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feefymo · 3 months

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The Rorchach Effect - Part 1

Jimmy Darling x fem! reader - NSFW • MDNI word count: 2757 author's notes: it was like a multiple birth but here we are. This is my very first attempt of a fanfiction (and it's not written in my native language) but I worked a lot on it and I hope you enjoy it. I tried to keep It simple. After mulling it over I chose to divide the fic in two parts and yes: the smut is in the second part! It's not proofread because I'm a kamikaze, yes. Little curiosity: I was partly inspired by Saltburn and this soundtrack. What else? I'll leave you to read! Be kind, pleaseee! My hashtag is #ficfymo ! summary: Elsa threw a party for Jimmy's birthday but no one knows where he ended up. Fem! Reader POV. warnings: mention of violence, and blood. I think that's it, for now. https://open.spotify.com/intl-it/track/6Huqy9WdEE3rMazEQgajn2?si=2105621ac0044260

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome.

I'm the one they call the Rorschach Woman; my real name is not important.

Do any of you know what vitiligo is? Vitiligo is a disease but in the maternal arms of Elsa Mars, nothing is bad. None of her adopted children are sick: we all have a gift, don't we, Elsa? I had a boundless love for ballet, I was busily studying psychiatry, I was a "prodigy girl" or, at least, I thought I was. Then, the vitiligo showed up. What I thought was my downfall, according to Elsa, represented the true miracle. I gave up dancing; I gave up on my dream of becoming a researcher. I lost the support of my real parents because my appearance had changed but hey! Now I have my own number in Elsa Mars Freak Show. I'm here to enchant you. To let you read the spots on my face. I'm here to interpret your minds. This is my personal test of Rorschach, offered to you, kind audience. A few dollars and you can study me, myself every night but not every night are like this. Tonight I want to tell you a story 'cause today is my best friend's birthday. The brother I've chosen. Tonight, a big party was thrown for him but there's no trace of him. Where did you go, Jimmy Darling?

Let's take a step back.

I've never seen the camp so packed. Never. If all these people showed up for every show, each of us would be filthy rich. I don't understand how it is possible and yet, Elsa must have performed one of her magics. She says she consider Jimmy her blood, so she claimed to organize everything herself. She chose a party theme: "Normal People". She call it "satire", a mockery towards those who are truly considered normal. Some of us believed her, others adapted to avoid getting into trouble. The truth is that, by disguising ourselves according to the canons, we appear even less credible. Grotesque. Ridicolous. I couldn't resist a subtle provocation, so I made my complexion uniform but with the white of French mimes. Like a pierrot. Totally painted in white, I wander around in a champagne dress. I look like a crazy moth until I find the flame. That flame is Jimmy himself, surrounded by a myriad of strangers who urge him to blow out the candles.

- Happy birthday… uhm… -

- Happy birt… Joseph? -

- Jack? John? -

- I think it's Jimmy. -

- Jimmy? Are you sure? -

- JIMMY! -

The music does not cover the murmurs nor the embarrassment that comes down like a curtain. I try to push and elbow to reach my best friend but I can't. He's standing there, nerves to edge: he looks around, clenching his teeth. He seems lost while he's trying to put an unconvinced smile on his Peter Pan face. Once the candles have been blown out, Jimmy disappears in the general disinterest. Nobody cares, the party continues as if nothing had happened, fueling an atmosphere that has nothing normal about it. It's something like a mesmerizing nightmare in the suffused lights that Elsa had placed everywhere. A luminous design that even turns into a labyrinth in the wild meadow near the main event. It should be a modern fairy tale for the privileged who want to escape from the routine. For us, scum, it's an illusion. A utopia, a warning of what we will never achieve but I don't give a fucking damn. Sincerely. If I'm still here it's not because of Elsa nor because I truly appreciate her Cabinet Of Curiosities. I'm still here for my "acquired family" and for the boy who should be the protagonist of the evening which no one cares about.

Driven by the chaos, I search for familiar faces in the dim light until I come across Ethel; she shaved her chin. She is holding a plate with a slice of cake that she has prepared herself and she's standing in the dancing crowd, with a worried and resigned look. We both knows who the cake is for: Ethel has seen his son, maybe talked to him but she won't chase him. I prefer to not disturb her but I don't give up: retreating into a slit of darkness I collide with someone and jump perhaps exaggeratedly. Paul emerges from the darkness, rubbing his side with a grimace. He wears a hideous, gigantic suit to disguise his condition. It makes it look like a sad parallelepiped. Doctor Frankenstein's Creature.

-Paul, sorry! Did I hurt you?! -

-Nah, no biggies! What about you? You're nervous, what's happening? -

-Well, uh, I'm… have you seen Jimmy? I've been looking for him all night. -

- First I saw him with a brunette, she was dragging him towards El-'s tent… hey, that's the one over there! -

But the brunette is not in Jimmy's company: laughing rudely with her friends, she passes by me in a sweet-smelling cloud of glitters. She carries with her a kind of old oil lantern lit on a gesture that makes my blood run cold: cheeky, she twirls a battered glove on her head and, in one breath of Pink Lady, she's already too far away. Even though I would like to, I'm not going to confront her and complicate things because I prefer to follow her steps backwards. An alarm screams wildly inside me and I have to comply with it by launching myself out of the tent. The humidity of the night sticks to my skin, kneading the white paint that I thought was dry. I'm a mess inside and out but it doesn't matter at all.

- JIMMY! - I call, shout and run. I run, run, run like a fugitive. A voice whispers the worst to me and maybe I'm crazy but I can't help it. - JIMMY! - I keep repeating myself but he doesn't answer. The throat burns, the feet go by themselves, swaying dangerously on the heels. I didn't even realize I had ventured onto the lawn until I felt tickles on my ankles. Fräulain Elsa's illuminations invite me to follow their aura like drunken fireflies and I, disaffected, accept. I'm not afraid that Jimmy is dead but, worse, that he's gone. That he left me alone, leaving suddenly and without me. He promised me that if we ever succeeded, we would leave together and one suitcase would be enough to move to Europe. He always kept his promises, he…

I stop, crystallized in the heaviness of the evening. I hear noises scattered throughout the maze of light bulbs: they come from a specific point but they echo and bounce in the air. It sounds like the clumsy moan of an animal that it would be better not to get close to but I obstinately follow the source to the center of the maze. Once I reach my destination I jump somewhere between horror and relief, putting a hand to my mouth so as not to be discovered immediately. Sitting on the ground is Jimmy Darling. Hunched over, he turns his back to me and fiddles with something I don't understand. He is surrounded by objects, some of which I cannot distinguish. There are a few bottles including one of vermouth still sealed, half a lemon, a shirt reduced to a pile of wrinkles in Granada Green, the other glove specially sewn for the party. Some salt, perhaps? The worst aspect, the most dramatic touch, is a pinata hanging over his skull. A lobster-shaped pinata. As I try to figure out whether or not I'm awake, a low, deep growl forces its way into Jimmy's lungs, flaying them with increasing violence. The growl is quickly turning into the pained cry of an already wounded beast. I won't respect his privacy any longer, so I walk over to him and kneel before him.

- JIMMY! JIM, STOP IT! STOP, DAMMIT! - Jimmy was on the verge of cutting off his left hand with a rusty knife but my arrival ruined his plans. He doesn't recognize me right away and his immediate reaction is to turn against me. He is much, much stronger than me but, even if he vehemently chases me away, I attack again in what turns into a blind scuffle. The moment Jim realizes it's really me, he drops his guard groggily. He is no less upset, nor willing to suddenly change his mind but he grabs me by the elbows and pushes me away roughly so that I don't end up hurting myself. Crawling on the ground, he steps back before pulling himself up and staggering but he isn't drunk. He's been drinking but it's not the alcohol that shakes him like this: I recognize the difference, also because I've never seen him in this state. In his big good eyes there is no freshly roasted coffee but boiling petrolium. His expression, a cracked mask of hatred and at the same time authentic desperation, reduced to its core. He trembles in his sweat-soaked undershirt and makes a gesture that he has never deemed necessary in front of me. He hides his hands, trying in vain to put them in his back pockets, like a child caught red-handed. Does he feel reassured by my presence? Is he bothered by it? He's gasping.

Jimmy what… what are you doing? Why?! - I ask him in tears, advancing slowly on my knees. - NO! - he spits out a scream, trying to freeze me in place. - Please… Y/N, no. Enough. That's enough. - I shake my head, I'm confused and I rub my now soaked cheeks. Gray due to the white mixing with the black of the mascara.

- What are you talking about, pleas st-… -

- SHE SCREAMED, Y/N! SHE SCREAMED IN GENUINE TERROR, I TELL YOU!-

- BUT WHO, JAMES?! FOR GOD'S SAKE, WHO?! -

He hates it when I call him James but that seems strangely to appease him. He stares at me like a madman and, in silence, seems to wonder how it is possible that I don't know the circumstances of his delirium but, gradually, lucidity returns and, at the same time, an atrocious sadness. - That… oh, fuck. She was one of the very few people to smile at me and make me sincere wishes. Did she really want to spend time with me… did I fall for it like an idiot? I do not know. It was her! She chose it, I warned her but… - while Jimmy tries to explain, he forgets to hide from me and gesticulates, so I notice a burn on the hand that he was seriously about to cut off. The living flesh fades from red to the paleness of the bladder. Grains of not completely dissolved salt outline the surface like grotesque lace. He must have poured it in. - She took off my glove, alluding to my skills as a pilot but then a heartbreaking scream and… and… I had to let it go. Instead, I tried to calm her down but she…how the fuck is that possible? How did she not know I'm a fucking freak? It was written all over the damn thing! But she knew it. She knew it very well. My attentions were the perfect excuse to defend herself. She called me a monster, a half-man, an abomination and so on, you know, what's new? But then… she burned me with her fucking lantern. You convince yourself that you have a zest, that you are used to it and yet it's not true. And, as with Meep, the day comes when insults are no longer enough. - he doesn't have the courage to look at me but what he says is intimate. Devastating. Shareable. - The bar of wickedness is raised. Of course! That girl wasn't defending herself. She squirted oil on me once, twice, three times. She was torturing me, only stopped because I raised my arms and… the fear came back. She's gone. -

I'm annihilated. Annihilated by what I see and hear, I undergo the hypnosis of Jimmy's pain which soon becomes mine too. His irises are diluted by a sea of tears; suffering makes him unfairly wonderful. In the meantime I have reached him and, from the bottom of my position, I stare at him without embarrassment. I wrap one arm around his knees while the other grabs his good hand and places it on the back of my neck. He wants to take it away, he puts up a feeble resistance but he hears me sobbing and stops immediately. - Yes, Jimmy: her wish was to hurt you. This isn't a party, it's a visit to the slaughterhouse and we are the pigs. As always. - now I hold him with both arms, rubbing my face between his knees. The fabric of his trousers becomes stained white make-up until my skin is almost clean. I raise my head. My face's a palette used between stains that can be washed away and stains that my skin retains.

- Look at me. Are you looking at me? -

- I am. - he says, with the tone of someone who absolutely has to convince you. He hasn't noticed but he's stroking my hair. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth turned down. -The kindness with which you caress me has never belonged to anyone among the few who have touched me. Not even my mother. - I'm deadly serious. I look at him with watery eyes but it's his tear that rains down my forehead. - Not even to myself. - because I mistreated myself, inflicted physical pain and consequent signatures but he… - If those are really claws, everyone should have them. Maybe they would learn what kindness is. - if I wasn't the one talking to him, he wouldn't believe me. He would mock me, it would be bitter and biting. Instead he fights with the truth that I offer him and stares at me dazed. Almost angry, hunted. The problem is that he believes me, so he picks me up and it's as if he's looking at me for the very first time. His forehead is damp with sweat, so I free his unruly curls before rummaging through my clutch bag. I make sure he follows my gestures and I take out a box of matches: I choose one and place it under the perfect curve of his nose. He flinches but stays as I light the end and, solemnly, set the piñata on fire. While the papier-mâché lobster is devoured by the flames, little by little, melted sweets and chocolate perish in the meadow. Neither of us needs to introduce what's about to happen: just as I stand on tiptoe, he lowers his disheveled head and the tips of our noses meet. It's the last chance to retract before the soft "m" of his upper lip meets my lower lip, dehydrated from makeup. In the first friction there is the disbelief of all the years in which we have not allowed ourselves and then, surrounded by the smell of burning, the kiss intensifies in an unstoppable crescendo. Jimmy wraps his bare arms around my body with the eagerness of someone who must survive. For my part, I let out a moan and cling to his shoulder blades: I realize what I wanted and how much I needed to be satisfied. Jimmy and I share the thrill of the kiss, so much so that he murmurs something incomprehensible against my teeth before parting them with his tongue and searching for mine. He holds my head as if I were water and he was drinking and he doesn't care about the cosmetic taste I have on; his lips turn pale. He slides down my neck without any self-control and I understand that he would take me here, right now. In the midst of the fire. - Wait. - I try to stop him with a deafening smooch. We are out of breath and the air is irrespirable but he stares at me with an imploring look. - How much longer? - he plead. I feel his blood vibrate under his golden skin, between the vertebrae of his broad back. - You have to trust me: I have an idea. - The smoke screen rises towards the sky and us. We… dissolve in the middle.

taglist: @taintandviolent @silverzoomies @doll3tt33 @wh0re43van @fear-is-truth + PLEASE, If you want to be added or I forgot someone, let me know!

#evan peters #american horror story #evan peters fanfic #jimmy darling #ahs freakshow #evan peters smut #jimmy darling x reader #ahs murder house #ahs asylum #ahs hotel #ahs cult #ahs fandom #james patrick march #kit walker #kai anderson #ficfymo #angst #bff to lovers

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

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“you get me” (famous!y/n x harry)

Famous!y/n x Harry Styles

First Harry fic so please be kind, but feedback is SUPER appreciated

Initially inspired by the picture of Harry leaving the Gucci store with 15 bags but barely has anything to do with that lol

Definitely thought of Ellen for the interview idk why tho - also I struggle with writing Harry’s dialogue because I really want to get it right, but hopefully the more practice I get, the better/more natural it will sound. ALSO i have like no music or music industry background lol. Somewhat proofread, but its 2:30 am so it could be shit

Fluff!

Warnings: maybe some angst over being famous per say, past loneliness

Word Count: 3.7k literally howwww, i’m going to do a pt. 2 though because it was kind of a long set up and feelingsssss

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Interviewer: Please, welcome our next guest, a woman who’s sure to have her name written up beside the music greats someday, Ms. Y/N L/N!

You can’t contain the grin that spreads to your face as you carry yourself out onto the stage and see the audience cheering for you. It was your third big interview since your first album had been released and you’d seen your fame skyrocket over night. This being the third one this week meant you’d gotten comfortable getting asked questions, but you also weren’t bored of it yet. It was exhilarating being the center of attention, especially for something that had been your life’s work up until this point. You always had to fight for whatever you got and the recognition you were starting to have was reassurance that you hadn’t been a fool to risk a safe and certain life for your dreams.

The interview begins as the rest had, a few pleasantries, how you were feeling, and then the introduction of the album. The host asked you what your inspiration was for some of the songs and the album name and cover. You loved to talk about the music, it was the whole reason you were there. The meaning, the sound, the name, it all meant so much to you and you talked about how music can be interpreted differently by everyone and even the shifts in someone’s mood can change a song’s meaning, but what it meant to you at the time of writing was always something specific. You practiced those answers in the mirror before the interviews because they were important to you and you didn’t want your words on your art to ever be misconstrued. The host then complimented your style and you were at the point where you thought your interview should be wrapping up when they asked you one more question, and it threw you for a loop.

Interviewer: So Y/N, we’ve been hearing some rumblings around, about you and another famous musician, Mr. Harry Styles. Anything going on there?

Your face heated up, you hadn’t been expecting a personal question about possible relationships. Nothing like this had been asked of you at your previous interviews. It’s about the music, the art, and who you were, it’s always about that and nothing more. To be honest, you were a bit annoyed the host had chosen to stray from those topics. You didn’t care for the celebrity side of being a famous musician, the lack of privacy, the prying eyes of media and the general public. They saw enough of you through your art, you bore your soul through music why did they want to peak into your heart as well?

Y/N: I don’t know if I’d rather be with Harry Styles or actually be Harry Styles. Like, he’s literally such an icon, I want to be able to walk out of a Gucci store after spending hours there with 15 bags full of my purchases and helpers to carry it all out c’mon… He’s also an amazing songwriter, musician, and performer, of course. Didn’t mean to sound superficial, but I’d also love to own even half of his closet.

You hadn’t really answered the question, but the audience laughed and the host obviously got the hint that you weren’t interested in fanning any flames of romance with Harry Styles or anyone else. For one, you didn’t even know the man, but you had always been a loving fan of his. You cited him as one of your role models when you were first starting to try and break into the music world. Second, if you did know him, that wouldn’t be an appropriate topic for your album press junket going on, even if it meant more publicity because of Harry’s big celebrity status. The host decided to qualify their original question with a final sentiment.

Interviewer: I totally feel the same way! I only ask because the outpouring of support you’ve received seems to be from similar groups who also follow Harry. Many have been comparing your sound to his solo career work.

Y/N: Ah...well that’s very kind of people to say. He’s definitely a big inspiration, his creativity and drive is incredible. I’d love to be as successful as him someday.

The interview ended. You and the host shook hands and you waved and sent kisses to the crowd before retreating backstage. You were exhausted, but happy. You hoped to avoid anymore stressful interview questions that didn’t truly revolve around music. Of course, life is never that simple.

One month later

You had done countless more interviews and talk shows as promo for your album and the buzz around it had continued to grow. Your fame continued to rise as well and that one question you had dodged at your third interview had come back around to bite you, naturally. Daily Mail’s dumb headline read: “Y/N can’t decide! Date Harry Styles or Steal His Closet?” The Sun was also running with your response and miscontruing it completely, something about how you were madly in love with Harry but jealous of his designer partnerships, you couldn’t even stomach reading the garbage. This was your worst nightmare. Not only was it taking away the focus from your album, but you were also sure this dumb gossip had reached the very set of ears that the gossip was allegedly also about.

You had signed with Columbia Records for your first album, the same record label as Harry Styles, so managers had been in contact with one another about the whole fiasco trying to get the actual truth - which was that the two of you didn’t even know each other and there were no problems whatsoever. Your manager also brought along the good news that Harry had actually listened to your album and loved it, “He said ‘Congratulations’ by the way, loved the sound. Said he’d heard you were very music focused and be open to do some mentoring on songwriting and vocal specifics, if you wanted. It’d have to be in private though, obviously.” She had added the last bit, but you understood why. To have the opportunity to discuss your music with one of your longtime role models, heroes even, was beyond anything you could have imagined coming from your album’s success. And it made the drama all the more palatable because now you at least got to talk to Harry like the media was so adamantly saying you were doing already.

You nodded quickly and agreed, while trying to keep your teenage fangirl excitement hidden below your mature now-famous musician facade. Like you said, Harry was your hero, he’d been your hero since you were in middle school and had Up All Night downloaded on your iPod touch, blasting it as loud as possible, sound hitting your poster-filled walls. You weren’t the same girl as you were then, obviously, you had grown up to be a strong, independent, and confident woman. But, you still smiled at the thought of your younger self with your baby face squealing in the nosebleeds at the Take Me Home Tour (where you swore Harry had looked straight at you) and her seeing you now, dressed in a sleek outfit setting up an appointment to meet with Harry to discuss your first album, a success.

The next Thursday evening

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your pursed lips. You were anxious and excited at the exact same time. Your meeting with Harry was tonight, right now actually, and you hadn’t been able to think about much else since your manager had confirmed the meeting last week. She got you the details a couple of days ago, the location: his house in Malibu, the time: 5:45 P.M. You had brought along a copy of your album on vinyl because you thought it sounded best this way, second only to performing it live.

Choosing your outfit for tonight was probably the toughest decision you’d ever made, harder than choosing between an education and following your dreams, harder than choosing your favorite Beatles song. You didn’t want to worry so much, this wasn’t a date you kept reminding yourself, but everything you tried on earlier kept having something wrong with it, too dressy, too boring, too ‘not yourself’. You had settled for these blue high-waisted pants that you’d worn to your first ever podcast interview, a thin black long sleeve, and a brown leather coat that fell below your hips with vans sneakers, casual, simple, yet still true to you and your vibe.

You raised your free arm and formed a fist, hesitant to knock, as if you’d damage Harry’s seemingly perfect Malibu beachfront home by knocking too hard on the wooden front door. You waited a few moments and could here some shuffling behind the door, some incoherent words were seemingly said, but the walls muffled them before they could reach for ears. Soon enough, Harry Styles in the flesh was before you. He beamed down at you, huffing, slightly out of breath as if he had been clear across the house when you knocked. His strong figure towered above your far smaller stature. He was hanging onto the door since he had opened it only slightly. “Hello, Y/N?” he greeted and questioned simultaneously. “Hi,” you responded and extended the same hand that had just rapped against his now open door. He gripped it, ushering you into his home, “Come in, come in, it’s nice to meet you, don’t want you to catch a cold now do we?” He took note of your strong handshake and ring clad fingers.

He walked you into an area between the kitchen and a sitting area. The kitchen was open aside from a bar high top between the two rooms. You sat down at his prompting and made yourself comfortable. “I brought my record on vinyl, sounds best in my opinion, otherwise I’d recommend seeing it live,” you laughed as you handed the vinyl to him and took off your coat. “Technically, y’know, I could hear it live right now, if you were willin’ f’course,” Harry had responded over his shoulder as he placed the vinyl by his idle record player, “Anything to drink?” “Just water for me, please.” His accent was even stronger in person, especially since he had moved back to London and seldomly stayed in California, except for business and quick trips. As far as you knew, he had already been here on business for the week and was able to pencil you in.

You two settled in, with your waters, seated at the bar top beside each other, but swivelling the chairs to face one another more. Again, you were overwhelmed with the reality of the situation, sitting beside Harry Styles as professionals, peers even. He had heard your work and liked it enough to want to discuss it with you. It was a day you never thought would come to pass. He started off not by asking about the music right away, but about how you were doing with the whirlwind that stardom is. “How are you, Y/N? It’s been somewhat of a out of the frying pan into the fire kind of moment for you?” He stared at you intently, caring to hear your answer.

You couldn’t help but chuckle again and contain your smile, “Thank you for asking, Harry. Yeah, its been definitely stressful, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more so the good is still outweighing any bad. Definitely, fucking exhausted though, dunno how many more interviews I can do before my jaw goes completely rigid from talking so much.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh, his eyes shone with intrigue at what you said and how you said it. You were gorgeous, but it was how your hands helped you through what you were trying to say and the small laughs you tried to keep in while you amused yourself with your words that really made him want to hear you talk all night long.

He agreed about how the promo junket for an album can get tedious and tiresome, but also the absolute fulfillment you get from people loving the music you’ve made. The two of you chatted about surface level personal matters for a little more, but quickly moved to the music. “I took a listen a couple weeks after the album was released. I especially loved the last track. It reminded me so much of a song I never released, actually…” he trailed off.

Your final track had been a ballad, an homage to George Harrison with your use of guitar and sitar, but the lyrics were a story based off of a poem you had written one night in high school. It surrounded a girl never feeling quite good enough for the person she wanted to be with and how it happened everytime, everytime she was ready to giver herself to someone, they were always closed off. Of course it held some truth to your own life and feelings, but you wrote this girl as someone with a seemingly perfect life - when yours was obviously far from any semblance of perfection.

You wondered what Harry’s song would have sounded like, had it been about a seemingly perfect girl or a guy with a seemingly perfect life, always giving himself to the wrong person and getting destroyed by that very fact because he was impatient as the girl in your song had been. “Can I ask, how so? How’d it remind you of your own song, the words or the music?” “Oh, the story, I felt like that for a time in my life and I like to be vulnerable in my songs because it helps me process, but listening to it back has always been too painful. Could never release that or perform it, it’d wreck me.” You nodded, you completely got where he was coming from. You noticed his downcast eyes and his somber tone, you knew not to push it any further.

It was quiet and you decided it’d be okay to take his hand resting between the two of you. “Harry, I understand,” your sincerity spilled into the words, filling the quiet house, “It’s not easy. Feeling that way. Thinking you’re the only goddamn one and why the fuck does it always happen to you? I used to ask my ceiling ‘why me?’ every night of high school” you smiled then. “But you know how it is,” you rubbed your thumb over his large warm hand and he lifted his head, “it gets so much better - c’mon look at us now! It can get hard, too, all this, I’m sure. But our lives? They’re amazing!” He beamed as he had when he had first seen you at his door and when you’d first really spoke. He moved his hand from under your palm to weave your fingers with his, both of your hands with covered in rings and they clinked to fit together, finally resting perfectly fitted. He shook your two hands up and down, “God, you’re so right! That damn song, m’sorry always puts me in a mood,” he shakes his head, “not yours though, f’course, s’lovely, better than my sodding song” he finishes quickly.

After that, the mood lightened right back up. It filled you with such appreciation for Harry that he would trust you so much with such a personal detail since you two had just met. But maybe, he had trusted you because he had felt that same spark between you. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic spark, but it was obvious the two of you were kindred spirits. Besides your album, the two of you talked about everything. You loved the same bands, movies and books, you both loved to cook and had similar fashion taste, you even had the same person type - something you found out late into the night.

At the end of the Side B of your album, Harry switched to a Bill Evans record that had ‘Peace Piece’ on it. You loved that song. So did he. “So...planning to raid my closet?” Harry raised his brows from the record player and walked back to you. You almost sputtered the water in your mouth. Luckily, you got it down. “Pardon?” “All that bad press the two of us have been getting...I watched the interview that kind of ignited the tabloids. You’re obviously not used to those overstepping personal questions.” You nodded. “It’s fine, even if you’d completely shut it down, the tabloids probably would have picked it up still, they snap up anything and everything, true or not.” You softened at his reassurance. You hadn’t expected Harry to bring the interview up, but you were sure he wasn’t happy about it, he was so private, especially about his love life. “Thanks, I’m sorry I tried to laugh it off, kind of made it worse, didn’t I?” “No! Thought it was hilarious and I totally appreciated the sentiment. Little ol’me, an icon? And an amazing artist? All I gotta do is watch that clip and I’ve fed my narcissistic side for the week!” You giggled and replied slyly, “So does that mean I can raid your closet? As compensation, of course.” Harry threw his head back in an all consuming laughter, when he’d composed himself he looked in your eyes again and said, “You just...God, you get me.”

Harry had continued to put records on throughout the night, diligently flipping sides and asking for requests, he of course had an extensive collection. The two of you had moved onto his plush couch that looked out his french doors to the beautiful ocean view. Finally, your exhaustion caught up to you, mid-Harry describing his latest travel fiasco, you glanced up at the clock. You gasped. Harry stopped. “When did it get to be half 12?” you questioned almost incredulously, “I’ve gotta get home, Harry, but this has been truly amazing, more than I could have asked for, so thank you.” Your speech began to rush as you started to get up and gather your things, that had slowly scattered as you’d gotten more comfortable, jacket by the table, shoes around the back of the couch, your phone forgotten somewhere in the couch. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry Styles.

Harry quickly stood up from his relaxed positioned on the couch and asked if you were alright to drive this late. You scoffed, “Oh please, I’ve driven around at 3 am before, I just have to turn up the music and I can cruise.” He smiled, “This was great, Y/N, I know we didn’t really go super in depth into your writing process, but I’d love to write with you sometime or just hang out again f’course. Your seriously talented and obviously a wonderful person.” He didn’t include that he felt like he’d never met anyone like you, never met someone so perfectly matched to himself, in passions but also in work ethic and demeanor - compassionate yet confident. He felt like you got him perfectly and he got you. You had stopped your scramble to gather yourself and now you were both smiling at one another.

This had really been an unforgettable night, you couldn’t believe how well you two had meshed, like childhood friends reconnecting after years apart. “Can I give yeh a hug before you go?” Harry’s voice had grown raspier as the night had progressed. He had grown rather tired an hour ago, but had pushed through because they had been having so much fun and you hadn’t noticed his physical fading or the time, obviously. You stepped toward him and his large tattooed arms enveloped you into his body. His body truly dwarfed yours now as he held you to his chest. You both were warm and soft. He tucked his head on top of yours that rested on his chest. Your arms were loosely resting where his back met his waist because you would have had to strain to get them to encircle him. His arms rested around your small frame. “Love your jacket,” he mumbled into your hair. His rough voice was quiet, but the house was silent otherwise, Tusk Side C had finished around when you had noticed the time. The embrace lasted long, but it felt so amazing you had a hard time pulling yourself away, but you had to get back home.

“G’night Harry” you said softly at the threshold of his home. He had insisted on walking you to the front door at least, since you had declined his offer to walk you out to your car on the street. “G’night. Safe travels.”

You got in your car and headed to your apartment in the city. You didn’t bother digging for your phone so you turned on the radio and drove home singing whatever came on, including your own song at one point. The whole time you drove with a grin. Harry was the nicest person you’d ever met and you were confident that the two of you were friends now. As you pulled into your parking garage it dawned on you why you hadn’t connected your phone immediately when you got in your car. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you put the car in park and rested your palms in the depressions of your eyesockets, over your closed eyelids, and rubbed hard. “Fuck!” It was far too late to drive back out to Malibu for your phone and you obviously couldn’t text Harry that you’d left your phone at his place, despite the two of you exchanging numbers during the night for future hang outs, so they didn’t have to be arranged through your managers, like playdates. Even if he found your phone between the cushions, he couldn’t drop it at your place in the morning because he didn’t know your address. This was a whole mess, you thought. You’d have to drive over in the morning and hope he was still there or email your manager from your computer. The former meant you got to see Harry sooner and likely your phone, too.

part 2

@berrynarrybanana

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #har #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fan fic #I DID IT #I sat down and wrote it #and it took forever #and I need to write a second part but I made something coherent #one direction fanfiction #not my gifs #my writing #I love you h #you get me #my writings

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skvaderarts · 2 years

Text

Saudade Chapter 7: Midnight Memories

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE! I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS LITTLE FIC I THREW TOGETHER FOR THE OCCASION AT THE LAST MINUET! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

It ties into my Post DMC5 AU, so sorry for any confusion!

Chapter Seven: Midnight Memories

Note: Happy Halloween, everyone! Nothing special really, just something cute I thought you might like in the spirit of the holiday. Hope you enjoy it! However you chose to spend today, do it safely and have fun! You’re all good people :D

(-~-)

It should have come as a surprise to virtually no one to learn that the Ludwig family threw some of the very best holiday parties, but Halloween was a particularly spectacular occasion that stood out from all of the others, its splendor and decadence unmatched. They had spent the day there, making polite conversation,

Sirrus in particular had absolutely adored the costumes that Nero and Kyrie's children had worn, his entire family having been invited. Kyle and Julio had gone as an adorable pair of Vampires, but little Carlo had demanded that he be allowed to be a werewolf despite the fact that he couldn't even properly pronounce the word. His parents had tried their very best to not laugh, but they had failed, and it had been a fortunate turn of events that V had been there to agree to take the small children with him to go shopping and to give their weary parents an opportunity to recover.

But in retrospect, allowing Dante to actually take them trick or treating had probably been one of the worst ideas that Nero had ever managed to talk Kyrie into, and one of the worst that he himself had ever allowed to come to pass. There was a

Considering that this was an optional costume party, Sirrus had come dressed for the part unlike most of them (aside from Nero who had been talked into it by Kyrie after the girls had brought her a somewhat sexy fairy outfit that she had utterly refused not to wear, and he had been forced to wear a skeleton costume as a result, finally fully and truly dying inside) but what he had worn had been a truly interesting number. They were all used to the somewhat modern take on Victorian and gothic clothing that he tended to wear, but this was different. He'd shown up in formal black robes with what appeared to be an attached black shoulder cape that dragged on the floor behind him. The only thing even resembling color in regards to his outfit was the intricate silver embroidery that went up the front of his garment until it reached the cravat that adorned his neck, hidden amongst the high collared neck of his top garment. It was all quite Transylvanian if he was being honest.

"Okay, what are you, a vampire? Where do you even get something like his?" Nero asked as he attempted to comprehend what the man with the long red hair was wearing. It was unmistakably formal, but in a manner that was utterly foreign to him, and a part of him was somewhat sure that he probably wasn't even really wearing it to be ironic. It didn't seem like something that he would wear as a day-to-day outfit, but it did seem like the sort of this that he had hidden in his closet for special occasions.

"My outfit is rather telling, and its design is entirely specific to my place of origin and my lineage. The only truly accurate way of explaining what I'm dressed as is to say that I'm showing what I actually am for one night and one night only. Your interpretation is up for debate, but as before, you're not very far off." He adjusted his collar, pulling the front of his hair forward until it draped over his shoulders. At least the material this had been made from was very comfortable. "I may very well need a haircut soon, but I believe I am forgetting something… Ah yes, your children! I must shower them with treats. They are far too dapper to leave without at least a few pounds of sugary treats. I bid you farewell."

Nero watched him go in dread at the thought of what they would do under the influence of such sugary treats before sighting and turning his attention back to the party. Dante and the girls were having a few drinks and relishing the fact that this was the only party they had ever successfully talked Dante into coming to (and he actually seemed to be having a nice time!) while Patty and Morison just took in the sights, Kyrie was seemingly over the moon with how many compliments she'd received for her frankly cavity inducingly sweet spooky candy cane fairy inspired costume, and Vergil was… well, it was honestly hard to say. Nero was somewhat sure that he'd seen him drink something and then only a few minutes later he'd been asleep face down on the chaise lounge by one of the windows in the middle of the ballroom, arms over either side of the piece of furniture. That couldn't have possibly been alcohol… could it? Certainly not. No one was that much of a lightweight…

And then he found a familiar face among the masses of people at this shindig. V.

Sitting on the other side of the room nearest to the buffet table that had a frankly ridiculous amount of food on it, V had seemingly just finished what seemed to be some sort of unreasonably decadent cheesecake, the portion size no doubt several sizes larger than it probably had any right to be. His head lay on the table next to the now empty plate. He had finished the battle, but Nero wasn't sure which of the two had actually won the war.

"Okay, so are you dead yet or just on your way?"

Looking up slightly as he approached, V actually chuckled at the statement, seemingly realizing for the first time how patently ridiculous he looked. But he embraced that. Tonight was the night for it, after all. He needed a bit of silly fun for once. It would probably do him some good. "Oh, Nero, we are all slowly dying. It is the reality of living. But I am not responsible for my actions when a triple-layer pumpkin, cinnamon roll, and cheesecake cake with an oreo crust is plopped down in front of me. I shall die for my hubris and regret nothing. For if a fool persists in his folly, he shall become wise, and it seems that I shall persist further for I have learned nothing."

"V that… sounds like it could literally kill you just by looking at it." Nero looked over at the cake. He had never seen a single-decker cake that was nearly a foot thick before, but he supposed that there was a time and a place for everything. A single slice was missing from it, just shy of six inches thick at the outermost edge. Had V actually… "You actually look like you're having a good time for once. Though I don't think you're gonna be with us much longer if you don't eat something to help counterbalance the pound of pure cane sugar you just ate."

"Would you be surprised to learn that Halloween is my favorite holiday?" He sat up, his head pounding and his world-shaking around him. He didn't feel sick so much as he was totally gobsmacked by the sheer amount of sugar he had coursing his veins. How was that much glucose even legal? "Did I mention that the cake had rum in it, apparently? I don't know how I've lived this long without it. It was heavenly."

"Actually yea, I would be. Though it kinda makes sense now that I think about it." he shook his head, piling a few different types of food onto his plate that weren't filled with sugar. A glance over his shoulder informed him that Dante had migrated over towards where Vergil was to laugh as his ill-fated twin slowly sat up with a look on his face that he could only describe as "totally fucking shitfaced." It seemed that Vergil actually was that bad at drinking. They would have to test this sometime. "Why specifically Halloween and not any of the other holidays?"

"Virtually all of the rest of them require the. It was the only day where no one looked at me strangely and I was free to go about my affairs in peace. I cherished that." V said somewhat somberly as he ate the food that Nero had handed him, not really paying attention to what it was. Apparently, this party was going to continue for a week. He hoped they did this every year.

"Sure, what is it?" Nero said, pulling out a chair and straight-up stealing one of the turkey legs he had put on V's plate. He didn't need two of them, and he wasn't going to apologize. The food in this place was fucking delecious, what else was he supposed to say? "Why do I have the feeling it involves Vergil?"

"It does. I wish to try something, but am unsure as to how best to instigate the encounter necessary to facilitate it." V said somewhat less eloquently than he probably intended as he hiccuped, seemingly surprised by the fact that such a sound had just come out of his body. He looked thoroughly embarrassed as he continued to eat.

"V, I need you to speak English. You're losing me." Above all else, Nero wanted to know who had taught his brother all of these damn long words. He needed to have a work with them. "Either way, why don't you just ask him? And did you just get drunk off of a goddamn cake?!"

Completely omitting out that last question, he stood up heading towards their father. That was actually a fairly good point. Perhaps if he just asked him that would be easier than all of this beating around the bush. But either way, he needed Nero and was glad that he had followed him over to the couch that Vergil had migrated to. No doubt because it was in a corner and away from the music was playing on the far side of the room. His head had to be bothering him something fierce by now. Their superior hearing seemed to be working against Vergil.

"I need to speak with you."

Vergil looked up at him as if he'd been punched from within the inside of his head. Why oh why had he allowed Dante to talk him into trying dry ice punch with Absneth of all things?! Sure it was spooky and black punch with white smoke had been a fun party trick, but something in that alcohol had gone straight to his head after only a small solo cup full of it, and he was about ready to bow out for the next century. "Then continue to do so quietly. I don't believe I will survive the night otherwise."

Resisting the urge to laugh and shake his head at the sorry state his father was in -something that Nero had no qualms about much to their father's displeasure- V looked somewhat embarrassed for a moment before clearing his throat and resolving to simply spit it out, wondering for a moment where his familiars had wandered off to in the midst of such a fantastical party. He imagined that Shadow was probably seeing head pats and belly rubs from Patty again while Griffon sought out Flora for a good neck scratching. So long as they were having a good time.

"Earlier this evening Nero and Kyrie carved pumpkins with Kyle, Carlo, and Julio… " He paused for a moment, seemingly unsure as to how this request would sound coming from him given the age he now was. "I have never been afforded the opportunity to do that before and, not even as a child and I thought that perhaps the three of us could… "

All at once both Nero and Vergil seemed to note what was going on and why they were there as they watched him look down at the floor, seemingly overcome with some emotion that neither of them could place. Nero felt nothing but sympathy. He had only done so once as a young boy with Kyrie and Credos' parents, and it had been a memory that he had cherished ever since. It had been a beautiful moment of normality in what had otherwise been an entirely nonconventional and difficult childhood, and he had been happy to share it with his own children tonight. To think that he had missed out on something so simple because he had probably simply had no one to do it with made him deeply sad.

"Yes." Vergil's complete and total lack of hesitation took both of them by surprise, V plinking like he wasn't seeing his father right as the eldest descendant of Sparda stood up and internally cursed the headache that he felt approaching. He would be damned indeed if he allowed something so trivial to hold him back from doing something that he had missed out on thus far. In truth, he had considered the same thing when he'd seen Nero and Kyrie with the children earlier that day. It had been so fun when they had spent that time with their own parents. How he wished for that kind of time lost with his two young sons back. The ravages of time were truly unforgiving.

V was not the only one who was displeased that he had missed out on the opportunity to do something so mundane. And Vergil would never forgive himself if he didn't seize this moment to do something like this with both of his sons. A glance over at Nero was all it took to know that he was along for the ride. He didn't need to ask. V smirked in a manner they had not seen before, resting his cheek on his left shoulder and tucking his chin into his neck as he gestured almost shyly towards the door. "I believe they have a few pumpkins left by the kitchen… "

(-~-)

Despite the fact that they all knew from the proposal's inception that this project would yield hideous results, they had looked forward to putting their awful, misshapen abominations out along the drive with the others and lighting them regardless. And as they did so, none of them spoke. They seemed to all register the significance of the moment. And V dared to allow something at least closely related to a genuine smile to creep across his face at a slow and steady gate, even if only for a moment. Nero broke the silence with a fit of hysterical laughter and Vergil's jack o'lantern -obviously the worst one- fall over and almost caught fire, the look on his father's face simply too much for him to endure. He just looked so damn insulted and betrayed. It was like someone he trusted had just backhanded him in the face.

Dante laughed to himself as he watched them from the hallway balcony on the second floor, shaking his head quietly to himself. He didn't mind the excitement of their day-to-day lives. He was accustomed to the willful insanity of it all… but there was just something so right about moments like these. Perhaps because they were so rare and born of a place so pure? He couldn't say, but he hoped that there would be more of them in the future. And that had been the very reason he'd turned down the temptation to ask to join them. The three of them needed this. He would get his chance. Dante was in no rush. He was just happy to see progress done and memories made, and the sounds of awkward laughter from his two nephews and the look of utterly disappointed embarrassment on Vergil's face was something he was going to remember for a long time.

"Happy Halloween, guys. Glad to see you're working it out." And with that, he turned his attention back in the direction of the ballroom. Maybe he could steal Patty away for just a moment. "Hey Patty, wanna make an ugly pumpkin that's probably gonna catch fire when we try to light it?"

(-~-)

LOL, this ended up still being a full-sized chapter! But hey, only took an hour so I’m extra happy with how it turned out. THE FEELS! Happy Halloween, everyone! This was so fun to write! Have a good time tonight and take care! Be safe out there! And see you on Wednesday!

Also, @gaaebolg did an illustration of Sirrus’s outfit if you’d like to see it! Thanks again! Happy Halloween friend :D

https://skvaderarts.tumblr.com/post/662699923866894336/another-beautiful-picture-of-my-oc-sirrus-courtesy

#V #Nero #Dante #Vergil #Saudade #Vitale #Happy Halloween #Halloween #Halloween Chapter!#DMC #Devil May Cry #Post Devil May Cry 5 #DMC FanFic

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wanderinginksplot · 3 years

Text

Warriors in Red Armor

Next | Masterlist

Chapter One

Hound I

"So, are we going to 79's tonight?" Hound asked. He had meant to be subtle about it, but the question burst out of him the moment his well-worn boots crossed the threshold of the small break space allotted to members of the Coruscant Guard.

As break spaces went, the one designated for the Coruscant Guard's clone troopers was an embarrassment. Some determined being had managed to cram a table and a handful of chairs inside, but it was a tight fit. If more than a few fully armored troopers went inside at the same time, none of them would get back out without removing some armor to clear the traffic jam. The lights flickered, the faucet leaked, the floor was always sticky, and the stuffy air held a hint of the chemicals that had been stored there years ago. Since then, the previous break space had been renovated into an office for one of the few nat-born commanding officers and this one had been created for the clone troopers.

Still, the smell of caf was stronger than the smell of chemicals most days and the light from a nearby advertisement screen lit the room so brightly that the flickering lights didn't give any of the troopers a migraine anymore. Hound always was a man who liked to see the glass as half-full. Maybe even a little more than half, if that glass was sitting under the dripping faucet.

Thire snorted at Hound's question, leaning back in his chair until gravity threatened to topple him. "Well, boys? Hound wants to know if we're going to 79's this lovely Friday evening. What do we think?"

Thorn glanced around the room, looking unamused by his brother's antics. "We think I'm the only other one here, di'kut."

"Exactly!" Thire said in triumph, obviously determined to ignore his fellow commander. "It's the weekend! Why wouldn't we go to 79's?"

"Because you've finally realized that it's a glorified zoo?" Thorn snapped, tone venomous. "79's is where civvies go to stare at clone troopers so they can feel like they're being daring. In reality, they're being irritating."

Having spoken his piece, Thorn tossed back the last of his cup of caf, always consumed as dark as his mood. Hound shuddered at the thought. Corrie Guard caf was brewed at the approximate concentration of speeder fuel and could eat through duracrete. Only a trooper who hated himself would drink it black.

Thorn always drank it black.

"So you don't want to go?" Hound asked again, sounding heartbroken.

"No, I'll go," Thorn told him. "Zoo or not, 79's still has the cheapest booze on Coruscant that doesn't use poison as a mixer."

"Well, that's the most excited I've heard Thorn get about anything for a week, at least," Thire smirked. "Commander Fox, you want in on this?"

The Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard, having just stepped into the break room to fill his mug with caf, shook his head. "No, I'm on duty tonight. The Clone Rights group has been cleared to march and the Chancellor wants an extra Guard presence. Stone will be stuck here as well, monitoring any new arrivals."

"Ugh," Hound said, summarizing everyone else's point of view. "Well, we'll be thinking of you both, Commander."

Fox lowered the datapad in his hand to shoot a look in Hound's direction. "Sergeant, don't you have that ARF PR stunt tomorrow at 0800?"

Hound shrugged. "Yeah, but I can do both."

"Make sure you don't miss it," Fox ordered sternly. "The last thing I need is to have to report to the Chancellor that you missed a chance to give the GAR a boost in civil opinion."

Hound saluted and Fox turned his attention to the other break room occupants. "Thorn, if you let your stubble get any longer, it'll be considered a beard and subject to facial hair regulations. Thire, sit on the chair like a normal being, would you?"

Thorn nodded and Thire grinned as he let the chair's legs slam onto the floor. Fox rolled his eyes at their antics, refilled his cup of caf, and left the break area. Hound idly wondered how many of the gray hairs appearing at the Head Commander's temples were due to the commanding officer team. Still, the Chancellor had let Fox choose his own team of COs, so there was no one to blame but himself.

"Meet at 2100?" Thire asked. "That's prime time for 79's and there'll be plenty of talent. I'll go ahead and apologize, vode. When you look this good, you automatically get your pick of the females."

Thire brushed a hand back across his hair - meticulously trimmed to maintain the subtle horizontal lines shaved into the otherwise regulation cut - and grinned at the other two. Hound and Thire rolled their eyes, but agreed anyway.

---

Kai I

"Hey, do you guys want to go to 79's tonight?" Kai asked, perched on the desk she was supposed to be sitting behind. She was always restless and neither of the other women blamed her for the odd choice of seat - even though it made inter-desk communication a bit of a pain.

Arkularia - who, for the sake of Kai's sanity, allowed the others to call her 'Ark' - was the first to respond. "79's? The clone bar?"

"Do you want to drink, dance, or find a one-night stand?" Ransom asked from behind her expansive tech setup. "Because there are better places for any of those. Closer, too."

"No, I want to go to 79's," Kai said, kicking up her chin. "And as for what I want… I want all of them. All three options, please and thank you."

"Did you just try to order a night out? Like from a menu?" Ransom asked. From the tone of her voice, Kai had managed to earn a rare smile from her boss. Of course, that was only a guess since Ransom didn't emerge from her den so Kai could verify the expression.

"No… but can you imagine how much easier that would be?" Kai asked in her own defense.

"It would take some of the fun out of it, I think," Ark said slowly.

Kai chucked a wad of flimsi at her friend and co-worker's head, cheering to herself as it connected and bounced off of Ark's white-blonde hair. "I know that, Ark! C'mon guys, do you want to come to 79's with me or not?"

"I'm out," Ransom said immediately, shutting down the projector option on her desk. She was still illuminated by the ambient light from the schematics on her datapad. The cybernetic implants in Ransom's arm gleamed in the blue glow as she dragged a hand over her shaved head. "I have to work late if we have any hope of finishing our next job on time."

"Ark?" Kai asked, not too proud to sound like she was begging.

Ark sighed, pale eyes hopeless in the face of Kai's wheedling. "Fine, I'll go along."

"Yes!"

"Ransom, are you sure you can't come, too?" Ark asked, her voice a bit desperate.

"I really do have to stay and work on this," Ransom apologized, gesturing at her assortment of datapads. "My condolences."

"We're going to a club, not facing a firing squad!" Kai admonished. "Besides, I just want to find someone fun."

"Like that last guy?" Ark asked, squinting a bit as she applied her prodigious memory to her own question. "What was his name?"

"Not sure," Kai admitted. "But he was so much fun! Great tattoos."

"So you are looking for a hookup! I knew it," Ransom crowed.

Ark frowned. "Why a clone trooper? They're never on-planet for long before they have to leave."

"Exactly," Kai said with a wink. "Love 'em and leave 'em."

"Didn't the last one stick around for a while? I thought I remembered seeing him more than a few times…" Ark pondered.

"Hardcase! His name was Hardcase," Ransom remembered. "He came by every day of his leave."

"Strange name," Ark commented.

"Strange guy," Ransom said with a shrug.

"But he was hot," Kai countered, folding a piece of flimsi to look like a tooka. At least it did in her imagination. "And so much fun. I need another someone like him."

"What happened to him?" Ark asked curiously.

Kai would have blushed if she had any shame - too bad for Coruscant that she didn't. Instead, she pouted. "He moved on with a Zeltron who works at GAR headquarters. That's the best place to meet troopers, but they don't give access to civilians unless they have official business."

"Hardcase didn't seem like the type to ghost you out of nowhere," Ransom mused.

"I… may have freaked out about him asking me to be his girlfriend," Kai admitted. "I don't want anything serious, you know? Besides, I'm the one who introduced him to the new girl. She's a sweetheart. He adores her and she's the same about him. Can't be too upset with that."

Ark and Ransom exchanged loaded glances, but Kai had no interest in a therapy session. "Right! So, Ransom, you're still out?"

"I have no interest in coming along and I have work to do here."

"Well, that was almost nice," Kai congratulated. "Ark, it's you and me. When should we go?"

Ark shrugged. "Why don't we just stop there on the way home from work?"

"Are you kidding?" Kai asked, aghast at the idea. "We aren't exactly wearing Senatorial dress, but we're still too professional for a club! No, we need to go home, change, and meet there. How long do you need?"

"I don't know… half an hour?"

"How long do you need to find an outfit that makes sense in a club setting?" Kai rephrased her question.

"Two hours," Ark corrected herself, sounding sheepish.

"That's more like it," Kai said, satisfied. Her look turned wicked as she said, "Now, let's talk about makeup…"

"Are you sure you don't need any help here, Ransom?" Ark asked their boss, her eyes widening with hidden significance.

"No, it's too late!" Kai denied. "Meet me at my apartment and I'll help you. Let's say eight."

Ark glanced back at Ransom, who gave a sympathetic shrug. Ark sighed. "Fine, eight."

---

A/N - Hello, and welcome to yet another Clone Wars-based story! I can't leave these poor guys alone. They deserve so much more than they got! So, you may have noticed that some of the characters are a bit different from the way they are normally portrayed in fan fiction. The first fic I read with the Coruscant Guard had Thire as a happy joking guy and Thorn as a serious doom-and-gloom trooper. I'm coming to realize that is not typical for fanon interpretations, but those characterizations are embedded in my mind. I hope you didn't find this too jarring!

I'm experimenting with a new Game of Thrones-style POV tracking format. Hopefully that will keep things from getting too confusing as we bounce back and forth across eight different POVs! I apologize for the short length of this chapter, but it's just a simple introduction of (most of) the characters.

#Warriors in Red Armor #star wars the clone wars #star wars #star wars fanfiction #coruscant guard #commander fox #commander thorn #commander thire #sergeant hound #clone troopers deserve better #more to come #please reblog

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this-idiots-left-eye · 3 years

Text

In Plain Sight

Cover art by Stlyrica on instagram!! I’ll put a link to it in a reblog!!

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: When Break hides Gilbert's favorite Christmas ornament somewhere in the Rainsworth manor, the Golden Trio must spend the afternoon looking for it. But why is it so special to Gil?

Notes: I originally wrote this for the prompt "Ornaments" in an alphabetical Christmas prompt list my friends and I did in 2017--(it was going to be part of a group of Christmas fics we all wrote for different fandoms. Some of the people in that group hadn't read PH, so that's why this fic has some explanations for who the characters are). Then I posted it for Pandora Hearts Month 2018 for the Golden Trio Prompt: Friendship. I hope you like it! I would really appreciate it if you could reblog and/or leave a comment to let me know if you enjoyed it!

“You’re the tallest, Gil, you should put the star on top!”

“Ooh! It looks yummy! Like a big cookie!”

“It’s not a cookie, Stupid Rabbit!”

It was a few days before Christmas, and the trio was at the Rainsworth manor. Finally, everything was ready for the holiday; a fire was dancing in its place, the stockings were all lined up on the mantle, and they had just put the finishing touches on the tree. The only one who hadn’t been informed about the festive season, was the sky outside; it had been raining for the past few weeks. There was a chill in the air, it was frosty, but snow hadn’t quite come yet. Still, they made the most of their time indoors.

“Perfect!” Oz exclaimed.

Oz Vessalius was the fifteen-year-old heir to the Vessalius dukedom, but after his escape from the Abyss that year, when he wasn’t off on adventures, and missions, he spent most of his time at the Rainsworth’s.

“It’s so pretty, Onii-chan!”

On account of the ten-year gap, Oz’s sister, Ada, was older than Oz now, but, no matter what, she would never stop seeing him as her older brother. She was on Christmas break from Lutwidge Academy, and more than happy to spend it at the Rainsworths, with her brother. She had, of course, brought her two cats—Snowdrop and Kitty—with her, (which Gilbert maintained a healthy distance from, due to his phobia of cats).

“The Rainsworths will have the best-decorated tree in town!”

Oscar, their uncle, was spending the afternoon with his niece and nephew too. He was a bearded, bespectacled man, with the same blonde hair and green eyes as the rest of his family. At the moment, he was sitting on one of the couches, with a cup what he called ‘tea’, but which the rest of them guessed probably had something stronger in it.

“I can’t take all the credit, Gil and Alice helped a little,” Oz joked.

“‘A little!’”

Gilbert was Oz’s servant; a dark-haired man, who often appeared cold and reserved, but who was rather sensitive, and a worrywart. He still sometimes acted as though they were only a year apart in age too, despite the fact that he was now ten years older than his master.

“Yeah, manservant!” Alice challenged, “More like we did all the work!”

“I was just teasing!”

“Well,” Sharon had a way of returning things to order with her calm and proper words, “you all did a wonderful job.”

Sharon was the heiress to the Rainsworth dukedom, and looked like a thirteen-year-old girl, though was really in her twenties or thirties—(they knew better than to ask her exact age). Her chestnut hair was usually tied back into a kind of half-ponytail, and, as always, she outmatched them all on style points; today it was with a dress of a wintery blue that looked as if she was trying to encourage the snow to fall. As per usual, she held a cup of tea in one hand—peppermint, she had informed them, for the Christmas season—and a pastry in the other. She was sitting at a small round table on the other side of the room, with Reim—duke Barma’s bespectacled, hard working, servant, who spent more time at the Rainsworth’s than anywhere else, with his two best friends—Sharon and Break.

“Well, I’m beat,” Alice stretched and yawned, “Seaweed-head, when are you going to make me some meat?”

Most Chains (creatures from the Abyss) didn’t look like Alice did; like a fourteen-year-old girl, with floor length brown hair, and an almost cat-like physique—(though it was a giant rabbit she often turned into). Also unlike other illegally contracted Chains, she did not have a thirst for human blood, although she did have a particular love for meat, as well as almost anything edible.

“I suppose I can make you something, now that we’ve finished,” Gil sighed.

“Oh? Have you now?” they turned to see Sharon’s servant, Xerxes Break, grinning as he poured himself another cup of tea. “Are you sure nothing’s…” he leaned back against the table, “missing?”

Break was a red-eyed, white-haired man, also much older than he looked. Even those close to him would say he was a bit of an acquired taste; his love for teasing, the creepy doll on his shoulder, and his general lack of regard for other people and their feelings, made it difficult for those subject to his mischiefs—such as Gilbert—to acquire any kind of affection for him.

Gilbert froze, turning his head slowly to the tree. His eyes immediately found the empty space where a certain ornament had been.

“Break!” he shouted, spinning back to him, “Must you do this every year?!”

“Let an old man have his fun.” Break grinned.

“I believe he must, Gilbert-sama,” Sharon answered Gilbert’s question, nonchalantly taking a sip of tea before continuing, “It has become something of a tradition.”

“I should have spent Christmas with he Nightrays this year,” Gilbert grumbled, reluctance in his motions as he began to pick up books, and other objects around the room, as if searching.

“You’re so mean,” Break chided playfully, then spoke a little more seriously, knowing Gilbert had no intentions of spending much time with his adoptive family, and real brother, “You’d rather spend Christmas with the sewer rat, than us?”

Gil gave him a death glare.

“Sorry…but what’s a tradition?” Oz asked, turning to Sharon and Break.

He wouldn’t admit it, but sometimes, especially with things like this, the ten-year gap could make Oz feel like an outsider.

“Every year Break takes Gilbert-sama’s favorite ornament,” Sharon explained, “And hides it somewhere in the manor.”

“Ooh! That sounds like fun!”

“It’s not fun, Oz!” Gilbert hollered at his master, “It’s a waste of a perfectly good afternoon! Not to mention annoying, and rude!”

Break laughed. Gil had yet to learn his outrageous reactions were what made this sort of thing so fun for the prankster.

“Don’t worry, Gil!” Ada bounded up to him, “I’ll help you look!”

Gilbert flushed, “T-Thank you.”

“What does it look like, Gil?”

He looked at Oz, then turned back to Ada, and explained it quietly enough that only she could hear.

She nodded, beaming, and began to look in a different part of the room.

“What’s the matter, Gil?”—Gil gasped as his master appeared suddenly at his other side—“You don’t want me to know what it is?” Oz’s laugh faded into a more puzzled expression when Gil averted his eyes, turning redder.

“It’s a secret, Onii-chan!” Ada answered for him, “You’ll see when we find it!”

He didn’t get the chance to ask anything more, because Alice broke in, having been observing all their interactions,

“Does…Does this mean I won’t get my meat?”

“Uh huh,” Gilbert sighed, “That’s exactly what it means.”

“No! I will not allow it!” Alice shook her head, and whirled around on Break, pointing at him in an accusatory manner, “Clown! Return Seaweed-head’s stupid ornament his instant!”

“It’s not stupid, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Aren’t you a spoilsport?” The Mad Hatter teased, then the doll on his shoulder, Emily, finished,

“Why should I listen to some dumb bunny?”

Alice growled, her hands clenching into fists. She spun to Gilbert, declaring as she ran up to him,“Then I won’t rest until I find that ornament! With the great Alice-sama on your side, you cannot fail!”

“Sure you won’t just get in the way?”

She kicked him in the shin, crossing her arms, “You’d be lost without me, Seaweed-head.”

“Don’t kick me, Stupid rabbit!” he rubbed his leg, “Now go look for it over there!” he stamped his injured foot back down and pointed to the opposite corner of the room, (to which she quickly ran, proceeding to tear her designated space apart in a matter of seconds.)

“Is this ornament really all that important, Gil? I mean, we have lots of—”

“Yes!” he answered before his master could finish, “it is!”

Oz sighed, knowing how attached his servant could get to things, “Alright. So…is us helping against the rules?” he asked, watching Alice destroy the room in search of it, Ada calmly remove things, and put them back where they were meant to go, and Gil as a mix of the two.

“Don’t you think we would have stopped them if it was, Oz-kun?”

Sharon shook her head, “It doesn’t matter who finds it, watching him search is the fun part.” Her mischievous side was showing; most of the time she was this prim and proper lady, but being close to Break had its effects.

“That’s right; the more people searching, the funnier it is when they can’t find it,” Break sang. “Though, tell me, Ojousama,” he turned to his mistress “are you merely saying that because you wagered he’d find it early—before 18:00?” he asked knowingly, sitting up on the table—(Reim gave him a look that could only be interpreted as: can-you act-any-less-like-a-servant?)

They turned to the clock—it was 15:00.

“Why do you want to know, Break?” his mistress asked with a tone of false interest, “Are you afraid your skills as a prankster have gone down with age?” she patted her mouth innocently with a napkin.

“What do you take me for, Ojousama?” he smirked, crossing his legs, narrowing his eyes at Gilbert, “He’ll need all the help he can get.”

Gilbert returned to him an even more murderous look.

“You… betted on this?”

“All part of the tradition, Oz-kun,” Break mentioned, stealing a mini pastry from Reim’s plate—(the incense was more than evident on Reim’s face, and probably why Break did it).

“It’s not money we wagered, though; If I win, Break has to swear off sweets over Christmas—as well as make me a lavish dessert full of those sweet things he can’t have. And if Break wins, I have to buy him an equally lavish amount of extra Christmas candy and sweets.”

“Nice! Break, I didn’t know you could bake!”

“He really can’t,” Sharon chuckled, “But it’s fun to see what he comes up with.”

Break glared at her.

“So… is this how you bet every year?”

“Sometimes it’s different. But it’s usually something to the effect of giving Break a taste of his own medicine…Though I seem to recall one year, I wanted Break to do this dance I had heard of in a book, if he lost. I believe it was called ‘Futterwacken.’”

“That’s a weird name for a dance!” Oz laughed, “So? How did that go?

“I suppose it is,” she smiled, “That was one of the tamer punishments, but, when he did lose, he refused—rather blatantly.”

“Really?!” he turned to Break.

“How many times must I tell you? I have no talent for dancing.”

“Truly, as a servant of the Rainsworth Dukedom, it would be better fitting that you learned,” she shook her head, then turned back to Oz, “Anyway, after that, we thought the chance to take away his candy was rather enjoyable.”

“Aw, I want to join the bet!”

Gilbert looked affronted, but before he could speak, Oz continued, boyish excitement simmering in his tone,

“Say, what if, if Break loses, I get to eat his candy instead?!”

Sharon and Break glanced at each other.

“Let me ask you something, Oz-kun;” Break set down his tea, “Are you willing to risk the consequences of such a wager?”

“Ehh…consequences?”

“Why of course. I couldn’t give little Oz-kun the chance of stealing my candy without the proper torment in store if he lost.”

“Eh…” Oz knew just how mean Break could get, and that this could very well turn into a prank war that ended in actual blood, “I think I’ll pass.”

“I always said you were smarter than you looked,” the Mad Hatter picked up his tea again.

“Maybe you could join in by helping me look, instead of encouraging them, Oz!” Gilbert whirled on him.

“Aww, do I have to?” the fifteen-year-old groaned.

“Oz!”

Oz turned to the masterminds, as if silently asking for them to give him an excuse not to.

“Hey, Oz-kun is sharp,” Break began, then Emily added,

“Probably smarter than these three put together!”

—two of the aforementioned three gave him what can only be described as ‘fight-me’ faces, and Ada looked disheartened—Break took no notice, and finished,

“So that depends; whose side are you on?”

“Well,” Oz thought for a moment, then mused, grinning, “it would be fun to see Break trying to swear of candy!”

“Is that so?” Break’s eye narrowed.

“In any case, why isn’t Reim-san helping?” he shifted the focus. “You’re not the kind of person to sit back while others are in trouble”

Reim sighed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “While that may be true, these two are often harsher with me, than others. If I help you, I have a feeling I shall pay for it in some way later,” he shot them an icy look, “dearly.”

“Whatever do you mean, Reim-san?” Sharon asked innocently. “We thought you enjoyed our company.”

“Yeah, it’s only because you’re our favorite, Reim-san,” Break gave a fake sappy voice.

“Then pick a new favorite!”

“That’s not how it works! You have a lifetime guarantee!”

“Sharon,” it was Ada who spoke. She had been focused on searching on the mantelpiece, and inside the stockings, “Why are there nine stockings?”

“What do you mean, Ada?” Oz asked, stepping over to her.

“Well, I was just thinking; there’s me, Onii-chan, Uncle, and Alice,”—Alice looked annoyed at Ada mentioning her name—“since we’re staying here for Christmas,” she pointed at each of the stockings in turn, “and these belong to Sharon-sama, Break, Duchess Rainsworth-sama, and Reim-san, right? But who does this last one belong to?” she held the bottom of the last one, careful not to pull it off the mantle.

They turned to Break and Sharon, who glanced at each other, their mischievous grins fading into more somber, reminiscent expressions.

“It was Break’s idea,” Sharon answered.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit—“

“It’s for my mother…That has become something of a tradition as well. We just thought it would be nice, to have something to remember her by during the Christmas season.”

The tone in the room quieted; the rest of them knew that Shelly was Sharon’s mother, who had died sometime after Oz’s coming of age ceremony.

“That’s…actually really sweet,” Oz noted, “Break, I’m surprised you thought of it!”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you? And you say that like I’m cruel.”

“Well…” Oz rubbed the back of his neck, smiling nervously, trying to formulate a non- insulting answer in his mind.

“I think what Oz is trying to say,” Reim started out gently, then finished harshly, “Is that it’s high time you realized you can be a jerk, Xerxes!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say jerk’…” Oz began.

“I would,” Gil mumbled.

“My…I cant believe that you all….” Break began softly, then Emily jeered,

“Just figured that out now!”

The anger was evident on all of their faces.

“Really, why are you all ganging up on me,” Break grinned, without a hint of hurt in his voice, “when you should be focusing on the task at hand?”

“Because it’s your fault we’re in this mess!” Gilbert shouted, then ran his hand frustratedly through his hair, observing the mess they had made of the room, before demanding, “Is it in this room?!”

“Given up already, have you?” Emily teased.

Gilbert clenched his hands into fists, biting back a retort.

“Did anyone see him leave the room?!”

Everyone looked at Gilbert blankly, or up at the ceiling, trying to think if they had, realizing they had no idea, and knew full well Sharon could have used Eques to transport him when their backs were turned anyways. Gilbert put his hands on his hips, sighing at their silence “Alright. We have a whole manor to look through, it’s best we move on from this room,” he paused, turning again to Break, with malice in his eyes, “Right?”

“Sure, kiddo!” Emily replied, and he gave the fakest grin yet.

Gilbert gritted his teeth, then shook his head, directing them,

“Let’s split up; Ada, you go down the left hall, Stupid Rabbit, you take the right. I’ll go downstairs.”

“I won’t let you down, Seaweed-Head!” Alice sped down the hall, not even searching, as if she had forgotten the task she’d been given.

Ada nodded, “Come on, Snowdrop, Kitty!” she called to her cats.

Oz sighed, “Alright, fine. I’ll help too.”

Gilbert smiled, about to thank him, when Oz added,

“But I expect to be rewarded for my troubles!”

His servant rolled his eyes.

“I kinda need to know what it looks like, though, don’t I, Gil? You seemed to want to keep it a secret earlier.”

“You’ll…um….You’ll know it when you see it,” Gilbert looked anywhere but at his master.

Oz sighed, putting his hands on his hips, “Really? That kinda makes things harder, you know.”

“Oh, not up to the challenge, are you Oz-kun?” Break goaded.

“No, no, I can do it! I just feel like we’re not addressing a key part of the puzzle here!”

With that Gilbert pulled him out of the room and into the search.

Gilbert was right; it did seem like a bit of a waste of an afternoon; exhausting wasn’t the only word that came to mind after rifling through each room one by one, with no clue as to where it might be. Especially because the feeling began growing in them that Gilbert was way too attached to things, as well as that Break was, indeed, a jerk. They didn’t know how much time had passed before they met up again in the hall, everyone hanging their heads in shame and disappointment.

“What should we do?” Ada asked quietly.

“We can’t let the clowny bastard win!” Alice slammed a fist into her other palm to emphasize her point.

“That’s right!” Gilbert agreed, “For years I had to put up with his constant teasing, it’s high time we got him back!”

“I don’t think losing the bet is really going to make him stop. I mean, he’s lost before, right?”

“You don’t have to be so blunt about it!” Gilbert complained.

“Sorry,” Oz shrugged.

In the moment of silence that followed, Ada’s cat started rubbing against Oz’s leg, as if trying to comfort him.

“What do you think, Snowdrop?” Oz asked jokingly, picking up his sister’s cat, (Gilbert eyed it, a whine developing in his throat, scooching away), “Do you have any idea where it is?”

Oz gasped.

“What is it, Onii-chan?”

Tied into the cat’s collar was a ribbon, attached to a little ornament. He pulled it free and placed the cat on the floor (it meowed and padded away).

The other three gasped in turn, leaning in to get a better look at it.

“That bastard!” Gilbert slammed his fist into the wall behind him. “He knew I wouldn’t go near your cats!”

“Yeah,” Oz laughed, “leave it to Break to take the cheap shot.”

“What are we waiting for?!” Alice demanded, “Didn’t I just say we can’t let the clowny bastard win!”

“You’re right!” the others said together, and bolted down the hall.

“We found it!” Oz held the ornament high, like a trophy, as they burst through the door.

At the same moment that he held up the evidence, the hour chimed.

They each glanced at each other, then at the clock, which read exactly 18:00.

“My, my, isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” Break remarked, stretching, “It looks like it’s a tie, Ojousama.”

“It would appear,” Sharon smiled “In that case, would you please excuse me for a moment?” she gathered her dress and hurried out of the room.

“So, which one of you found it?” Break asked, walking over to them.

“I did.”

The prankster smirked, “What did I tell you?” he ruffled Oz’s hair, “Oz-kun’s sharp.”

“So… what does that mean about your wagers?” Oz tried to put his hair right. “Since you tied?”

“Just a moment Oz-kun,” he put his hand on Oz’s head, his sleeve falling over his eyes, and looked over their heads

Sharon quickly did return, a little out of breath, holding a small package wrapped in a ribbon.

“Here you are, Break!” she held it out for him.

He took it from her and unwrapped it, opening the little red box to reveal that it was filled with the the candy she had promised.

“Just the thing I needed” he patted her head, unwrapping a piece and tossing it into his mouth. “Better luck next time, Ojousama,”

Oz and Alice stared at him, open-mouthed, dumbstruck that he had beat them.

“Now I suppose I should get started on that dessert of yours,” he waited until the proper moment to add.

“Please do.”

“Huh?” Oz and Alice asked simultaneously.

“Since we tied,” Sharon spoke, as they both turned to them, “we both win.”

“So…does that mean the clown still has to swear off candy?” Alice asked hopefully.

“No—Unfortunately,” Sharon added, glancing at her servant, who rolled his eyes, eating another piece, “We both get the rewards of the wager, but no one gets the punishment.”

“More in the Christmas spirit, wouldn’t you agree, Ojousama?” he said between candy crunches.

“Since when do you care about ‘Christmas spirit’?!” Gilbert demanded.

“Better luck next year, I guess,” Oz tried to put a positive spin on it.

“Next year?!” Alice fumed, “I want to settle this now!” (Gilbert held Alice by the neck of her jacket.)

“Believe me,” Reim grunted, eyeing Break, “it’ll only end worse for you,”

“Who knows?” Break shrugged, “There may not be a next year, Oz-kun.”

Alice continued to seethe while the others glanced at each other, unsure of how to respond to such a statement.

“There you go again,” Reim scolded. “You can’t just mention something like that!”

Break dismissed him with a wave of his hand, chuckling to himself, and muttering something about his uptightness, as he made his way down the hall to the kitchens.

After Break left, Oz looked down at his hand, opening his fingers to reveal the little clay, painted oddity he was still holding. Alice came behind him and looked over his shoulder at it.

“What…is it?”

“You didn’t know what you were looking for?!” Gilbert questioned.

“Because you never told me, Seaweed-head!”

Gilbert looked away, clearly wanting to bite back, but without argument with which to do so.

Oz shook his head, staring at it. It was rather crudely made, ineptly painted. But he couldn’t mistake it for anything else—and Gil had been right, he did know it when he saw it.

Because he was the one who made it.

“I can’t believe you kept this, Gil.”

Gilbert looked away, nodding and turning red.

Now he understood why Gilbert was so intent on getting it back. This ornament had probably become a symbol to Gilbert—much like Shelly’s stocking on the mantelpiece was for Break and Sharon—for Oz himself. This ornament, through the years, had probably become tied to his faithful valet’s unending hope that his master would come back. Each year Break took it, as if teasing that perhaps he wouldn’t (and, maybe this was his roundabout way of him trying to prepare him for that), but Gilbert always got it back, as if displaying that he would never lose that hope.

“Oy! What is it?!” Alice demanded again, upset her ‘manservant’ wasn’t focusing all his attention on her.

“It’s a bird, Alice,” Oz answered simply.

“Really, how do you figure?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look very good does it?” Oz laughed.

“Seaweed-head, why would a crappy ornament like this be your favorite?”

“Oy! You don’t see me criticizing your bad taste!”

“Bad taste?! I have impeccable taste! I eat meat every day!”

“That’s not what—”

“Its because I made it for him,” Oz answered her question quietly.

“You?” Alice laughed, slapping him on the back, “You have pretty poor skills, Oz.”

“Give me a break! I was a kid!”

Oscar laughed, walking up to them, “You’re still a kid, Oz. Yes…I can’t remember how old he was, but he made me, Ada, and Gilbert ornaments,” he laughed a little, putting his arm around Gilbert, “I remember how offended Gil was at his master making him a gift.”

“Yeah,” Oz laughed, they all looked up at Gil, who got steadily redder the more they spoke, “We had to force him to accept it.”

“Why are you surprised he kept his, Onii-chan?” Ada asked, “Uncle and I kept ours. They’re back at the Vessalius manor. But! we could bring them over here if you want!”

“That’s okay, I believe you! Still… Like Alice said, they don’t look very good.”

“But, like you said, you were the one who made them for us,” Oscar ruffled his nephew’s hair.

“What were the ornaments you made for them, Oz?” Alice asked.

“Well, I made Ada a little cat, and uncle Oscar a camera. I didn’t really know what Gil liked, so I just made him a bird. Funny, how your chain is Raven now.”

“How come you haven’t made me one, Manservant?!” Alice hit Oz on the head.

“Hey! I’ve been busy!” he rubbed the spot where she hit him.

“In any case,” Alice turned to Gilbert, jumping quickly to the next subject, “now you can make my meat, Seaweed-head!”

“Break’s using the kitchen, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Then let’s go to the market! I’m starving!”

Gilbert sighed into his hand, “Fine. Let me get my hat and coat.”

“Can I come with you guys?” Ada asked—Alice looked peeved, but Gil and Oz had already welcomed her.

“I’ll go check if Break needs anything!” Oz ran off towards the kitchen.

As Oz arrived, he saw that Break had changed out of his white coat and purple shirt into more casual closing—likely so he wouldn’t ruin his normal outfit. He had rolled up the sleeves, and was wearing a pink apron Gil sometimes wore when he cooked for them here, but which probably belonged to Sharon’s grandmother, or mother. He had already begun to make a mess of things; flour was all over the counter, chocolate was on the walls, somehow there were even ingredients in in his hair.

“You need some help?” Oz asked, half-jokingly.

Break looked up.

“Oz-kun,” he noted, then grinned, “You? Help me? Gotten bored of Gilbert-kun, and Alice-kun already?”

“Nah. I just wanted to know if you needed anything. We’re going to the store.”

Oz knew that Break could have asked for help from the staff, or Gilbert, but Sharon called him ‘Mr. One-Man-Show’ for a reason; sure, it might not taste or look all that good, but at least he would have made it himself.

“You really think I wouldn’t have come prepared?”

“But, if you won, you wouldn’t have to make—”

Oz gasped. Realizing something:

They both had bought the supplies ahead of time. Oz thought one of them would have to go to the store, depending on who won the bet, (perhaps dragging the other begrudgingly along), but they both had already bought the necessary ingredients. Which meant, either the food one of them bought would go to waste, or be used in some other way, or, regardless of who won or lost, they still intended to give each other the gifts.

“You already had the ingredients,” Oz thought out loud. “and Sharon-chan already had your candy...”

“So?”

“I would have thought one of you would have to go to the store, depending on who won.”

“What’s your point, Oz-kun?” Break pushed his hair back.

Oz shook his head, grinning like he now had some secret information. “Break, you really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”

Break put his hand on the table, turning to him, “Wipe that cheeky grin off your face before I do it for you.”

Oz put his hands behind his back, sauntering closer.

“Oh, nothing,” he whistled, “Just that, well, you do this every year, don’t you? Sharon likes to give you a taste of your own medicine if you lose, but you both use this an excuse to give each other extra gifts, don’t you? I bet it was your idea in the first place.”

“How do you know we weren’t planning to use the supplies in some other way?”

“Because you’re not considerate enough to let others use your stuff,” he grinned, “Didn’t you just say there would be punishment in store if I got your candy?”

“Well,” he smirked at Oz’s discovery, twirling the spoon in his hand, “‘nice’ would be stretching it. But maybe occasionally I’m not a complete ‘jerk.’”

Oz grinned. That was all the confirmation he needed.

As if he were brandishing a sword, Break flicked chocolate on Oz’s face with the spoon, “Now get out of here.”

Oz rolled his eyes.

“Good luck, Break!”

With that he exited the room, and ran to the front door to catch up with Gil, Ada, and Alice, who were gathered there, waiting for him.

“Break doesn’t need anything!” he called to them, “Let’s go!”

At first it may have seemed like a waste of time, but, in the end, Oz realized; an afternoon playing a game, learning that after ten years Gil had still cherished the small gift he had once been reluctant to accept, seeing how Sharon and Break found ways to bring each other joy, spending time with his friends, spending time with his real family, would never be a waste of an afternoon for him.

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monstaless · 4 years

Text

On The Low - Part One

Author: @monstaless

Relationships: fwb!Bambam x Reader, some JB x reader

Warnings: angst, smut, language, my possibly incorrect Korean (which I guess in the context of this fic is okay)

Song - On The Low by Justin Park

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I hadn’t intended to release this in two parts, but I also hadn’t intended for it to be this long. I hope you like it!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

The first time he saw her, she was in the lobby of his building. She was standing by the security guard’s desk and she had stopped Bambam dead in his tracks. She was gorgeous and impeccably dressed: a light purple dress shirt tucked into a knee-length white pencil skirt, and matching purple pumps. As she reached up to brush her hair behind her ear, he noticed that around her wrist she wore a strand of light pink mala beads.

He wondered if she was the wife of someone else in the building, but he hadn’t seen her before. He couldn’t see a ring on her finger either. She must have just moved into the building.

He quickly turned away and pressed the button for the elevator as she thanked the security guard. He half expected her to make her way to the elevator, but as the doors were closing, he saw her walking out the front doors of the lobby.

The first time he spoke to her, she was running to catch the same elevator and he held the door for her. He noted how surprisingly steady she was in her heels as she slipped between the doors to join him.

“Gamsahamnida.” She smiled, bowing slightly to him.

“Munje eopseoyo.” He stood quietly for a moment before turning to her again. “Banggeum isa wassoyo?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, I don’t. Um, I don’t understand,” she replied awkwardly, her face flushing slightly.

“Did you just move in?” he asked with a polite smile. He felt more comfortable speaking English with her anyway.

“Yes, a couple of days ago.” She seemed surprised, but she smiled and appeared to relax a little. “Have you lived here long?”

“A couple of years. I’m not here often though. Work takes me elsewhere.” He shrugged.

“Oh, I understand that. It’s why I’m here after all.” She laughed. “What do you do?”

“Uh, you know, the usual.” At that moment her phone started to ring and she gave him an apologetic look after checking the ID.

“I’m very sorry. It’s a business call.”

“It’s okay.” He was too relieved that he didn’t have to continue to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t give him away. So far, she didn’t seem to have a clue who he was.

“Hai. Y/N desu.”

He recognized it as Japanese immediately, but only understood bits and pieces of her phone exchange and didn’t want to eavesdrop anyway. When the elevator stopped at his floor, he gave her a short bow before exiting.

“It was nice to meet you,” she called after him as the doors closed and he grinned as he made his way to his door.

The second time that they met, she was struggling to remove an armload of sewing supplies from her car in the parking garage. She seemed like she had it under control, but there was no way that she was going to be able to close the hatch or use the elevator without assistance. He’d just returned from a long day at the studio, but he didn’t have anything to carry, and he wasn’t so tired that he couldn’t offer his assistance.

“Would you like some help?” offered BamBam. She looked at him over the supplies that filled her arms and recognition flashed across her face. She smiled at him.

“Hi! Yes, I would love it, honestly.” Though she seemed ashamed to be asking for help.

“What can I carry?”

“Um, if you could take this box, that’d be fantastic,” she laughed, shifting so that he could take the box from her arms. It was heavier than he’d expected and he wondered what was in it, but didn’t want to ask.

“Anything else?”

“Nope, I think that we’re okay.” She shifted the items that she was still holding into a more manageable position before she closed the hatch. “I never introduced myself last time. I’m Y/N L/N, by the way.”

“Kunpimook Bhuwakul, but most people call me Bambam,” he replied.

“Thanks for your help, Bambam. I really didn’t want to have to make two trips.”

“I could tell,” he chuckled as they entered the elevator and she hit the button for her floor. They were both silent as the doors closed. After a moment, he turned to her. “So? Is it safe for me to assume that you work in fashion?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “I worked for a company in Tokyo for a little while, mostly as a interpreter. It was a way for me to get my foot in the door. They didn’t really want any of my designs though. It wasn’t really in style in Japan, but one of my superiors really liked my work. He got me a job at a company here.”

“How are your designs doing here?”

“Really well. I doubted that my designs would do any better here, but the company liked them. They offered me the chance to start my own line and here I am.”

The elevator stopped and they both stepped off to make their way to her door.

“That’s what all of this is for. I’m trying to get some designs ready to present for next seasons line.”

She unlocked the door and BamBam followed her inside.

“You can just set that down anywhere. Sorry for the mess. I’m still kind of trying to get organized. As I’m sure you can see.”

He set the box down on the entryway table and looked around to find that there were still boxes stacked here and there throughout the living area.

“Thank you so much for your help. I really appreciate it. Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Ah, no. Thank you though. I need a shower and I don’t want to intrude.” He started for the elevator, but paused in the doorway. He wasn’t sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. “Uh, I’m having a party on Saturday, if you’d like to come.”

She looked up at him.

“I’m not much of a partier, but thank you for the offer.” Her response was polite, and he could tell that she was being honest. He decided maybe he should’ve chosen a more accurate word.

“It’s not really a party. It’s honestly more of a gathering. Just some people that I work with. It’d be a great way for you to meet some people. It’ll be pretty chill. I promise we won’t be getting too wild.”

“What time?” she questioned after appearing to consider it for a moment. He hoped that was a good sign.

“Six o’clock. Do you remember what floor I’m on?”

“Nine, right?”

He nodded.

“I’ll consider it.”

“Hey, you owe me one.” He teased.

“Of course.” She laughed.

Bambam hadn’t actually expected her to show up, but there she was standing in the hallway in a white and black sheath dress. She held out a bottle of wine in offering.

“I’m not really sure what the protocol is for parties in Korea,” she said awkwardly. “But in Japan, you never show up empty handed.”

“You didn’t have to bring anything, but thank you. Mark will appreciate it.” He stepped out of the doorway so that she could come into his apartment. “I’ll introduce you to everyone. Follow me.”

“Oh gosh, I feel slightly overdressed,” she said quietly when she saw the other guys.

“Nah, they’re just usually under-dressed,” he assured her with a smile. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“A water is fine. Thank you.”

He introduced her to everyone as they made their way to the kitchen.

“What’s up with Y/N and Jaebeom?” questioned Jackson later on after she’d gotten comfortable enough to mingle with everyone on her own. “I thought you said that she didn’t speak Korean.”

“No more than the basics,” shrugged Bambam. “But she does speak Japanese. She lived in Japan for a while before.”

He looked over to where she sat, her whole body turned towards Jaebeom even though the seats were side by side. She was smiling brightly as she talked to him. The smile was mirrored on Jaebeom’s face.

“So Jaebeom has somehow hit it off with her in his limited Japanese or his limited English?” questioned Mark, butting into the conversation. “Our Jaebeom? The same Jaebeom who gets embarrassed when talking to any girl that’s not on the staff?”

“Maybe it’s not as limited as we thought,” offered Jackson, shrugging as they continued to watch the exchange. Neither of them seemed to be having difficulty communicating.

“Maybe you should’ve kept her away a while before introducing her to everyone, Bam. You might’ve missed your chance to shoot your shot,” laughed Mark. Bambam couldn’t disagree. He hadn’t really thought about the other guys hitting it off with her. He hadn’t even really had a real conversation with her yet. He was kind of disappointed that she seemed to be getting on so well with Jaebeom already.

She greeted him warmly every time she saw him after the party. Occasionally, she’d offer to bring him food when she had made too much. She’d grown up in a big family and she’d never really become accustomed to making food for just one person.

This time though he invited her over for dinner. He’d been waiting for an excuse to make Thai food and an excuse for her to come over without the other guys around.

To his relief there appeared to be nothing going on between her and Jaebeom. He wasn’t even sure that the two of them had talked since the party. They also hadn’t asked about each other, which he hoped was a good sign that he hadn’t missed his chance yet.

He checked himself in the mirror in the hallway one last time before opening the door for her.

“Hey,” he smiled as he opened the door.

“Hi.” He stepped aside to let her in. “You look very nice today. I love that jacket.”

“Ah, thanks. You look very nice too,” he laughed as he closed the door. “Do you want something to drink?”

“What goes best with Thai food?” She followed him into the kitchen.

“Mmm, probably iced tea or I have beer. Do you like beer?”

"Not really,” she replied meekly. He opened the fridge and leaned down to check it’s contents.

“How about I make Thai iced tea then?”

“That would be great!”

“Wow, you are a great cook. Can I just come here for dinner all the time?” she asked after taking a few bites of her food. He laughed, enjoying the praise. He thrived on praise.

“What do I get in return?”

“My gratitude and praise isn’t enough?” She pouted at him in mock disappointment.

“Babygirl, I get plenty of that already,” he laughed.

The next week he went to her place for dinner. The week after that scheduling had him out of the country for a few days and she offered to take care of his cats, which he accepted. They seemed to be almost as comfortable with her as they were with him and she facetimed him everyday to let him see how they were doing.

When he returned, she came over to visit with him and the other members. She brought them desserts, which Jackson and Jinyoung attempted to decline, but ultimately accepted.

Bambam discovered that she and Jaebeom had kept in contact since the first time they met, but it seemed to be nothing more than friendly conversation. They happened to have a lot of shared interests so it made sense. That didn’t stop him from feeling a tinge of jealousy though.

The other guys had all left one at a time, until it was just her and Bambam. They were sitting on the couch next to each other where they had been most of the evening.

He was doing it before he’d even thought about it, leaning across the sofa to kiss her. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the fear that he was going to lose his chance to Jaebeom and for some reason, he just couldn’t stand the thought of her picking Jaebeom before he’d even had a chance. Maybe it was the slight feeling he had that maybe after all the time they’d been spending together, she might possibly be into him too.

To his surprise, she kissed him back, moving in closer to deepen the kiss. He’d thought that she had a thing for Jaebeom, but here she was. They’d both had a little alcohol and maybe that had something to do with their situation. He didn’t care either way. She tasted sweet, like only the fruity undertones of the wine lingered on her lips.

“Maybe I should stop,” he murmured after pulling away. “We’ve both had a bit to drink.”

“Maybe you should keep going.”

“Okay.” he said quietly. He didn’t really want to stop anyway, even if he knew this wasn’t the best idea. ”Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” she replied and he moved closer. He kissed her again and soon he found himself on top of her, his body settled between her legs, holding his weight with one arm while he used his other hand to bring her face closer. Her fingers were curled into the hair at the back of his head.

He ignored his phone as it started to ring, letting his hand drift down her side, his thumb brushing against the exposed skin just above her jeans. Her hands were tugging his shirt free from his jeans when his phone started to go off again.

“Should you get that?” she panted, pulling away for air. He glanced at it and seeing that it was Yugyeom, he shook his head, pushing away from her only to press ignore.

He was just about to kiss her again when someone started to ring the door bell. He groaned in annoyance.

“Sorry, I should probably get that,” he muttered. He reluctantly pushed himself away from her, helping her back into a sitting position before tucking his shirt back in.

Yugyeom stood outside the door.

“What the hell, man?” questioned Bambam.

“I should really be going, Bambam,” said Y/N, placing her hand gently on his shoulder as she slipped by him. Her face was red and she didn’t bother to look up at Yugyeom as she slipped by him. “I’ll see you later. Bye, Yugyeom.”

Bambam watched her get into the elevator and then turned back to Yugyeom.

“Really?”

“I forgot my wallet,” shrugged Yugyeom.

“How?!”

He moved aside to let Yugyeom into the apartment.

“Hey, don’t tell anyone, okay? I don’t think she wants anyone to know.”

Yugyeom glanced over his shoulder as he picked his wallet up from the end table. “I won’t. I didn’t see anything.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Are you going to date her?”

“I don’t know.” He hadn’t truly thought about it. It had been at the back of his mind,of course, and he couldn’t deny that her living in the same building would make dating her super easy. Now that Yugyeom had planted that idea in his head though, it would be all that he could think about.

The next day, he couldn’t stop thinking about her leaving. Had she left because she was embarrassed? Had she left because she thought she was making a mistake? He kept checking his phone, hoping for an explanation. He couldn’t focus on anything and the other guys seemed to pick up on it.

“You good?” questioned Jackson.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He shrugged. He couldn’t even bother to make up an excuse.

Later, Yugyeom pulled him aside.

“I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t realize that I would be interrupting something.”

“No, it’s okay. I just don’t really know what’s going on between us,” explained Bambam. “She left last night and hasn’t said a word.”

“Maybe she’s been waiting on you to say something.”

“You’re right. I’ll text her.”

Bambam: I’d like to see you later, if you have time.

Y/N: I’m working late tonight. Maybe tomorrow?

Bambam: I’ll let you know when I’m done working tomorrow.

Y/N: Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow then.

The exchange didn’t make him feel any better. It seemed too casual. She seemed apathetic about what had happened between them the day before.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” she started apologizing as soon as he walked through the door.

“It’s okay. I just hope that I didn’t ruin our friendship. I mean, I think we’re friends, right?” He asked, turning to face her as she closed the door behind him.

“Absolutely. It didn’t ruin anything. I was totally into it. I mean, I just got kind of nervous about the other guys finding out and I guess they kind of know now. I just, I’m not really sure that I want something serious right now and I’m not really sure what you want. I should’ve just waited and asked you, but I was really embarrassed.”

He couldn’t deny that he was relieved. He’d thought he’d been the issue. That she’d regretted it because of who she was with.

“No, I understand. I’m totally into you, but you know what my job entails. I don’t think me dating anyone would go over very well. I don’t think I want anything serious either at the moment.” It was a lie, but after hearing her say that she wasn’t sure that she wanted something serious, he was afraid to admit that he did. He just wanted her to stick around. He enjoyed her company and if that meant ‘just friends’ he’d take it.

“I don’t regret what happened the other night.”

“Yeah? Neither do I.”

“Do you think we could try it again? Maybe without an interruption this time?”

That caught him off guard. He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Sorry. Um, unless that’s something you reserve for serious relationships. Shit. I’m sorry. I’ve made things super awkward.”

“No. No, I definitely want to try it again.”

This time she kissed him first, having to stand on the tip of her toes to reach.

“That was way easier last time,” she laughed, pulling away.

“Maybe we can fix that,” he replied, leading her to the couch, where he pulled her into his lap. “Is this better?”

“Let’s find out.” She pressed to her lips to his as she settled into his lap. His hands fell to her waist, pulling her in a little closer. Her hands were moving over the buttons of his shirt, trying to get it off of him as quickly as possible. It slid down his arms easily and he leaned forward so that he could slip out of it completely before his hands found her waist again.

“Definitely better,” he breathed out against her lips when they finally pulled apart to catch their breath. She nodded in agreement before pulling her sweater over her head. He couldn’t help but let his eyes fall to her breasts. He didn’t get to look too long before her lips were back against his.

Her hand slipped between them to palm him through his jeans and he inhaled sharply. It was much needed friction, but not quite enough. He pulled her in close again, his hands on her hips to guide them in a slow grind against his. She shifted in his lap and her bra disappeared from between them, her bare chest pressing against his.

He pulled away to press kisses to her jawline and down to her neck and she let her head fall back. She guided one of his hands up to her breast and he needed no further guidance from her.

“So when are you going to make dinner for me again?” she asked, pushing herself away from him.

“So you’re just using me for food now?” He chuckled.

“Hey, you said that my gratitude and praise wasn’t enough.” She grinned before pulling on her sweater. His eyes roamed over her legs and then flicked up to meet her gaze.

“I guess you’re right.” He pulled up his briefs and jeans as she disappeared, only to return with two glasses of water. “Thanks, babygirl.”

“No problem,” she smiled.

“You can’t stop smiling at me,” he noted. “Was it that good?”

“Don’t get cocky, it’s a turn off,” she warned, but she was still smiling. Her smile was contagious and he couldn’t stop smiling back at her.

“I’ll make you dinner next week,” he offered, pulling his shirt back on.

“Then maybe we can do this again?” He paused, midway through buttoning up his shirt.

“Oh, we are definitely gonna do this again.” He didn’t even try to hide the enthusiasm in his voice. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on between them, but he was super into whatever it was. “We’ll give my place another try. Hopefully, no one will interrupt this time.”

#got7 #got7 fanfic #got7 bambam #bambam #got7 fluff #got7 smut #bambam fluff #bambam smut #got7 scenario #got7 reaction #kunpimook bhuwakul #bambam fanfic #bambam fwb

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splendidlyimperfect · 3 years

Note

Ooooo if you’re still doing the sentence starter thing can I request: “ i can’t believe that asshole said that to you . it’s not true, you know.” And “you want me to punch him in the face ??” Please??? With Natsu comforting Gray???

this took a while, i can’t remember how long ago this was submitted, time is fake, i’m sorry <3 i hope you enjoy it!

read my lips

rating: teen and up pairing: gray/natsu tags: modern au, established relationship, covid fic, coffee shops, hard of hearing character, sign language, ableism, audism, emotional hurt/comfort, me projecting on gray as usual

**tw for ablelism/audism (ableism targeted at Deaf/HoH folks) and an instance of the r-slur

-----

“I don’t care what Lucas says, Han shot first.”

Natsu emphasized his point with his sewing needle, shooing away Happy when he tried to bat at the thread.

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Sting insisted from the other end of the video call. “I’m just saying that he did kind of invent Star Wars.”

Natsu rolled his eyes at his cousin as he nudged Happy away from the laptop. “Yeah, and he suggested Darth Icky as a Sith name to the game devs for ‘The Force Unleashed’, so it’s probably time for him to just, y’know, not be involved anymore.”

Continue reading on AO3

Sting snorted, shaking his head as he tied off a knot on the back of his embroidery and flipped it over to study the design. He sighed, holding it up to the camera so Natsu could see the uneven stitches.

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get this,” Sting complained. “Yours looks so much better.”

“I’ve also been doing it for years,” Natsu pointed out. He was about to say something else when the front door slammed open, bringing with it a red-faced Gray who looked like he was on the verge of tears. He kicked off his shoes, tossing his mask into the laundry basket at the door and throwing his bag on the floor.

“Hey, love,” Natsu said, waving his hand to get Gray’s attention. Gray shook his head, refusing to look at Natsu and storming into the kitchen. Natsu frowned. Gray had been in a good mood when he’d left that morning, and he’d texted Natsu only an hour ago – on my way home, gonna pick up coffee, love you <3

“Everything okay?” Sting asked.

“No, I gotta go,” Natsu said, setting his embroidery down and giving Sting a concerned look. “I’ll text you later, ‘kay?”

Sting nodded. “Hope everything’s okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Natsu nudged Happy off his lap, then headed to the kitchen, where Gray was aggressively washing his hands. Eventually he turned off the water but stayed where he was, head down and fingers gripping the edge of the sink.

“Gray?”

He didn’t answer, so Natsu reached around the corner and flicked the lights a couple times. Gray sighed, grabbing the towel and finally turning around to face Natsu.

What’s wrong? Natsu signed. Gray’s cheeks were still flushed, and he refused to meet Natsu’s gaze.

I can’t fucking understand anyone, he signed eventually, looking like he was going to cry. Natsu frowned and Gray added, With masks on. I can’t read anyone’s lips and I feel so stupid.

Natsu’s heart ached at the defeated look on Gray’s face. He stepped forward and reached out for Gray’s hand, which was balled into a tight fist. It took a few seconds, but eventually Gray sighed, letting Natsu slip their fingers together.

“I just wanted a coffee,” he said out loud. His voice was tight and on the edge of tears. “The barista kept asking me something and I couldn’t hear her, there was too much background noise. It’s all just… sound. I didn’t understand. She had to write it down and people were staring, and I felt like an idiot, so I just left.”

Natsu ran his fingers over Gray’s, bringing his hand to his lips and kissing it.

“It’s so frustrating,” Gray said quietly. “Everyone thought I was stupid.”

“I’m sure nobody thought—”

“They did.” Gray’s jaw tensed. “The guy behind me thought I couldn’t hear at all, but he was so fucking loud. I heard him laughing, telling his friend I was…” Gray’s voice broke and he quickly rubbed at his face with the back of his hand.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Natsu said gently, pulling Gray close and wrapping both arms around his shoulders. Gray leaned into the embrace and pressed his forehead to Natsu’s shoulder.

“He said I was retarded.”

Natsu froze at the words that were muffled by his shirt. “What?” he tried to pull back to look at Gray again, but Gray wrapped his arms around Natsu’s waist and kept him close. He was trying his best to hold it in, but he was definitely crying now.

Natsu held Gray tighter, protective anger filling his chest as he ran his hand up and down Gray’s back. “I’m so sorry,” he said against Gray’s ear. “I can’t believe he said that to you, that’s horrible.”

Gray didn’t say anything. Natsu could see him biting his lip to keep back the tears and the soft sounds that came with them. He sighed, holding Gray as close as possible and pressing his cheek to the top of Gray’s head.

“I love you,” he murmured as he ran his fingers through Gray’s hair. They stood like that for a while, and eventually Gray’s shoulders stopped shaking. He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Hey,” Natsu said gently, pulling back and making sure Gray could see his lips. “You know what he said isn’t true, right?”

“I…” Gray swallowed and looked back down at the floor. “It’s just so frustrating. I get so embarrassed and I feel so stupid.”

Natsu shook his head, nudging Gray’s arm and switching to sign.

First of all, that guy is an idiot and a terrible human being, and if I ever see him, I’m gonna punch him in the face. Secondly, you’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I know. You know four languages, you can build computers from scratch, and you can code faster than humanly possible. You know every single piece of lore from World of Warcraft – which is ridiculous, by the way, but adorable.

Gray’s lip quirked up in a tiny smile.

There’s nothing wrong with you, Natsu continued. No matter what. Doesn’t matter if you want to wear your hearing aids or not, if you want to talk or sign, or if you need extra time understanding people.

Gray sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I know. It just sucks.” He exhaled loudly, then looked up at Natsu. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t you dare apologize.”

“But—”

“Look, I know we’re Canadian, but apologizing for someone else being an ass and calling you a slur isn’t allowed.”

Gray laughed and the sound relieved the anger and frustration in Natsu’s chest. He studied Gray’s face for a moment – the deep blue of his eyes, the tiny scar on his forehead, the barely noticeable dimple on his left cheek.

“What?” Gray frowned at him.

“You’re pretty,” Natsu said simply, leaning in and kissing Gray’s nose as a pink flush spread across his cheeks. “And I love you.” Before Gray could attempt to deflect the compliment, Natsu added, “Do you still wanna get a coffee?”

Gray’s expression shifted into something uncertain. “I can just make it here.” He gestured to their coffee machine, but Natsu shook his head.

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want to go out and get coffee?” Gray gave Natsu a suspicious look and he laughed. “I have an idea,” he said, gesturing to the door. “C’mon, let’s go for a drive.”

Natsu made Gray drive. He gave directions that lead away from the house, across the freeway, and into the neighboring suburb. The roads were unfamiliar but Natsu navigated them from his phone, clearly looking for something specific.

“Where are we going?” Gray asked again. He glanced over at Natsu, who just grinned at him and pointed out the window. A Starbucks sat in the middle of the shopping complex on the right side of the road.

“Do the drive through.”

“There’s tons of Starbucks back in New West,” Gray said, frowning as he flicked on the signal and pulled into the parking lot. “Why’d we come all the way out here?”

Natsu didn’t answer, just gestured to the menu screen as Gray pulled up to it. He looked at Natsu, ready for him to interpret whatever the barista said, but was surprised when the screen lit up instead. Someone with long, dark hair appeared on the screen, dressed in a green apron and giving them a warm smile.

Welcome to Starbucks, how are you doing today?

Gray’s eyes widened as he watched them sign, and it took him a moment to realize that they could see him.

Good, he replied quickly, hoping he didn’t look too confused. Um. You?

I’m great! What would you like to order?

Gray stared blankly at the menu for a second, then remembered he always got the same thing. Doubleshot on ice, please? he replied. Grande? Natsu poked him and he batted his hand away. And a Java Chip Frappuccino.

Awesome, see you at the window! The barista smiled and waved at him before the video switched off and the screen returned to normal.

Gray managed to hold in his tears until they had their drinks and were parked in the lot. He quickly wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, trying to hide his face from Natsu.

“That was Rogue,” Natsu said gently, reaching over and pulling Gray’s hands away from his face. “Sting’s new partner.”

Gray swallowed, trying to push down the lump that blocked his throat. “They can… they know sign.”

“Yeah.” Natsu brushed Gray’s hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear. “Sting was telling me about them earlier – their little sister is Deaf so they’re pretty close to fluent in ASL.”

“Oh.” Gray stared down at Natsu’s hand in his, trying to figure out how to explain the complicated sensation in his chest. The frustration and embarrassment from earlier were gone, replaced with a deep sense of relief.

Natsu nudged Gray as he let go of his hand, and Gray looked over at him.

You’re not stupid, Natsu signed, balancing his drink on his lap. You’re smart and funny and gorgeous, and I love you so, so much.

Gray stared him – wild hair and bright eyes and the wide smile that Gray had fallen in love with so many years ago. “How do you do that?” Gray asked softly. Natsu raised an eyebrow. “You always know how to make things better.”

“Making you happy is my superpower,” Natsu said, grinning as he took a sip of his drink. “Now, y’know what you can do with lips besides read them?”

Gray raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Kiss them.”

“You’re such a dork,” Gray said, shaking his head and laughing.

“You love me, though.”

“I do.”

Gray leaned over the console and pulled Natsu in for a long, slow kiss. Natsu’s hand brushed through his hair and he leaned into the touch – into the way that Natsu always felt like home.

“Mm.” Natsu hummed happily as he pulled back and pressed their foreheads together. “See, this is why I make you feel better – I get kisses when you’re happy.”

“So you’re not just being altruistic?”

“Not entirely. I may or may not have ulterior motives.”

“And do those ulterior motives happen to involve clothing?”

“That’s entirely up to you.”

Gray laughed and brushed his nose against Natsu’s, then pulled him in for another kiss. He tugged lightly on Natsu’s hair, biting gently on his lower lip and tasting chocolate on his tongue. Then he pulled back and smiled, setting his coffee in the cup holder and putting the car into drive.

“Let’s go home and find out.”

#fairy tail #gratsu #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #ft fanfic #request #emotional h/c #hard of hearing #sign language #prompt #tw ableism #fanfic #my fic

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antihero-writings · 3 years

Text

In Plain Sight

Cover art by Stlyrica on instagram!! I’ll put a link to it in the replies!!