made what they called a "non suicide pact" - a pact not to off themselves, formed after 2D found murdoc shooting bullets into the ceiling in phase four

murdoc knew about the dartboard 2D had in his room that had his face on it because noodle and russel told him but he didn't really believe it until he went up into his room like "hey dents can i -" and 2D turns round and just stares at him, darts in hand fhgvhfhvf

murdoc: ....whatya doin' there dents

2D, turning back to the dartboard and throwing one straight into dartboard murdoc's eye: practicing for the real thing

hcvdhvdfhg anyway

sometimes 2D literally Cannot be around murdoc so he'll disappear for days without telling anyone cause he forgets that people worry about him oh no

murdoc says he wants to drink less alcohol cause he wants to better himself as a person but really it's because he can't drink without getting flashbacks to plastic beach

murdoc's memories of plastic beach aren't great. he was drunk out his mind most of the time so he luckily forgot a lot that comes back to haunt him in nightmares and has him waking up thinking "fuck did i really do that??" but yeah sometimes 2D just reminds him of something really awful he did and murdoc's like. a h

when ace came into gorillaz he was absolutely doing it for the paycheck. then he realized how Enormously Fucked Up these people were and was like o h n o

ace could not understand a word of 2D's english accent

ace once asked 2D why he was called that. 2D said "well my real name is stuart but murdoc calls me 2D and it stuck" and ace goes!!! that's bullshit!!! and he starts calling him stuart. he refuses to call him 2D. 2D gets so emotional over it he starts crying and ace is like "s h i t what do i do did i fuck up" but in reality dee's just glad to like. not be "2D" for once and to just be someone else

murdoc and 2D are heavily codependent on each other and it's extremely unhealthy cause obviously they're Really Bad For Each Other but. 2D's known murdoc since he was 19 and murdoc has never really left his life except for the one point before and after plastic beach. that's why when murdoc goes to prison in phase five, 2D just goes apeshit. because now 2D doesn't have the threat of murdoc constantly hanging over his head!! he's gone and 2D is free!!!! yay!!!!!!!

then he's like. o h. he's gone and i'm free. oh no

because he has no clue what to do with himself now!! his whole life revolved around murdoc and now murdoc is gone 2D's realizing "Oh No maybe our relationship WAS really unhealthy if i'm feeling this depressed now that he's gone!!!"

the now now was like. the fall part two: electric boogaloo in terms of how 2D wrote it to cope with his trauma

souk eye was like a really depressing love song

2D's lowkey a little in love with murdoc but not really in the romantic sense at all. and obviously it's not cute or reciprocated by murdoc or anything 2d.c shippers dni blease

he just. feels like murdoc's the only one who could ever love him and UGH it's so unhealthy. luckily noodle makes him go to therapy and he gets a bit better. by the time the end of phase five rolls around 2D's like >:D yeah!! i won't let you hurt me anymore murdoc!!!

then murdoc actually escapes and is rumored to be dead and the whole band just shuts down

because murdoc, like it or not (and none of them liked it), was the glue that held the band together. and fuck if it didn't fucking destroy them all a little bit, especially 2D

then murdoc showed up at their door and. 2D was the one to answer it without knowing it was murdoc. and there's noodle and also murdoc, still in his prison clothes, covered in literal shit, and the first thing he blurts out is "i listened to the album."

2D panics and slams the door in his face HCDGHGCDH

russel refuses to let murdoc inside unless he can give him one good reason to. noodle comes in through the back door and comforts her brother while he has a panic attack and murdoc's just. sitting at the door pouring his heart out to russel through the door. covered in shit. these guys need help man

eventually 2D and murdoc face each other again and oh lord. they're both crying and then murdoc apologizes and murdoc's never apologized for anything, ever, he never says he's sorry, and then they're hugging and noodle and russel are like !!!!!!!

meanwhile ace is like. can i get my paycheck. can i PLEASE get my paycheck

murdoc: here dents i got you a demon possessed yak. her name is madonna

ace, who's spent many a night listening to 2D cry and vent about murdoc and all he's done to him: surely he's not just gonna accept that and move on

russel and noodle, who know 2D far too well: oh he will. trust me he will

long story short 2D is now the proud father of a demon possessed yak named madonna

song machine is kind of like. their Big Project that they're putting together to try and bring them all closer as a family. it's kind of working but also not really. they're trying their best

they're all a good family and they have to stick together and they're messed up but they love each other!!!! that is all thank you and goodnight ladies and gentlemen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#gorillaz headcanons #thats all folks!!! this is so long cause i went off on many tangents vhbvxd #abuse tw #alcohol tw #suicide tw #trauma tw #death mention #experimentation tw #gorillaz

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formulatrash · 4 years

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south african anon back again, thanks for the info! didn't mean to sound cynical about cape town, i'm sure many factors went into the decision like you said. but there's a reason we all call it little europe lmao. i'm not super knowledgeable about motorsport in general but i was talking to a friend about this and it sucks that more or less the last period of influence our country had there was basically not our country at all but the old SA, and stuff like this could go a long way to fixing that

No it’s cool it’s a good question, I was genuinely surprised it wasn’t Johannesburg.

Here’s (some of) the interview I did where he talks about it:

Iain Banner: My background is in sports and entertainment, I was the sponsorship director for 12 years for Richmond, a luxury goods business that was previously in the tobacco industry. So I oversaw, as sponsorship director of the global activities sponsorship of the Williams team from ’94 to ’99, when we had the devastation of Ayrton Senna crashing and then the elation of Damon Hill winning I 1996 ad through that I got exposed to motor racing at a very high level, fortunately with a team that was doing very well and got to know the key players - Bernie Ecclestone, team managers, etc. and in 1995 Bernie said he was very keen for a race in South Africa and he mandated myself and Johan Rupert to see if we could get support for the race.

We wet to see the minister of sport and he loved the idea but having just come out of apartheid there were so many other priorities there was no way he could direct a very limited budget in any way towards Formula One.

Bernie asked me again in 2001 to have a look and see but by that time it had become unaffordable for the country, as far as I was concerned. It just couldn’t be done.

There were many people that spoke about Formula One and I always said look, I’ll get the contract and I’ll show you what it costs and that’s just to secure the opportunity and that’s hard currency in a soft currency market.

So I had a bit of prior involvement in motorsport but my last big push in sports was creating, building, co-founding the Laureus World Sports Awards and Laureus Sport for Good Foundation, which we started working on in 1998 and we launched in 2000. We’ve just, in Berlin ten days ago, had our twentieth anniversary of the awards but my real push there was Sport for Good, where we use sport as a tool to bring kids together and to address social issues and community. I’ve raised over €150 million since we started that and over 160 projects around the world, over 5 million children impacted - it was one of the forerunners for sport for development, which has become a very big thing.

I moved back to South Africa, after starting Laureus in London and became in various businesses and then bought the i3 and started to see the impact of electric cars and I started dabbling a bit more in the world of sport, secured to the rights to the World Triathlon Series and I partnered with an old schoolfriend of mine, Bruce Forsyth - who has a business called World Sport with logistical infrastructure and we worked on events in South Africa and Abu Dhabi and then we started talking about Formula E.

We’d heard about it, we thought it might be a good idea and so we entered the feasibility stage and that resulted in us paying what we had to pay to do a feasibility study and we started that in July last year.And we’ve moved in relative terms quite quickly, Formula E representatives including the track designer came down in September and we started working on the potential of what this might look like and I’m delighted to say we’ve made great progress with the city, with important meetings happening yesterday and on Tuesday [March 3rd] - I think 2021 is ambitious but it could be realised, potentially.

Me: I mean, Riyadh came together in three months, I’d think 2020 might be possible?

Iain Banner: If not then 2022.

Me: Why Cape Town, I thought that Johannesburg, as the capital-

IB: It’s not the capital

Me: Oh, is it not?

iB: No, it’s Pretoria.

Me: Right, well, shows what I know - so if not Johannesburg then I thought Durban had the track, which was used for A1GP whereas I’ve never heard of racing in Cape Town?

The beauty of a motor race like a Formula E race is to be visually arresting, so that you create brilliant television pictures because part of the job is to promote the place that you’re racing in. It’s not just about what happens on the day, it’s about what happens afterwards as a consequence of having the race so Cape Town makes aesthetic sense and commercial sense.

Cape Town is probably the most progressive city [in terms of emobility] and they’re discussing banning combustion vehicles or at least, petrol or diesel vehicles from sales by 2030 in favour of electric, hydrogen, etc. That’s just talk, it’s not legislature but they want to be seen as a green city and it’s very much an objective.

The why is - there’s lots of boxes that need to be ticked to justify putting on an event like this. For South Africa, it’s a very expensive exercise - but if you can promote the country, if you can promote alternative energies, if you can really get people to start thinking differently as a consequence of the race then that’s what matters.

The race will be great - but our objective is to do more than a race, we’ve called our company E-Movement for a reason, we want to have everything electric; business to consumer events, a big exhibition where people can come and see everything electric - car manufacturers, skateboards, bicycles, everything. And have an activation zone potentially on the track or within the track or in the stadium adjacent to the track.

We’ve got to bring people’s consciousness up about this alternative to traditional fossil fuel transport.

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weavingthetapestry · 5 years

Text

9th September 1543- Coronation of Mary I of Scotland

On 9th September 1543, the coronation of Mary I of Scotland took place in the Chapel Royal of Stirling Castle. An infant of barely nine months, she had been recognised as the kingdom’s next monarch at just six days old, after the premature death of her father King James V, leaving no other legitimate heirs of his body. She had been described as queen of Scotland in most official government documents since, but her official coronation was preceded by nine months of political intrigue and tension, culminating in a double-edged triumph for the faction led by her mother, Mary of Guise, and Cardinal Beaton.

The little queen had been resident in Stirling for just over a month. At the end of July 1543, her mother, the dowager queen Mary of Guise, supported by Cardinal Beaton along with the Earls of Huntly, Argyll, Lennox, Bothwell, Sutherland, Menteith, lords Erskine, Ruthven, Fleming, Crichton, Drummond, Lisle, Hume, the bishops of Moray, Orkney, Galloway, Dunblane, and several thousand others, had finally succeeded in removing her from her birthplace in the palace of Linlithgow. This was achieved in the face of opposition from the Governor of Scotland, James Hamilton, Earl of Arran. Arran was the infant queen’s 27 year old cousin and the official head of the Scottish government as regent and the next in line to the throne. As he was then pursuing a pro-English policy, and also had reason to view both the dowager queen and Cardinal Beaton as rivals, in early 1543 he had had the Cardinal arrested and forbade Mary of Guise to leave Linlithgow for the greater protection of Stirling. However, following the Cardinal’s escape and the return of the Earl of Lennox from France in 1543, the opponents of the Governor (or at least the opponents of his policy in favour of an alliance with England) gathered an army and marched on Linlithgow. After several days of stalemate and negotiation, with the army sitting outside the palace walls, Arran had been forced to climb down and allow the little queen and her mother to leave.

The sudden flitting of the queen was an even greater source of displeasure to Henry VIII of England when he heard of it, as the English king had not only wished to marry her to his son the Prince of Wales, but had also wanted the queen to be kept in England until the marriage could take place. This would have served as a useful means of keeping the Scots in check, and anyway, despite their promises, he certainly did not trust her French mother to follow through with the English marriage, much less the wily pro-French and militantly Catholic Cardinal Beaton. Linlithgow would have suited Henry better as then there was at least a chance that one of the Scottish nobles he had attempted to suborn, or even an English invasion, would have been able to abduct the young queen from the beautiful, yet low-lying and relatively unprotected lochside palace. Stirling Castle was another matter entirely: perched on its high rock with a commanding view of the surrounding country, its Renaissance embellishments had not diminished its status as a formidable fortress, the veteran of many bitter Anglo-Scottish conflicts. Nevertheless, Henry VIII could live in hope. The Treaty of Greenwich might yet be ratified to his satisfaction, and the Scottish nobles who favoured alliance with the English king, whether for political or religious reasons, had managed to bring the Governor Arran round to his point of view, which lent their policy official authority.

(An engraving of the Earl of Arran in his later years, and probably his most famous picture, which tends to obscure the age he was when he became Regent. Not my picture)

But any plan which rested on the consistent cooperation of the chronically indecisive Governor Arran could hardly be called secure. The Governor was already under pressure from his half-brother John Hamilton, Abbot of Paisley, an ardent Catholic who had recently returned from abroad and set about putting the fear of god into his pliable younger sibling over Arran’s recent support of Protestantism. Meanwhile the mood of the country was also shifting, and the English alliance was becoming increasingly unpopular, not least due to the disturbing effects of religious unrest in Scotland and Henry VIII’s not so thinly veiled intimidation tactics. Arran’s allies soon had reason to become wary of his behaviour and watched his movements closely. On 1st September 1543, the English Ambassador Sir Ralph Sadler wrote to his king and said of the Governor that, “he abides not long in one mind, and Sir George Douglas tells me that he much fears the Governor’s revolt, now that things grow to extremity, and that there is a great likelihood that this division will not be ended nor exterminated but by the sword. The Governor is so afraid, of so weak spirit, and faint hearted, that (...) he fears he will never abide the extremity of it, but will rather slip from them and beastly put himself into the hands of his enemies, to his own utter confusion.”

The Earl of Arran’s anxiety was perhaps understandable. He might have feared for his position as governor if the Stirling lords decided to choose a different governor at the coronation, as the event could serve as a major political coup for Cardinal Beaton and the dowager queen. Or perhaps it was the presence of the Earl of Lennox at Stirling which disturbed Arran as Lennox had a rival claim to be next in line to the throne. Perhaps, indeed, as Marcus Merriman argues, Arran was acting with uncharacteristic farsightedness, seeing that the collapse of the English marriage was inevitable almost immediately after the queen’s removal to Stirling, and yet delaying his defection long enough to put off English invasion until the harvest had been brought in and the best time for campaigning had passed. Although Arran ratified the Treaty of Greenwich which promised Queen Mary’s hand to Henry VIII’s son on 25th August 1543, this was to be the high watermark of his active support for the English alliance. Despite the English king’s last-ditch offer of a marriage between his daughter, Princess Elizabeth, and Arran’s son, and despite the careful watch set by his former allies and the blandishments of his own wife Margaret Douglas, Arran changed sides in the first week of September. On Monday 3rd September, he slipped away to Blackness Castle on the Forth, claiming that his wife was in labour there. But the next morning Arran departed from the castle again, leaving Margaret weeping tears of rage at his inconstancy, and he soon covered the ten miles or so to Lord Livingston’s residence at Callendar House, on the edge of Falkirk. There he met with the wily Cardinal Beaton and the Earl of Moray (the infant queen’s uncle), and after long discussion accompanied them back to Stirling that night.

(An eighteenth century copy of a portrait of David Beaton, Archbishop of St Andrews and Cardinal. Not my picture)

With the Governor’s ‘revolt’ accomplished, there was much to be discussed between Arran and his new, if not exactly beloved, allies. Arrangements had to be made for the secure keeping of the queen’s person during her time at Stirling, and also for the bairn’s coronation which was set for the coming Sunday, the 9th of September. Letters were sent to those recalcitrant Scottish nobles who- whether for reasons of religion, sound policy, or personal gain- had favoured the English marriage, asking them to attend the coronation. And there was spiritual work to be done as well: the lords at Stirling having agreed that Arran was “accurst” , it was determined that he should do penance for his previous flirtation with Protestantism. This was performed on Saturday the 8th of September in Stirling Greyfriars, when the earls of Bothwell and Argyll held the ‘towel’ over the humbled Governor’s head as the Cardinal and other bishops solemnly absolved him of his sin.

The coronation was due to take place early the next day, and the inner close of Stirling Castle must have been a hub of activity that September morning. The Chapel Royal, in which the event was to be held, stood on the north side of the close, forming a quadrangle with the King’s Old Buildings to the west, the magnificent Great Hall constructed by James IV to the east, and the mint-new royal palace (begun by Queen Mary’s father James V and to be completed by her mother over the next few years) standing to the south. The Chapel itself stood a little to the south of the current chapel (built by Mary’s son James VI in 1594) which now occupies the spot. It had been founded by James IV in 1501 and would witness several royal christenings and other notable events over the course of its short history. Perhaps most poignantly, it had also been the site of the coronation of Mary’s father James V, almost thirty years earlier in September 1513. This was the so-called ‘Mourning Coronation’ and the king on that occasion had also been little more than an infant. Had anyone called to mind this other coronation thirty years later, they might also have realised that the 9th of September 1543 was itself a significant date, being the thirtieth anniversary of the disastrous Battle of Flodden. This battle had caused the death of the new queen’s grandfather King James IV (also the Earl of Moray’s father and Huntly’s grandfather), her uncle Alexander Stewart who was one of Cardinal Beaton’s predecessors as Archbishop of St Andrews, the grandfathers of the earls of Lennox and Argyll, the father of the Earl of Bothwell, and countless other Scots of all classes. If anyone noticed this singularly inauspicious date however, it does not seem that it was allowed to throw a sombre shadow over proceedings.

(The only view I could find of most of the Inner Close of Stirling Castle- James V’s palace is to the right, James IV’s Great Hall in the centre, and on the left can be seen parts of the current Chapel Royal, built in 1594 by Mary’s son James VI almost on the same site as the Chapel Royal where she was crowned. Not my picture.)

Not much is known about the details of the coronation itself, which took place around ten o’clock in the morning, once the assembled lords and ladies had filed into the Chapel Royal. The Treasurer’s Accounts are unusually silent about the occasion, though it was probably carried out with as much propriety and careful observance of etiquette as was possible given the circumstances. We do know that Cardinal Beaton presided over the ceremony, and that the Earl of Arran bore the Crown, the Earl of Lennox the sceptre, and the Earl of Argyll the sword. These precious royal items- now known as the Honours of Scotland and still to be seen in Edinburgh Castle- each had their own story. The sceptre and sword had been gifted to King James IV by two separate popes, while the crown was of dubious but likely ancient origin (give or take a few meltings) possibly stretching back to the days of Robert Bruce, and it had been refashioned as recently as 1540 on the orders of Mary’s father. A heavy crown for a bairn, it was probably held above her head. There is a tradition that the infant queen cried all through the ceremony but otherwise the coronation went off without a hitch.

In terms of coronation festivities, it must be said that even when taking into account the natural bias of the English ambassador, and the fact that he was not at the coronation himself (being unable to stray far from his house in Edinburgh without fear of the mob), it is hard to disagree with his assertion that Queen Mary was crowned, “with such solemnity as they do use in this country, which is not very costly”. There were to be no ceremonial entries, no elaborate pageantry such as had been planned for the coronations of James V’s consorts in the 1530s. As with most other recent Scottish coronations, which had a funny little knack of coming at the worst possible moment to kings who had hardly reached knee height, simple dignity was probably the order of the day. The late-sixteenth century writer Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie does state that the guests retired after the coronation and occupied themselves in dancing and merry-making however, so possibly there was more cheer than the records indicate.

There was also no escaping from the harsh reality of the political situation. This coronation had been a political triumph for Cardinal Beaton and Mary of Guise and their supporters, but there were notable absences, not least the Earls of Glencairn, Cassilis and Angus, Lord Maxwell and the other lords still considered to be of the ‘English’ party. And there would have to be a reckoning with the king of England as well, especially after the Treaty of Greenwich was finally overturned by the Scottish parliament in December 1543. The events of 1543 would lead to the devastating period of Anglo-Scottish warfare which is nicknamed ‘the Rough Wooing’, and as a result of this, within five years of her coronation, the Queen of Scots was sent away from her kingdom to the safety of France. She would not return for thirteen years.

(Mary I in childhood, as painted by Clouet. Not my picture)

Selected references:

Acts of the Parliaments of Scotland

“Acts of the lords of council in public affairs, 1501-1554: Selections from the Acta dominorum concilii”, ed. R.K. Hannay

“Scottish Correspondence of Mary of Lorraine”, ed. Annie Dunlop

“Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic of the Reign of Henry VIII”, Volumes 17 and 18, ed. James Gairdner and R. H Brodie.

“The Hamilton Papers”, Vol. II, ed. Joseph Bain

The various histories of John Leslie, George Buchanan, Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie and John Knox- all of which can be found online but as only Lindsay was really useful, forgive me for not citing them properly here

“Mary of Guise”, by Rosalind Marshall

“Mary Queen of Scots”, by Antonia Fraser

“The Rough Wooing”, by Marcus Merriman

“Glory and Honour”, by Andrea Thomas

“Life of Mary Queen of Scots”, by Agnes Strickland (I hate admitting it but I do have to credit her)

And others

#Scottish history #Mary Queen Of Scots #Scotland #British history #women in history #sixteenth century #Mary of Guise #Cardinal Beaton #Regent Arran #Henry VIII of England #stirling castle #Linlithgow Palace #Blackness Castle #Callendar House #the Stewarts #coronation #today in history

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blancheludis · 5 years

Link

A/N: @iron-man-bingo square: Hanahaki Disease

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Relationship: Tony Stark / Steve Rogers / Bucky Barnes Words: 8.332 Tags: Unrequited Love, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Sick Tony, Angst, Happy Ending

Summary: A whole bouquet worth of flowers ends up on their bed the night of the wedding, the colours almost sombre. “Well,” Steve says and stops unbuttoning his shirt, “I guess we married for nothing.”

- Tony is dying from unrequited love for Captain America, who is first a dead hero and then a very alive one just as disinterested in Tony as Howard had always promised.

---

A whole bouquet worth of flowers ends up on their bed the night of the wedding, the colours almost sombre.

“Well,” Steve says and stops unbuttoning his shirt, “I guess we married for nothing.”

He leaves the room, careful not to touch any of the petals, not looking back when Tony’s breathing becomes laboured.

There is nothing he could do anyway. Love cannot be forced, not even for a dying man.

---

Tony is a special case. Once he is old enough to realize that, it does not even surprise him anymore. Starks are always held to a different standard.

His mother takes him to a doctor when he develops breathing problems at just five years old. The inhaler does not help but being away from Howard does.

He is eight the first time he coughs up a flower. It is the day he finally begins believing his father when he says that someone as brilliant as Captain America could never love someone as pathetic as Tony.

Tony knows what is happening, but he is not yet cynical enough to laugh about it. Instead, he locks himself into his room and cries, cradling the perfect blue forget-me-not.

People have always been saying he is special. He just did not think that would mean he would die from unrequited love for a dead man.

---

Tony turns ten and physicians call him a miracle. He turns twelve and fifteen and eighteen, and people call him an abomination.

His lungs do not get progressively worse. Some days he can barely breathe, choking up flowers of every colour. Some days his throat barely scratches.

Once he moves out of the mansion, Tony almost feels like a normal boy, not meant to wither before he has managed to grow roots. It is the little things that throw him back; nightmares or anniversaries or articles about World War II. Sometimes the American flag is enough to steal the air from his lungs.

He does not make sense. His chest is growing ever tighter, but he fights it. He gives up just as often but this disease has never been about what he wants.

Tony has always been Death’s favoured child. It is life that does not seem to know what to do with him.

---

The day they find Captain America in the ice, the air has never tasted sweeter. Tony feels like soaring, only marginally worrying about the crash. His heart beats strongly, pushing enough oxygen through his veins that he has the energy to smile, to hope.

The next morning, he reads an article in the newspaper, showing a picture of Howard and the Captain shaking hands. Howard is staring directly at the camera. His smile is happy enough, but his eyes seem to look at Tony alone, holding the familiar disdain.

This is not for you, he seems to say, and while Tony’s brain fights that thought, his lungs feel already on the verge of collapsing.

If only Tony could have gotten there before Howard. If only he could have managed to make his own first impression. Howard likes to say that Tony ruins everything he touches. This time, it seems, he will not even be allowed to touch.

Well, he is equally good at ruining himself. And it would be a shame for all that practice to go to waste.

---

“That is one hell of a favour, Howard.”

Tony does not mean to eavesdrop, but Captain America is in their house, and the physical need to catch a glimpse or at least to hear his voice is overwhelming. He has been wheezing all evening, unable to get enough air into his lungs. He is so used to the lack of oxygen that it is the easiest thing in the world to hold his breath as he lingers outside his father’s office.

“I know, and I wouldn’t ask if –” That is Howard. Tony would know his voice anywhere, if not this tone. It holds the usual annoyance it does when it comes to discussing Tony, but it is also so much gentler than Tony has ever heard it.

“He’s your son, I know.” Captain America sighs. Nothing good has ever come of people reminding Howard that he is related to Tony.

“It’s more of a hero worship thing anyway,” Howard scoffs, as if it is nothing. “This has been going on forever. But it’s getting worse lately.”

Captain America hums, and Tony wishes he could see his face, just to know how bad the contempt is. “Since you found me.”

Tony thinks of finding out that Captain America has been found alongside the rest of the public, although his father must have known. He thinks of all the mornings spent wheezing and clawing at his chest, and that he cannot get to the second floor of the mansion without taking a break halfway up.

It is getting worse, indeed. Even now, he feels his insides congealing and spreading roots locking his diaphragm in place.

“He is the reason I never stopped looking,” Howard says, revealing the only reason he suffered Tony’s antics at all. “It meant you couldn’t be dead, yes?”

A long moment of silence follows, in which Tony wants nothing more than to sneak forward and catch a glance. He does not know exactly what favour Howard is asking for, but it cannot be good, it never is when it involves Tony.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Captain America finally says but sounds like a man sent to his execution.

It is funny, how Tony’s lungs react to that as if someone has reached out to strangle him. All his sneaking around will not save him if he gets into a coughing fit right now, so Tony turns around to hurry back to his room, both satisfied to have at least heard the man he somehow loves, but utterly dejected that everything is already in ruins.

“Don’t force anything,” Howard says right before Tony is out of earshot. “He’s an entitled brat, he’ll have to get over it.”

He has tried so very hard. That has only ever made everything worse.

Steve does come to see him the next day, his face hard and his shoulders tense. It is obvious he is only here as a favour for Howard, and as much as Tony is thrilled to actually meet Captain America, he does not like pity. He might be dying, but he is not a charity case.

It is no surprise then that he ruins his own chances, whatever little there had been.

The first thing he tells Steve is, “My, those World War II posters did not exaggerate your shoulders-to-waist ratio.”

That just speeds up their never coming together.

Death is what they make their money with. They put weapons into people’s hands and they complain about the way the earth gets stained red. There is always a bigger stick to be had, though, and they have a knack for building that.

Tony is not afraid of dying. Death has always been a part of his life. He is afraid of dying alone, although that is what he has always known. Mostly, he is afraid of waiting for it.

It has been almost a decade since he has couched up his first petal, and he has long since given up on collecting them. He could have filled his room ten times over with that collection of tangible grief.

He has once laid out Captain America’s shield, life-sized and blood-specked. At the sight of it, he could not help but laugh. Long enough and hard enough that he could almost convince himself he was choking on laughter instead of love.

---

Half a year into their ill-advised marriage, Howard does Tony the favour of getting himself killed. There is some poetic justice to the fact that Tony outlives him after all, despite having been declared all but dead by Howard the moment he was diagnosed.

This way, he can stand next to his father’s grave and enjoy the way the air flows freely into his lungs. Tony has not contributed a single petal to the dozens of bouquets brought in Howard’s honour.

Less satisfying is the actual grief on Steve’s face, who is at the very front of the men volunteering to carry Howard’s body to its last resting place. That red-eyed expression holds more love than Steve ever showed for Tony. He can only imagine how different his own funeral will be.

It does not matter. He has outrun fate for so long already, he does not mind it coming ever closer anymore. For now, life has become so much sweeter.

“You really are heartless,” Steve hisses to him later, when the guests are gone and Tony is ready to fall into bed for the rewarding sleep of the fatherless.

“If I didn’t have a heart, I’d have so many less problems,” Tony replies lightly, looking his husband up and down to make it clear what he means. “So I’m all for getting rid of it.”

For a moment, Steve looks ready to help him with that. And he could. Those hands would be able to pry Tony’s ribcage open. He is already turning the inside of his chest into a wasteland. It is all just taking too long.

“You disgust me,” Steve says, facing him square-shouldered and unmoveable.

“I know.” That has been obvious from the very beginning.

With a shrug, Tony turns away. He has more important things to do. He now has one father-shaped problem less. At the same time, however, he gains a new one: the Winter Soldier.

He is sure that is going to blow up in his face.

---

“I found your friend,” Tony blurts out one night.

He is on his way down to the workshop and has not seen Steve in over a week. Tony makes it easy to avoid each other, which is in both their interest.

“What?” Steve grunts, not happy with being stopped in the hallway. Living together is only bearable when they pretend there is no one else in the house. “Who?”

Immediately, Tony curses himself. This is not something he actually wants to get into with Steve. It is not exactly his secret to keep, but things are easier when they do not talk.

“Barnes?” he asks more than tells. “Well, he’s calling himself the Asset these days. You know, the guy who tried to kill you?”

Steve is on him without warning, cutting off Tony’s babbling with an angry arm against Tony’s throat. “What did you do?”

Tony barely even flinches. This is the closes he has been to Steve since the wedding ceremony. He hates himself for it, but it feels good, like coming home, even with Steve’s anger pushing all the air out of his lungs.

“Careful with the throat, husband,” Tony says. Sometimes it seems like sarcasm is the only weapon he has left against the world, and even that is quickly fading, since his voice is giving out. “Didn’t anyone tell you I have breathing problems even without you threatening to beat me up?”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” Steve snarls, coming even closer.

“Funny, neither am I.” Black spots appear in Tony’s vision, but he has fought past that before. He goes limp in Steve’s hold, signals defeat, because he is going to end up being beaten down anyway. If not by Steve, then by his own body betraying him. “Barnes is in a secure facility. He was wounded. And I’m vetting psychiatrists to help him.”

This is obviously not what Steve expected him to say. In his surprise, he backs up a bit, enough to release the pressure on Tony’s windpipe. Breathing does not get any easier.

“Why would you do that?” Steve asks, staring down at Tony as if he is the reason for everything bad in his life.

Tony smirks. He knows that look and latches onto it with all he has. It is better than that wounded expression in Steve’s eyes, that fragile hope that has never been for Tony. Never will be either.

“Because, in my all-encompassing love for you,” he shows his teeth, mocking himself, “I can’t stand the thought of you withering away once I’m dead, so I thought I’d give you your best friend back.”

That is enough to destroy whatever goodwill Steve might have momentarily had for Tony, for he leans down, hand hovering threateningly over Tony’s throat again.

“If you’ve harmed a single hair on his head –”

Tony has heard so many variants of what comes after the pregnant pause that he chokes out a laugh. He is unbelievably glad when no petals come up with it.

“My, you don’t sound grateful,” Tony says with fake cheer. His voice is too high to pretend that he is not half-suffocating.

“Where is he?” Steve asks, his breath warm on Tony’s skin. It flows so freely, making Tony stare in wonder.

“I’ll send you the coordinates,” he promises quietly. As much as Tony yearns for Steve’s presence, being this close to him is unbearable. “Pack something warm, honey.”

---

In the early days after being diagnosed, Tony was interested in the science of all this. How can he be dying from something inevitable? A dead man cannot love him back. It does not make sense.

And yet.

He should be dead ten times over by now. Unwanted, unloved, never good enough.

And yet.

He wants to be dead, too. Dead people do not need to breathe. He has practiced that for most of his life already.

And yet.

---

For a ghost, Barnes looks good. He has long washed off any visible traces of having been in HYDRA’s care. His hair is cut, his clothes are neat, his arm is repaired. The terror still sits deep in his eyes, but time will deal with that.

“Who’re you?” Barnes asks when Tony strolls into the room.

He sounds curious more than defensive, and Tony revels in the anonymity.

“Tony,” he says shortly, waiting for recognition that never comes. Perhaps Steve has not told his best friend about his pathetic excuse of a husband. “I helped working on BARF.”

That is the simplest explanation he can give without saying that he pulled Barnes away from HYDRA and then stayed up day and night to create something that could deal with both their nightmares, imagined and real.

“So you’re here to collect some data?” Barnes shifts uncomfortably but makes no move to stop Tony when he sits down on the couch, a good few feet away.

“No.” Tony shrugs. The data he needs is not something he can measure. It has more to do with how much Steve loves this man, enough to be almost civil to Tony, even though he can usually not stand to even look at him. “I can see that it worked. I wanted to ask if you need anything.”

Barnes’ face darkens. Somehow, Tony has managed to upset him within moments of meeting him. That truly is a specialty of his.

“People are asking me that all day.”

Tony shrugs, pretending that it does not become hard to breathe already. “Must be because you look so lost all the time.” He knows a bit about that, but he is not here to bond with Barnes, even if that were possible. Steve would never forgive him.

“Do you –”

Three things happen simultaneously. Barnes’ face grows soft and guarded at the same time. Tony’s windpipe fills up with dread and flowers. Then steps grow loud and Steve comes into view, his expression pinched and ready to start shouting.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, sidling up to Barnes, ready to jump in front of him.

What do they think? That Tony would go to all this trouble only to harm Barnes right in front of Steve? People say he is petty, but all Tony has ever been trying to do is to survive. Hurting others on purpose has never helped with that.

“Hello to you too, darling,” Tony greets with burning sweetness. “I was just having a chat with our guest.”

He leans back in his seat, making it look like insolence instead of a means to hide his trembling muscles. Steve’s hate is always making him so weak.

“How about you stay away from him?” Steve snarls. Tony would not be surprised if Steve reached out to throw him bodily out of the room.

Ironically, it is Barnes who saves him. He reaches up to lay his hand on Steve’s arm. That touch works like a miracle. “Steve, what is going on?”

When they look at each other, Tony barely recognizes Steve. He has never seen his face so open, vulnerable, loving. If he would look at Tony like that even one time, Tony is sure he would be cured. At the very least, he would die a happy man.

“Stark has a habit of ruining everything he touches,” Steve explains in a dismissive tone, reducing Tony to nothing more than his failures – not that there is much more to show anyway.

Barnes frowns and glances at Tony briefly. “I heard he found me and brought me back.”

That sounds close enough to someone standing up for Tony that he misses his chance to speak up.

“And I’m still trying to find out why,” Steve says, ruining whatever first impression Tony might have made with Barnes.

Tony’s anger is a living thing, much like the grief growing in his lungs. He does not attempt to hold it back when it roars.

“Is that how you won the war?” Tony asks, voice cutting. “By suspecting everyone is the enemy and simply punching anything that moved?” Sometimes all the derision he has for himself can be channelled against whoever is in his way. It does not help making him feel better, but he does not need any more scars either.

Getting to his feet in as smooth a motion as he manages with how weak his legs are, Tony adds, “I don’t mean Barnes any harm. Otherwise I would have hardly gone to all this effort.”

It is simple logic, but Steve is naturally immune to that. “You’re desperate,” he spits out, almost causing Tony to laugh.

Desperation is for those who still have hopes to be stripped away from them.

“Why? Because I’m dying?” Tony questions gently. He is not quite sure how he remains steady on his feet while being numb all over. “I’ve known that for over two decades. I’m just waiting for my lungs to hurry up and give out.” Oh, how long he has waited.

Turning, Tony fixes his eyes on the door. He will leave. He does not know where he will go, but it does not matter. There is no such thing as a right place to die in.

“Who are you?” Barnes’ voice stops him just before he can escape the scene.

“Tony Stark. Sorry for omitting the last name.” Just about everyone would be happier if he had a different one. If he were a different person or simply no one at all.

Barnes clears his throat, clearly aware of the minefield he is navigating. “I mean, who are you to each other?”

Steve opens his mouth, but Tony cannot bear to listen to him.

“Captain Spangles and I? Nothing,” he hurries to say. “We’re married, but Howard did that most likely so Steve could inherit.” Tony straightens. He has always met his fate with his head unbowed. “Smile. Once I’m gone the two of you will be dizzyingly rich.”

Sooner rather than later now. Then again, Tony has been hoping so for years.

Once he is in the privacy of his own room, Tony coughs up enough flowers to drown himself in them. He buries his face in them, smells their sweetness, and wishes he could disappear.

---

For all that they can go weeks without seeing each other, Steve on a warpath always finds Tony. There is no hiding from Steve’s temper. It is almost as if they are connected after all, pulled together but only when emotions are running high.

Tony has his own alarm system, though, and for once he does not mean JARVIS. A whole minute before the door to his study is thrown open, Tony’s throat constricts and he knows he will not get any more work done this evening.

The knee-jerk reaction of Tony’s body to Steve’s presence is immediate and terrifying. As soon as Steve fills out the doorway, Tony’s spine straightens and he leans forward, as if one inch less of physical distance will actually bring them closer together. Tony’s head might be yelling at him to call it quits, to leave and try to save of himself what he can, but his life has not actually been dictated by his head for a very long time.

Even with fury filling his eyes, Steve looks glorious. Lately, Tony has been looking more again, because Steve’s qualities are only enhanced with Barnes there to balance them out. The more often he shows himself, the more time he spends coughing up his lungs piece by piece. He used to be better at secluding himself, but something about Steve and Barnes together makes it impossible to stay away.

“What are you even still doing here?” Steve spats after glaring at Tony for long seconds.

Tony wonders what prompted this – and, a bitter voice in his head adds, whether Steve means what he is still doing here in the house or why he is still alive. Tony only has an answer to one of these questions.

“This is still my home, darling. I’m not yet dead,” Tony answers. He would be proud of how calm his voice is, if it were not due to the sudden dryness of his mouth, courtesy of the mounting pressure inside his chest.

Steve takes a step forward but then thinks better of it, as if Tony is contagious, and remains hovering in front of the only exit of the room. “You have other houses.”

Tony’s lips pull up into something that wants to be a smirk, but he is too exhausted for it. “And I like the view from this one.”

He likes the view inside it much more, but he does not say that. The fastest way to stop his lungs from cooperating at all, is to make Steve even angrier at him. Funny, how that works.

“We don’t want you here,” Steve argues stubbornly, as if want has ever made anything right. Tony is the walking definition of want gone awry.

“First off, you should stop talking for Barnes as if he doesn’t have a voice of his own. HYDRA did that long enough,” Tony says, although defending Barnes should not be at the top of his priorities. He knows what it is like to not be able to make decisions for himself. ��And second, you agreed to living with me in the marriage contract you made with Howard. That means here, in one house. Deal with it.”

Right in front of him, Steve becomes livid. His hands curl into fists that Tony imagines he can already feel sinking into his flesh. It might be nice to feel some pain that does not generate from the disease growing inside his chest, to blame his misery on something not of his own making for once.

“Stay away from Bucky,” Steve orders, the words coming out flat and threatening.

“Perhaps you should tell your buddy to stay away from me,” Tony says, somehow managing to make his tone mocking, despite being almost out of air. “I’m hardly in running shape.”

“I mean it,” Steve says darkly, taking that step forward now as if he needs to loom over Tony to prove his superiority. “Leave us alone.”

Tony smiles, feels the skin stretching over his bones. “Patience is a virtue, Captain, and it’s not going to be that much longer.”

Without missing a beat, Steve says, “You’ve been promising that for a while now.”

Tony cannot help but flinch. As much as he has been waiting for release for years now, it hits much harder to hear the man he somehow loves wish him dead. “Get out.”

“You have to –”

The pressure inside Tony’s chest becomes unbearable, but he does not want to break down in front of Steve, does not want to cough out the proof of his unmet desire for Steve to see. Eyes watering, he bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste is familiar enough to ground him a bit.

“Get. Out,” he snarls. Maybe it is the ferocity in his choked voice or the blood staining his lips, but Steve turns around and leaves.

He does not have the courtesy to close the door behind him, allowing everyone passing by a perfect view of Tony dissolving into a wheezing bundle of pain.

Death should definitely hurry up, Tony decides as he lies on the floor of his study, a sea of petals around him, because this life is not one he cares to have anymore.

---

Barnes has been sitting in Tony’s workshop for hours now. Allowing him in might not be the best idea Tony ever had – his ears are already ringing from simply imagining Steve’s shouting about it – but there was no way he could turn Barnes away when he came down here, shoulders slumped and exhaustion radiating off him in waves.

Tony can immerse himself in his work easily enough to ignore someone else’s presence, but that it is Barnes of all people is just as unnerving as the fact that his throat is already scratching with the threat of coughing, even though Steve is nowhere in sight.

“You built my arm, yes?” Barnes asks after what could have been hours of simply watching in wonder – or judgement. Tony is not sure which.

Tony nods and wipes sweat from his forehead, using the motion to rub at his sternum, willing the building pressure away. “Your old one was shit.”

“That’s not –” A frown flickers over Barnes’ face. “Why?”

This is a loaded question, and Tony is not getting into that with Barnes. “Building is about the only thing I’m good at. So why wouldn’t I?” he asks flippantly, hoping to deflect.

The frown is back, harder now. “You don’t like me.”

“Wrong,” Tony says but allows himself a small smile. “I don’t know you enough to like or dislike you. Steve loves you, though. He usually has a good instinct where it comes to people.”

With some serious exceptions, of course. Howard is not a good person, no matter who says it. He might have been once, but something turned him into a mess. Perhaps that is Tony’s fault too. He is so good at that.

“And yet he doesn’t seem to like you,” Barnes says, sounding contemplative.

“Your point being?” Tony asks, turning away to hide the irritation on his face. He does not need to be reminded of that. “Anyway, does Steve know you’re here?”

To Tony’s utter surprise, Barnes’ answer is prompt and firm. “No.” It almost sounds like he is running from something too.

When Tony looks at his expression, though, it does not betray anything.

“Don’t mind me denying all responsibility for your coming here,” he says slowly, hoping to not offend. “I might be tired of living, but I don’t want to go out being crushed by a supersoldier.”

Instead of reacting with a smile or simply more of that blank expression, Barnes looks unhappy, staring at Tony like he wants to decipher him but does not know where to start.

“You love him.”

Laughter bursts over Tony’s lips, scratching as much on the way up as the flowers do that he coughs up so regularly.

“I guess so,” Tony says, mouth stretching into a dead man’s grin. “I mean, otherwise that whole suffocating from unrequited love thing would be even more ironic.”

Barnes does not say anything to that, although he looks like he wants to. Then he lowers his head and stares at the metal fingers curled in his lap.

“Do you mind if I stay for a bit?” he asks an eternity later, sounding small.

Tony knows all about sanctuaries, about safe places to hide away in. He cannot begin to explain why Barnes would choose this, meaning he has to put up with Tony’s presence, but he would not deny it to him. “Knock yourself out.”

For the entirety of the time that Barnes spends down in the workshop with him after that, Tony does not have trouble breathing even once.

---

Tony finds them making out in his living room. He does not need to see Steve’s face to recognize the shape of his back, and Bucky’s arm stands out darkly against Steve’s bare skin.

The thing is, Tony thinks first about hygiene and the poor staff that might be stumbling over the sight, before he realizes his husband is cheating on him right in front of his eyes. It is not unsurprising, nor does it hurt him worse than a thousand other things Steve has done ever since they married. The shock slams into him with unforeseen strength, though. Where he has just been breathing, his lungs are now filled with the scratching stuffiness of a sea of flowers.

The practical part of Tony’s brain finds the reaction a little exaggerated but the rest of him is rendered helpless, unable to turn his stare away from the two men moving in perfect synchrony. They compliment each other so well, it belies all of Tony’s little fantasies about being a good counterpart to Steve.

The scene before him makes him obsolete. Neither of them needs him. Nobody does in the whole wide world. Anthony Edward Stark, heir to the greatest weapons manufacturing company in the world, genius in his own right – and nobody will even notice once he is gone.

“Wanna join?” Bucky’s voice washes like dark velvet over Tony’s skin. His gaze is on Tony with a relaxed leisure of a predator already satiated.

Tony is not a danger to them. Still, when Steve looks up, there is a hunger in his eyes that has Tony shivering. If only Steve would look at him like that once. He does not, though. But his scowl does not look very intimidating in his current state, naked and utterly at home.

“Don’t tempt him,” he says, his sneer just a necessity instead of something actually felt. “Stark doesn’t have any shame.”

And Tony has not. He would give one of his limbs, perhaps all of them, if he could slip between these two men and have them hold him like they mean it.

“As far as I remember, you don’t have either,” Bucky purrs, speaking to Steve but never taking his eyes off Tony. “I’m sure you have enough energy for both of us.”

“The though alone works better than a cold shower.”

It is banter between lovers. For once, Tony is sure Steve does not aim to hurt. It still does, of course, but Tony is used to that. What is new is the longing shooting through him, not only at the thought of Steve, but at watching Bucky sprawl out right next to him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says hastily and turns around to run.

In his back he hears the rumbling voice of Steve and Bucky’s resounding laughter. It stays with him for days.

---

The first time Bucky kisses Tony, it knocks the air out of his lungs in an entirely pleasant way. Breathlessness has always been tinged with fear or panic before. Now, however, it tastes distinctly of hope – not to be cured, Tony is not as naïve as that, but perhaps to die not completely unloved.

“What was that?” Tony asks when they separate, trying not to sound ungrateful but needing to know.

“You –”

Steve bursts in, showing that Tony might not be the only one with a talent for bad timing. He stops short in the doorway, looking suspiciously at how close Tony and Bucky are standing.

“What is going on?” he asks,

This time, Bucky does not hesitate to answer. “Nothing.”

It is not nothing that Tony coughs up that night.

---

The first time Steve kisses Tony, they are being watched.

“This is just an experiment,” Steve growls, looking like he would prefer being anywhere but here.

His lips are hard and unforgiving when he presses them on Tony’s, but Tony melts into the touch nonetheless. They have not even kissed at the wedding, since Steve was too busy getting out of there as soon as the priest had stopped talking.

Tony feels something move inside his chest, and while he is used to all kinds of pains and pressures, he cannot be sure what it means.

“And?” Bucky asks when they part.

Steve’s expression says more than words. He wipes his mouth and hastily takes a step back. “Nothing.”

This has become the ultimate answer between the three of them. Still, Bucky does not react how Tony would have expected, does not turn away and take Steve with him, considering this particular matter dealt with. Instead, he looks at Tony, waiting for an answer from him.

“I don’t –” Tony starts, stumbling over the words because he cannot get his mind to stop racing. “It doesn’t react to touch alone.”

It is easier to hold onto scientific facts than to make sense of feelings. Although Tony has always been an anomaly

“I told you so,” Steve says shortly and finally turns to go. Bucky lingers as if to make sure that Tony will be all right, but leaves when Tony shakes his head.

Then they are gone and Tony allows himself to try to take a deep breath. The air catches the way he is used to but – no buts. Everything is the same. Thinking anything else would be foolish, just because he does not lie on the ground, coughing his lungs up at this newest development. That will come again soon enough.

---

Sometimes, Steve scares Tony just by being able to sneak up on him. It is not normally a problem, considering they do their best to stay out of each other’s way, but it also makes it impossible for Tony to know when Steve is coming for him.

(Sometimes, Steve does not have to do anything to scare Tony. His mere existence is enough to strike an unearthly fear in his heart.)

This time, Tony does hear Steve’s steps coming closer. He does not know that it is Steve at first, but he would recognize Bucky’s, and barely anyone else comes here. Still, it is a surprise to see Steve appearing at the door to the workshop, raising his hand to knock.

All of that has Tony immediately on edge.

Still, he lets Steve in. He is not in the habit of making things unnecessarily harder on himself, and rejecting the man he is dying for would certainly fall into that category.

“Let him in, J,” he orders quietly, making sure to keep a workbench between himself and the door. That is nothing more than an illusion of safety, considering that even without his lungs being as they are, he could never outrun Captain America.

Steve step into the workshop but stays within a hasty stride from the door. Neither of them expects this to go well then.

“Bucky told me I should apologize to you,” Steve then says, the usual derision absent from his tone.

Bucky then. Tony should have known that much. For the past weeks, Bucky has assigned himself as the peacekeeper of the house, taking on the thankless job of trying to get Tony and Steve to get along. Sending Steve here like they are in elementary school and a forced handshake would make them friends again is just sad.

“What for?” Tony asks warily, still ready for the blows that are surely to follow.

“You –” Steve pauses and looks away. Tony envies him for the deep breath he takes. “You have done a lot for us.”

A humourless smiles spreads on Tony’s lips. He and his condition have make everyone he comes in contact with miserable.

“If you mean building that arm for Buc- Barnes, he has already thanked me for it,” Tony says, biting his tongue at his near blunder. Bucky is already too friendly to him when they meet. If Steve finds out, thing will only get worse. “Even though he didn’t need to.”

“It’s not just that,” Steve replies quickly. He looks uncomfortable of all things. “You – we didn’t get off on a good start, and you still let me move in with you, even if I didn’t even speak to you.” That was a clause in their marriage contract to make Tony’s death a little more comfortable, not that it really works out this way. “You made this Bucky’s home too. You’re a better person than –” He shrugs helpless.

Better than what? Than Howard said? Or the gossip rags? Better than Steve feared? Better than the horrible disaster of a human being everyone thinks him to be?

“Don’t,” Tony cuts him off almost gently. “You’ll think differently again soon enough. Let’s just keep things how they are.”

He does not think he could take it if they tried to turn this into something better and failed. Tony likes to know where he is at, and he can deal better with Steve’s hate than this uncertainty, ready to backfire on them any moment now.

When Tony turns back to his word, breathing as shallowly as possible to not get a coughing fit right here, Steve uses his opportunity to flee. It is bad that the walls are transparent. This way, Tony sees that Steve does not look back at him.

---

“Captain Rogers is asking whether you have time to come up for lunch,” JARVIS asks, interrupting Tony’s work.

Putting the soldering iron down, Tony frowns at the nearest camera. “Did someone break into the server room and munch at your cables?” he asks, wiping some sweat from his forehead. He does not take the request serious for a single minute.

“Not at all,” JARVIS replies lightly. With a hint of scolding in his tone, he adds, “I heard that human bodies need regular nutrition, although that might be a foreign concept for you. That is why I relayed the request.”

Tony loves how nuanced JARVIS is getting, how he uses sarcasm and trickery. Sometimes he feels more like a human being than Tony manages to be on his good days.

“You got the names confused,” he cautions, wondering whether the latest update might have done more damage than good. “You meant Sergeant Barnes.”

“No, sir,” JARVIS says without hesitation, causing Tony’s frown to grow. “Captain Rogers asked for your presence.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Tony repeats stubbornly because, frankly, nothing else makes sense. “Bucky. Dark hair, metal arm. You should have seen him around down here. Do I have to do maintenance on your sensors?”

“Captain Rogers,” JARVIS answers, endlessly patient but also slightly amused. “Tall, blond and, to quote you, unbearably muscular, I’m positive.”

Tony stares. “That makes no sense,” he mutters as he waits for his racing thoughts to form into something useful, something to explain this sudden turn of events.

“Perhaps you should go upstairs and find out for yourself.”

JARVIS sounds so sure, but there is no way that Steve, who hates him, would ever invite him for lunch, not even if Bucky pushed him to do so. Steve has registered all of Bucky’s small kindnesses over the past weeks with growing discomfort.

“You wouldn’t prank me, right?” Tony asks his AI.

Entirely unhelpful, JARVIS answers, “Your well-being is my highest priority.”

Because Tony made it so. Sometimes he feels guilty for it. He created a thinking and arguably feeling person, body or not, and then commanded him to care for Tony. He would not trade JARVIS’ company for anything, but it sometimes makes him wonder whether Steve’s assessment of him might just be right.

“That could also mean you want me to smile more, which would make a prank more than possible,” Tony says dryly, not hinting at his thoughts. His kid deserves better than to be pulled into his doubts.

“Only one way to find out,” JARVIS replies cheekily.

There are more, of course. Tony could watch the camera feed from the kitchen or turn on the intercom. He even has some miniature drones lying around he could send out to spy for him. He does not.

Instead, he saves his progress and puts his tools away safely, and takes a leap of faith.

The way to the kitchen is both too long and too short. Several times, Tony has to force himself not to turn around, and yet he has not nearly prepared himself enough for whatever he might find when he is already standing in front of the door. Gathering the last bits of his confidence, he goes in.

They are sitting at the table, lunch in front of them, but they have not yet started eating. There really is a third plate, and neither of them look surprised at his sudden arrival. Still, the atmosphere is tense and not exactly welcoming.

Tony does not dare to step farther into the room. He sees everything he needs to just fine from the doorway.

“There you are,” Bucky greets him as if they have lunch together all the time.

Tony only glances at him before his eyes fall on Steve and refuse to leave him again Everything stands and falls with Steve’s reaction He already feels a slight scratchiness in his throat.

“JARVIS said you –” want is the wrong word and it does not pass over Tony’s lips, “requested my presence.”

“He told us you haven’t had lunch yet,” Steve says cautiously, “so I thought we might eat together.”

It feels stilted and formal and wrong, the way they face each other and take so much care with what they say. Tony does not move closer to the table – at least he is not running away either, although he still cannot make sense of the situation.

“Just sit down, Tony,” Bucky sighs exaggeratedly, as if Tony is the one who has suddenly turned mad. “It’s just lunch, not rocket science.”

Building a functioning rocket from scratch would still be a better prospect than sitting down to eat with his husband.

“It’s Italian,” Steve adds quietly, “Howard told me your mother was from Italy.”

Irrational anger rises in Tony at the mentions of his mother. Steve has already taken his father from him, he cannot lay claim to Maria too. Still, there is something earnest to Steve’s expression, something that has, up until now, usually been tinged with disdain but is now uncertain. Tony chances a look at Bucky and receives a small nod – which should not be reassuring, considering that Bucky is Steve’s friend not his, but gets Tony moving to the table nonetheless.

He sits and the proximity to the other man is overwhelming. All other times they have been in a room together have ended in yelling and more heartbreak. Now, they keep their heads down and their hands occupied. It is horrible, and yet the most peaceful they have ever been together.

“So,” Bucky draws out the word and waits until they are both turning towards him. “What are you working on in the moment, Tony?” he then asks, too cheerful, earning himself two incredulous looks from Steve and Tony.

Even stranger, Steve glances at Tony afterwards, almost conspiratorial, as if it is them against the sudden insanity of his best friend. The moment passes quickly, but Steve’s face still contains a trace of curiosity.

“I –” Tony clears his throat, but for once, it is not a flower making his voice hoarse, just nerves. “I’m thinking about making a phone. A mobile one.”

Nobody says anything for a long moment. They look, though, but Tony does not feel entirely uncomfortable under their gaze.

“As a weapon?” Bucky asks. He is still the spokesperson, but his incredulous expression matches Steve’s.

Howard’s entire legacy is death. Even Tony himself has never been free of it, from the world outside and within. He does not want that to be his legacy too.

“No,” he says firmly, not letting his own doubt show. “As a phone. For everyone.”

Uncertain silence falls over them, but after just a moment, a smile spreads on Bucky’s lips that has to be real, considering the way his eyes grow warm.

“And how’s that going?”

All throughout lunch, they carry on a conversation and never get stuck on complaints or accusations. If not for the ever present heaviness inside Tony’s chest, it could have been a normal meal between new acquaintances testing whether they could be friends.

Afterwards, Tony goes a whole day without the threat of suffocating on his own stupid love.

---

The first time Steve calls him Tony, the world stops turning. It feels like a punch to the gut, and yet as if he has never breathed more easily than this.

---

Sometimes it feels like a dream. Not because it is all nice and easy-going – on the contrary. But every time Steve looks at him, first with neutrality then a smile, every time he says Tony’s name or they make it through an entire conversation without hurting each other, Tony expects to wake up.

He has seen Steve sneer at him so often that every other expression looks foreign on his face. Tony cannot help but wait for the other shoe to drop.

Only it does not.

Bucky comes more often to the workshop and sometimes Steve comes to drag them both up to eat, explicitly including Tony. Despite his expectations, his meal is never poisoned. Conversation turn from stilted to engaged. One night, Tony finds Steve cradling a flower picked out of the trash.

Then Steve starts joining them in the workshop. Other than Bucky, he is not interested in helping. First, he simply watches them, then he draws them. Later, the room feels empty when the couch is not occupied by Steve.

They spend so much time together, go out together, laugh together. Together is a concept that Tony is experiencing for the first time in his life. He does not want to lose that again. Miraculously, they do not seem inclined to let go of him either.

This is not the story Tony has always been told would be his. It is not perfect either. He would not change it for anything in the world.

His breathing does not get easier per se, but life does.

---

When Bucky kisses him again, Steve is there, watching with something of a smile.

Tony reciprocates before he remembers himself and draws back as if burned. “What?”

They were sitting on the couch together, watching some movie Tony has already forgotten all about. By now, he has become used to Bucky’s wandering hands and has not thought much about being drawn in. People always liked to get handsy with him, the multi-million dollar heir dying from a mysterious disease. Despite being a wreck, everyone thinks he has always more to give.

“Tell us to stop,” Bucky says in a low voice.

Before Tony can even register his use of us, Steve is closing in from the back, melting against Tony’s body as if they have always fit together, and leans his cheek against Tony’s. He feels trapped before he realizes that this is what he has been hoping for all his life; Steve and he so close that they could almost be one.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, panic in his tone. He expects to dissolve into a wheezing mess any moment now. His lungs are traitorously silent, though, not caring for once that he is obviously being led on.

“What I should have done from the very beginning,” Steve says.

Tony does not believe him, even though he cannot help but believe the lips touching the sensitive skin of his neck.

The knot of despair in Tony’s chest does not dissolve after this. All is not well. He feels happy, though. For the first time in almost two decades, Death does not loom over Tony’s shoulder but watches from across the room instead.

It is almost like being free.

---

“I love you.” Bucky is the first to say it.

They are sitting on the terrace together, watching the slow descent of the sun. They are not holding hands or prepare to go to bed. A few minutes ago, they have been talking about starting a small garden.

The scene is so full of domestic bliss that Bucky’s words hit Tony like a punch to the stomach. He closes his eyes and forces his face to be still. He will not take this moment from Steve and Bucky.

“You’d think the chattiest person alive would have something to say to that,” Steve teases, but falls silent when Tony still does not look, does not say anything. “Tony?” he asks quietly, nudging him.

Tony resists for a long moment longer before he blinks against the brightness of the sun and focuses on the two men beside him. They are looking at him, both smiling, although Bucky’s is tinged with trepidation and Steve’s with worry.

“I love you,” Bucky repeats slowly, never once looking away from Tony.

“And I love you too,” Steve adds, offering his hand for Tony to take, which he does, albeit hesitantly.

“I –” Tony clears his throat, his stomach dropping. That is when he realizes that he does not feel the scratching of a petal climbing up his windpipe. He has not coughed up a flower in weeks.

Taking a deep breath, he smells nothing sweet, only sea salt and drying stone. Smiling, he stares at his hand in Steve’s, and Bucky’s eyes on him.

“I love you too.”

#iron man bingo 3000 #stony #stuckony #fanfiction #unrequited love #arranged marriage #enemies to friends to lovers #hanahaki #marvel #ao3 #angst #happy ending #sick tony #my writing

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