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mysteriesmuse · 9 months

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Cherry Mocha

You’d been really upset lately. Your period had snuck up on you and ruined a perfectly good sundress that’d you’d just purchased. And now, to top it all off, it was a rainy misty day that really only added to the atmosphere. You’d actively chosen to hole yourself up in your room that afternoon after spending the morning downstairs watching a terribly-narrated true crime documentary with a couple of your classmates. After that you went up and settled in amongst you duvet covers and huffed in discomfort as you scrolled through your phone. Your wrist jingled with the new bracelet that Katsuki had gifted you for your birthday. It was a pretty solid rose gold that complimented your skin and, on Katsuki’s birthday which was less than a week after yours, he procured a matching necklace chain that matched yours — except of course, yours had a little gold K.

The bracelet made you smile as you focused in on your freshly manicured hands which sported a fresh new color called cherry mocha, which glimmered the same color of Katsuki’s eyes in the sunlight. Katsuki had gone out with the boys this morning and you’d already texted once to ask if he’d pick up more ibuprofen for you on the way back and he’d already liked your message indicating that he’d pick some up for you. So whilst waiting, you took seized the rare opportunity of silence in the dorm to call your mother and check-in on your dog who’d recently gone to the vet and come back with a cone — a cone which seemed to exasperate your parents with a great sense of frustration and humor. After a nice phone call back home you sat around and awkwardly petted one of your stuffed animals that you placed in your lap to alleviate the cramps as you sat curled up in a fetal position.

At some point or another you must’ve dozed off because you awoke to rapt knuckles at your door and your phone buzzing away. Blearily your brain put together the pieces as you saw your boyfriends caller ID blinking up at you. You shouted, “It’s open, come in.” Immediately regretting the decision as you coughed a little your voice still recovering from sleep. Your boyfriend quickly threw open the door pill bottle in hand, “Took you damn long enough. I got your meds on the way back, if you need anything else just lemme know. I can run out and grab it for ya’”

You nodded, stretching your arms above your head as Katsuki placed the pill bottle down on the nightstand next to your near empty water bottle. You watched as he made a frown and silently picked it up and turned on his foot and exited the room with more carpeted thuds. A few minutes later he was back and you happily took your meds waiting for them to kick in. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Do y’need anything else?” He asked rubbing circles absent-mindedly on your knee. you shook your head, “no, I don’t need anything else right now, but I might want something . . .” you murmmered, eyes flickering over to the book on your nightstand. You tried to read it earlier but the migraine you’d been battling all day made it difficult to keep your eyes focused for too long even just to read a couple of lines.

It seemed Katsuki noticed how you glanced over and he lightly tapped your leg as he stood up reading your mind, “okay, scoot over. If I’m gonna read I ought to be comfy.” Although he practically grunted out the sentence, you happily shifted over more and helped hold up the blankets as he moved in beside you. You immediately closed your arm back over his torso and rested your head on his chest as he flicked open the book to the page you’d left on last. Katsuki was an excellent reader — oddly devoted to the characters and invested in the plot, as well as giving out random commentary and pausing at the right moments — as you both heaved a sigh at secondhand embarrassment or whatever overwhelming sense that took over from the characters actions. So you sat the rest of the afternoon sharing sips of your water bottle with Katsuki as he flipped the crisp pages of the new book in the series you were reading. And your eyes flicked from his ruby reds that were scanning the pages, to the cherry mocha of your nails, to thinking of the similiar and slightly ironic shade of blood that you were leaking right now.

#mysteriesmusing #bakugou katsuki #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader #bakugou drabble #katsuki bakugou #totally inspired by my period and low key my Pinterest board #I want to go out and get that nail polish so bad bc it looks so classy!! But like I live in a small town and I doubt the stores have it #I’ll probably have to order it but it’s such a nice color it’s worth it #Also obsessed with the first book of the Jade City trilogy by Fonda Lee. I LOVE IT SOO MUCH 😍#I’m almost done (slow reader) and I’ve already got the other two. Idk when the last time I loved a book this much was tbh #tw blo0d #period mention

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dragondusst · 1 year

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#fgo #cu chulainn alter #cu chulainn #fate grand order #I love his huge tail and his high heels #his outfit was already maximum edgelord so he just gets fluff

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megaerakles · 2 months

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Dick had come into Bruce’s life like a whirlwind. Finding Jason had been like getting struck by lightning. Cassandra had crept up on him like a fog rolling in. Learning about Damian had been a cloudburst of emotion. But Tim…

Timothy Drake was an earthquake who had shaken something foundational in Bruce’s heart, and he was still reeling too badly from the initial tremors to even brace himself for the inevitable aftershocks, let alone try to assess the extent of the damage he’d just been dealt.

[Aka I finished the (theoretical) final piece for my Tim Drake Time Travel aftermath au series 🥳🥳🥳🥳 ]

#my writing #my fanfic #tim drake #Bruce Wayne #a backstitch in time #ok honorable mentions to the paragraph where I used extended simile to liken Bruce’s children to weather phenomena #and also to the final paragraph that made me legit tear up a bit every time I re read it #this was fun because I wrote the second half of the fic with the super emotional bits between Bruce and Tim FIRST #and then the family fluff second lol #but readers will get it inflicted on them in reverse order so. have fun with that!

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fluffs-n-stuffs · 6 months

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EVEN MORE Pokemon Horizons Episode 25 spoilers under the cut! (I know these warnings may be redundant but I wanna be courteous to those who haven't gotten to watch it yet - I'd love to preserve the experience of a series as much as possible as someone who usually steers clear of spoilers myself hehe ✨)

Ceruledge Zirc & Onia 🤝 being worried for their angsty teen boss

#fluff binges !!!#they care :} 💖💖💖💕💕💕#our bby is having his character arc rn dw he's gotta go thru the motions /lh #honestly Zirc and Onia have such guardian energy towards Amethio - they're so fiercely loyal in spite of him directly going against orders-#--and putting their own positions in the Explorers at risk #like they really wanna stick to this teen's side even as the going gets tough and I think it's super sweet 🥺🥺🥺#even when Amethio himself tries to be dismissive of them and tries to do his own thing most of the time #they're doing all they can to support him regardless (by going after Liko and Roy as he's busy taking down Friede- etc.)#(Amethio's thankful of them for not abandoning him deep down I just know it you can't hide it you broody boi you know you love em heheeee)#Rejoice Found Family Be Upon Ye #amethio #explorer amethio #amethio pokemon #ceruledge #zirc #zirc pokemon #onia #onia pokemon #pokemon horizons #anipoke #pokeani

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kcciny · 2 years

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Sigmund aka Sigurds Father!

#dilf nation gonna eat this up #but no wonder where sigurd got his good look from!#i love his clothes a whole lot #sigurd with a big fluff coat would be splendid to see 💕#both bryn and him should get one as well #fgo #fate go #fate grand order #sigmund

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saltytearsonmyface · 2 years

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Jason trying to get what he wants

Jason: PAAAAAA!

Jason: ’APAAAAAAA!

Jason: PAPIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!

Bruce: *tired of his kids* whAt?

Jason: Can I have your card to order food?

#Jason is Hispanic #my boy speaks Spanish #pa is short for papá and so is ‘apa #papá is dad #papi is daddy #yes Jason will call Bruce daddy in order to get some food #he wanted McNuggets #dads have no choice but to say yes to their hungry children’s cravings #Jason is a good kid #a good boy #jason todd #red hood #batman #batfam #bruce wayne #batfamily #fluff #father and son #father and child

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yougotthat-write · 2 years

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That Guy (Rafael Barba x Reader)

Word Count: 2,318

Warnings: This thing be fluffy af :), gender-neutral I believe

Summary: Rafael needs his daily dose of coffee.

Author's Note: Shout out to my first post in like.... seven months?? I'm lowkey posting this to clear up my files since I started so many things but just keep going in and out of my Rafael Barba/SVU fixation.

Read on AO3 here!

Rafael crossed the street quickly, dodging the impatient cars who were ready to take out anyone in their paths. The grip on his briefcase tightened and his other hand went to his chest, holding his coat to him. Autumn was bitterly turning into winter and Rafael rolled his eyes when he heard the weather report for the following week. The first snowfall – while light and would most likely melt away by the next day – would be wreaking havoc on the East Coast.

When he reached the other side of the street, heading towards his office, he checked his wrist for the time. He was running a few minutes late but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t miss out on getting his much needed coffee on the way to the office. Rafael was a regular at a coffee cart run by an older man named Jackson. He always wore a dark blue baseball cap that was embroidered boldly with ‘NYC’. He remembered Rafael’s coffee order after his third day of transferring from the Brooklyn D.A. to Manhattan.

He weaved past bodies who were all dressed in a similar fashion. Since it was getting colder, jackets and coats got longer and thicker. Gloves and scarves were dug out from the back of closets.

After quickly ascending a small flight of perfectly chiseled steps, Rafael began to smell the strong scent of coffee. Dark roasts, blonde roasts, espressos. Each and every glorious bean wafted towards Rafael and even the smell of them was already beginning to jolt his body into overdrive for the long day of court.

Wallet already pulled out, he slapped the two dollars onto the cart next to an already made cup. Rafael smiled, “Thanks, Jack.” He grabbed the cup without looking up at the old man and quickly turned. His brain was beginning to rattle with tasks for his assistant to do when he got to his office, but when he lifted the warm cup to his lips and took a big sip, Rafael couldn't help but spit out the liquid that invaded his mouth. He didn’t bother giving out an apology to the people who came very close to having a spit shower, muttering angrily at Rafael.

Whilst standing a good ten feet away, Rafael Barba turned quickly back towards the cart’s direction with a disgusted look.

His fiery, yet also confused eyes, landed on you.

You were staring at him with a curious look. Your head was tilted to the side slightly and when you locked eyes with him, your brows shot up, silently questioning him about his actions. Rafael started his way back to the cart, lifting the cup in his hand to his nose and giving a sniff.

It definitely wasn’t coffee in the cup.

And you definitely weren’t Jackson.

He stood in front of the cart and set the cup back onto the top of it, right next to the money he slapped down. His tongue swiped over his lips as he tried to fight the small wave of embarrassment flushing over him.

He looked over at you when you spoke, “Now I have to make myself another chai.” You didn’t sound mad or annoyed. You were just stating a fact.

“M’sorry,” he muttered. “Jackson usually has it ready and–” You waved a hand dismissively and put a stop to his rambling to start your own.

“Are you the judge who gets a coffee that’s half milk?” You ask. “Or the bailiff that gets a double shot with five sugars?” He watched as you bit down on your bottom lip, looking over his attire. He was wearing a suit and you could see it peeking from his long coat that wasn’t buttoned all the way to the top. His hair was styled perfectly and you were sure if he were to do a backflip right then and there, not a lock would move out of place. “Lawyer?” You question.

“Prosecutor,” he corrects. You roll your eyes. The hair on the back of his neck stands up and he finds himself needing to rid the taste of chai out of his mouth. “Dark roast, black, extra shot.” You let out a noise that he can only assume as recognition.

“You’re that guy,” you say and grab a new cup with one hand and a marker with the other. He watches you scribble something across it before making his drink and setting it on the counter. You finally took the money he set down and put it in the small, janky register.

Rafael paused for a moment, giving you one last glance over and debating on apologizing for his behavior again but decided against it. He grabbed the cup and you flashed him a smile before directing your attention to the person who stepped up to the cart after Rafael. And it happened to be Judge Barth, who flashed Rafael a small smile before ordering her drink.

Rafael gripped the warm cup and made his way towards the building that held his office. Before he stepped through the doors of Hogan Place, he lifted the cup up to his lips to take a sip but was distracted by two words that were scrawled onto his cup: THAT GUY.

***

It was colder today. Frost had taken over the city during the night and was slowly melting away as the sun tried to break through the clouds. Rafael had decided to add a scarf that his mother bought him last Christmas to his attire for the day.

He made his way down the street and up towards the coffee cart. Rafael was still surprised to see you perched behind the cart. You had a phone in your hand, thumb scrolling through the mess of news on your screen. You had a blue baseball cap on backwards and Rafael was sure it was the one Jackson always wore.

He cleared his throat to grab your attention. You looked from your phone and over to the prosecutor. He held two dollars in between his fingers and opened his mouth to speak but when he saw your eyes slink over from him and to the cart counter, he followed your gaze and saw a cup sitting off to the side slightly.

He was going to ask if it was his but then he saw the same words you had written on his cup yesterday. He couldn’t stop the rolling of his eyes. He didn’t see your mouth contorting into a smirk as he placed the money on the cart and grabbed the cup.

Hesitant, Rafael brought the cup up to his nose and took in a breath. It smelt like coffee. It smelt like his coffee. He took a sip and the roast rushed through him warmly. When he looked at you finally, you were already looking at him. “You're welcome, guy.” Rafael only nodded before stepping away.

***

When stepping up to the coffee cart the day after, Rafael looked at you for a long moment. You decided to be more obvious with his already made coffee and slid it over to him dramatically. You switched out the baseball cap for a thick wool beanie and your hands were dressed in black, fingerless gloves.

“So, where is he?” He asked. You rubbed your hands together before shooting him a questioning look.

“Do I not make your coffee as well as Jack?”

He took a sip. “I can’t be curious about my friend?”

“Appendicitis,” You say, “he’ll be back next week and so you won’t have to deal with a pleb making your coffee anymore.” While you spoke in a sort of deadpan manner, Rafael could see the playful glint in your eyes that told him that you weren’t serious.

“Ah, so this isn’t a full-time gig?”

A small smile graces your lips, “I’m busy with a job in an actual coffee shop that has heat and classes at I.C.E.,” You grab a cup that was hidden by the cash register and take a sip, hoping the chai would warm you against the chill of New York.

Rafael’s interest perked. “Chef or baker?”

A wider smile appeared on your face and you proudly stated, “Baker.”

“Do you want to open your own bakery?”

You give a shrug. “It’s a possibility.” Rafael watched as someone stepped up and asked for a coffee with extra cream in it. He stood to the side, watching your hands move from task to task. Your fingers plucked the two dollars from the unnamed person’s hands and you flashed a smile and a thank you.

A warmness invaded his chest. He took a large sip of his coffee, using that as an excuse to himself as to why that feeling was coming to him. All he was seeing was a person do a simple task. But there was an air about you that made him want to stand out for hours in the bitter air. He knew he couldn’t. He was sure Olivia and her team were frothing at the mouth to ask him to get warrants signed off by judges. His phone vibrated three times within the last ten minutes and he was sure it was his assistant Carmen needing to tell him important things.

When the other person left, you looked over at him again. “Same time tomorrow, guy?” Rafael gave a curt nod, taking a few steps back in the direction of his office before turning smoothly and quickly speeding off.

***

The snow had finally come.

The thin blanket affected people negatively or positively and there was simply no in-between. Cars seem to honk more insentently at Rafael as he crossed streets with other nameless people. Children laughed and threw handfuls of snow back up into the air as their parents tried to usher them through the icy streets.

The hustle and bustle of Hogan Place didn’t seem to slow down with the weather but Rafael did find himself walking more slowly up those stone steps that hid patches of ice. He could feel the cold air nipping at his ears and while he would’ve loved to throw a hat over his head, he didn’t want to mess up his hair today.

He caught himself fiddling with it in the mirror more this morning. He wasn’t sure why. He didn’t do anything different to it. He just felt this lingering and looming feeling that he should look nicer today.

When he finally made it over to the cart, he couldn’t make you out at first. His eyes quickly glanced over the dark bundle of coat. When he realized it was you, he saw the small shuffle of your feet you were doing and how your gloves had grown thicker and covered all of your fingers this time. You wore a hat that was fluffy, plaid, and had long flaps that covered your ears.

Oh, how Rafael wished he had something to cover his own ears.

Stepping up to the cart, you peeked your head out of the bundle of your coat and flashed a chittering smile towards Rafael. He gave back a lopsided smile, before uttering a quiet greeting in Spanish. You untuck one of your hands from your body and start to make his cup of coffee. You figured making it fresh would be better for today since the cold air would do its damndest to turn it to the dark side.

Pushing it towards him, you say, “Your ears are getting red, guy.”

Despite standing in the cold, Rafael could feel a warmth rush through his body. As if the warmth inside of him heard what you said, they made their way over to the tips of his ears. He wasn’t sure if they were getting more red or anything, but he hoped you wouldn’t notice.

To distract you, he said, “My name is Rafael.” He followed your gaze as it flickered from his chilly ears and locked with his own gaze. There was a silence between the two of you. You didn’t speak until you slid the freshly poured coffee towards him.

“Rafael Barber?”

Rafael blinked once, twice.

“Rafael Barba,” he corrected. His Spanish accent came through and you made a small “oh” noise.

“Sorry about that,” you said, “but you were the one who handled the Optimum Air case? The female pilot was raped by her co-pilot?” Rafael reached for the cup on the cart counter. His fingers were cold and the warmth of the coffee did its best to fight against it. He nodded once. “I read about it in the paper.” You continue, “You exposed the whole company for being a dangerous place for women to work.” You shuffled in place, keeping your body moving to keep it warm. “It was really nice to read about.”

While the compliment was simple and he had gotten a lot of praise about his work on the case from judges, fellow lawyers, and even Olivia, that simple sentence made his grip tighten on his coffee cup. “Thanks,” he muttered out, “but uh, all the bravery comes from the victims.”

When you shot him a small but warm smile, he almost dropped his coffee. His grip loosened and he cleared his throat as he juggled it to his other hand. Trying to keep the cup stable while also hanging onto his briefcase in one hand, he dug for his money with the now free one.

You held up a gloved hand and shook your hand, “It’s on the house, Rafael.”

Another moment passed, “Gracias,” he said quietly while shifting his coffee cup to his free hand and straightening himself. “What is… your name?” He saw your lips turn upwards into a smile and you huffed out a small cloud of a chuckle.

“I already gave you free coffee,” you said, “only one perk per day, guy.”

“I see,” Rafael’s smile was small, “I can wait one more day.”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #raúl esparza #rafael barba fic #rafael barba fluff #rafael barba imagine #law and order svu #svu fanfiction #svu fic #raul esparza #*dj khaled voice* anotha (story i started months ago and now just getting around to posting) one!!#hello to all the new followers i've gotten these past months #here is a treat.... so smol..... hopefully yummy!!!

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bfwonu · 2 years

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[1:05 a.m.]

notes: inspired by @husbandhoshi’s tags under @hotgirlwonwoo’s post. [in the voice of jeonghan] yes i’m crazy…

tags: pining best friends, reader is drunk lol, food mentions throughout

you couldn’t stop looking at him, even if you wanted to.

he’s just so pretty. and you’re also pretty…drunk. you’re pretty drunk. but whether or not you were sober has never changed the fact that vernon chwe is a pretty, pretty man.

…best friends call each other pretty, right? vernon calls you pretty all the time.

your eyebrows involuntarily raise at your own internal ramble, taken aback by your drunken impulse. before your brain can further entertain that…dangerous train of thought, the sound of your name falling from his pretty, pretty lips pulls you out of your trance.

“sorry, i just- what did you want again? your usual?”

“mhm,” you hum distractedly with a nod, your eyes still transfixed on his silhouette against the bright taco bell drive-thru menu. “please.”

he smiles, positively endeared. “you got it.”

vernon turns to tell the very patient (and probably tired) drive-thru worker your order (black bean crunchwrap, 2 cinnabon delights, and a small baja blast) just as the song on his late night driving playlist changes. daniel caesar.

through drought and famine, natural disasters, my baby has been around for me…

you hum again in approval at the sweet bass melody flowing through the speakers of his car, subconsciously swaying to the music when the vehicle stops in front of the drive-thru window.

your baby, without a second thought, equates to vernon in your head. your baby is taking your drunk ass home from some poor excuse of a frat party, although you can’t say you expected much more from pi kappa phi.

your baby is so, very pretty, you think, as he hands you a warm bag of goodness.

“thank you,” you mumble, eyes nearly fluttering shut at the smell of hot tortillas and cinnamon. “send me a venmo request, please.”

vernon lets out an amused chuckle at both the trance the food has put you in, and at your drunk self wanting to pay him a whopping $7 back for some taco bell.

“it’s okay, babe, don’t worry about it,” he assures you, which only sends you into a fit of giggles. he’s your baby, and you’re his babe. “what?”

he’s laughing with you now, not because he’s in on the punchline but because he is just so, so in love with you— he would listen to your twinkling laugh all day if it were up to him.

you finally regain just enough of your composure to deepen the timbre of your voice to mock him, “thanks, babe.”

“oooh, i see how it is-“

“love you, babe…”

he takes pause at that one, laser-focused on the road. you’re stopped at a red light, he really doesn’t need to be focusing that hard (yes he does). your eyes are still on him; you didn’t say it to get a reaction out of him, but you’re pleased with the smile creeping onto his face anyway. the playful roll of his eyes. you love him, you’re sure of it.

if you’ve got someone you like (don’t you love when i come around?), feel something that’s right, somebody just tell somebody…

a dreamy sigh escapes your lips, head rolling slowly to face forward on the headrest. boy, do you ever, and you will. eventually.

a/n (edited): aaaa i hope u enjoyed!!! i went a lil extra crazy and made vernon’s night driving playlist if anyone would like to listen/check it out! <3

#vernon fluff #seventeen fanfic #hansol fluff #this was supposed to be vernon simping for YOU but my brain just started vomiting onto the screen. i’m not even kidding #thanks lily for the brainrot (<3) and hi kaili…im sorry ik we’re not mutuals but if felt wrong not to tag u since it was ur post 😭💓#song is ‘get you’ by daniel caesar ft kali uchis btw!! excellent song #also yes that is my taco bell order </3 #my stuff

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softquietsteadylove · 8 months

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Would you continue the president au one? Something sweet maybe?

"The President's day is bifurcated between the office and time for herself in privacy," Gilgamesh told the reporters eagerly trying to worm their way inside. "There is no security surveillance, no wire tapping. The home of Madam President must remain unpolitical so as to separate the person from the job and her obligation to the people. This is all public record."

"But sir, the people have questions!" the reporter wailed at him as security started pushing the crowd back. "The last president had an unprecedented amount of 'private time' and it turned out he was-"

"A mistake," Gil cut in harshly, effectively stopping that train of thought. "And one we won't make again. Now, I am going to briefing, Chief of Communications Sersi is going to be here to address the day's business shortly--excuse me."

Gil pressed his back to the doors as soon as he was inside. They always 'tipped off' the press when he was going to be entering the household, so no one could become too suspicious of it. It was true that the actual residence in the house and office was completely off limits to foreign clearance, press, they didn't have security cameras in it, nothing.

But damn, he was just trying to see his own girlfriend.

Gil unbuttoned his coat and walked into the home part of the house. He was well familiar with it, even with how careful they were not to betray the nature of their relationship. "Thena?"

She was in the kitchen.

"Hey," she greeted him with a smile, putting together a sandwich for herself. She was rid of her pantsuit and even had her hair down.

"Hey," he whispered, kissing her with a hand in her silken blonde hair. He pressed his nose to her cheek, "gonna cut that in half for me, or what?"

"I could say no, but you cooked everything else in that fridge," she snorted. There was another fridge for the food prepared for her by the house chef, of course, but this one was her personal one, for her personal use, in her personal kitchen.

Effectively Gil's kitchen, since she couldn't be trusted to make a grilled cheese without security thinking there was a threat in the residence.

"How was it out there?" she asked as she held up half the sandwich for him, trading kisses between bites.

"Media's a little worked up because of your week off, which we knew they would be," he shrugged, undoing his tie as well. Thena took the liberty of undoing his first few shirt buttons. "Sersi and Kingo will handle it."

"Okay," Thena murmured, unable to do much else in the moment. She leaned against him.

"Hey," he chuckled, rubbing her back while she was wearing his Secret Service hoodie from his time in security. "You have a week off. It's for your mental health--to not be worried, okay?"

"Do I seem capable of relaxing?"

Gil kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then tilted her chin so he could get her lips, "I think I know how to relax you."

"Oh you do, do you?" she smiled into the kiss, happily letting him lead her into the small frenzy of affection. She sighed, "I miss you."

"I'm right here," he whispered.

"You know what I mean."

"I do," he nodded before taking another bite of sandwich, "and I'm still here anyway."

Thena accepted another bite too.

"We're here, we're okay," he assured her as best he could while they stole their time together.

It was only recently they were able to start bringing him into the residence without suspicion from the inside forces, let alone the media and public. Even as her assistant, there was only so much time he could spend in her home before it became questionable.

"Some anniversary," she whispered, tucking her head under his chin. "I'm sorry, Gil."

"None of that," he rubbed her arm, resting his cheek against her hair, "You know I'm happy so long as I'm with you. And we knew this would come--that it wouldn't be easy."

"Still," she sighed a little more impatiently. "I'm supposedly the most powerful person in the country and I can't even get you a damn present without half the world knowing?"

"What would you get me?" he raised an eyebrow, finishing off the last tiny bite of the sandwich and licking his fingers. "I have everything I need right here."

Thena rolled her eyes as he kissed her cheek, "I'm serious, Gil."

"So am I."

She patted his chest, "well, it seems negligent to not get you anything at all."

"Well," he shrugged, "what if I didn't get you anything either?"

Thena shook her head though, giving his side a pinch before seating herself at the table. "I know for a fact that you did. And even if you hadn't, you got me this week off. That's...more than I can fathom."

Gil smiled at her though, also sitting at the table across from her, like they could be a normal couple in a normal house. "Sweetheart, I don't need anything from you because the fact that I can still be with you even after everything that happened last year?--that's my gift. And I don't want to take that for granted."

She gave him that soft, glassy eyed look that meant that she was wallowing in her guilt.

He reached over for her hands, "do you remember what we were doing this time last year?"

She rolled her eyes ever so fondly at him as she let him give each and every one of her fingers an affectionate little squeeze. "I was still vice at the time, you were my dedicated SS. I could still go home at the end of the day and you could sneak in dressed as a delivery guy."

He grinned at her, "and I did deliver every time, didn't I?"

She rolled her eyes at him for real this time, "Gilgamesh."

"And?" he prompted her.

She sighed, looking down at their hands, "and you told me that the dates in my living room with pizza and wings and cheap wine were dates--real dates."

"Because?"

She pursed her lips at him, not thrilled at being led like a fawn. She huffed, "because it was a date and it was with me and that was all you wanted."

Gil beamed at her with a laugh. "God, I'm such a good boyfriend."

"Stop it," she groaned, trying to lean away and pull her hands back to her.

He held on though, determined to keep her with him in the moment. He tilted his head to look at her, "that's still true, Thena. I don't care if I'm sneaking a burger and fries into your room between press briefings or we're at a diplomatic dinner. I wanna be with you. That's all."

Thena sighed, blinking in such a way that he knew she was trying not to cry. She shook her head, "you are a good boyfriend, much to my dismay."

He grinned; that was her way of saying that she loved him. He chuckled, "I love you, too, sweetie."

She let him stand and kiss her hair on the way to the fridge.

"So," he said more loudly and upbeat, "what to have for a real anniversary meal?"

Thena turned in her seat to look at him. On the one hand, he wanted to make their meals for the two of them. And on the other hand, she also couldn't ask the resident chef to make two servings of a gorgeous meal for her alone.

Well, she could, and no official questions would be asked. Risky, though.

"What do you feel like?" he asked as he rolled up his sleeves. He could change into something more comfortable after he was done with their dinner.

Thena smiled at him, hair over her shoulder, curled up in her chair in a ball. She looked sweet. "Pasta?"

He had onions, carrots, celery, herbs, leeks, tomatoes... "I think I can pull that off."

She stood from the chair and came over to him, sliding her lithe little arms around him from behind and pressing her face to his shoulder, "thank you, Gil."

He looked down and craned his neck to try and kiss her hands on his chest.

She laughed into his shirt before rising on her toes to kiss the back of his neck. "I'll pour some wine, you focus on the food."

Gil let her slide away from him, although the ache that could resonate in his chest when they were at work didn't follow. In here, they could be themselves, and he could be as perfect a boyfriend as he wanted.

#Thenamesh President AU #did someone say domestic fluff?#no?--well yes you did #it's so funny to write them like a normal couple #fuzzy and affectionate and cute and gross #it's a nice juxtaposition to the the gravity of this AU #Gil just likes being a boyfriend #this man dreams of being a house husband #malewife extraordinaire #Thena gets a week off #and Gil's like I'm gonna boyfriend so hard #I'm gonna make you breakfast in bed #rub your shoulders #draw you a bath every night #he did get her a gift btw #he got flowers ordered 'for the dining room arrangements'#he asked the chef to have a cake made with a certain recipe 'for testing'#he even ordered a bracelet on his personal computer with his personal card to his personal address #and then just kept it in his pocket all day #Thena did get him a gift too #she asked Druig to order and receive it for her #a little tie clip with a pearl on it to match her favourite earrings #when you and your boyfriend wanna match #but it's a threat to national security and public transparency and political integrity #so you just wear accessories that match right

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neufhistoires · 1 year

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Loveless Marriage (FrUK) Chapter 2

Loveless Marriage

Chapter 2

Word Count: 3,953

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Another month passed and Francis’s parents returned to France. The only difference was that this time he wasn’t returning with them. As much as he wanted to go home and resume his normal life, that was no longer an option. His parents were still struggling financially, essentially working for the Kirklands at the time being. Meanwhile, he was getting married whether he wanted to or not.

To make matters worse, the two of them were going house shopping. Yes, Arthur’s parents had encouraged, or rather, forced them to look for a new house to live in. They had insisted that it only made sense for a married couple to live in their own house. Surely it had something to do with the fact that Arthur was twenty-three and had never dated anyone, too. It was as if they were forcing him to grow up…

Taking someone else’s money and using it to buy a house of one’s choice didn’t sound so bad on the surface, but the reality of the matter was that Francis and Arthur couldn’t agree on a thing. All the traits that the Englishman was looking for in a house were the ones that the Frenchman despised, and vice-versa.

Arthur wanted to live in a rural area, similar to the kind of place his family’s home was in, but Francis wanted to live in the city, as his home in France was in Paris, so he was more accustomed to city life. Not to mention that if they lived somewhere rural, the two of them would be stuck together with no one else around all the time. At least in the city they could see other people and try to ignore each other.

Although he didn’t want to directly admit it, Arthur agreed with Francis’s sentiments about not wanting to be stuck alone with the other man in a rural area, so they were able to compromise there and sought out suburban houses. Eventually, they came across a house that had room for a garden like Arthur had wanted, but it was still close enough to get to the city within a half an hour.

“A half an hour isn’t so bad,” Arthur commented.

The two of them were upstairs in one of the bedrooms of the house they were touring, the realtor still downstairs. Francis paced around in the room, eventually stopping to stare out the window. It was still more rural than he had wanted.

“I don’t have a license in England,” Francis responded, seeming annoyed that he even had to bring that up.

In France, Francis could do whatever he wanted. It was easy to go places, easy to talk to people, he could see his family… but in England, he felt trapped. He didn’t have a license or a car, and there were some things that culturally he just didn’t understand.

“Well get one then,” Arthur said in a matter of fact tone. “If you’re going to live here, then why not get one?”

Francis rolled his eyes.

“But I don’t want to live here,” Francis replied with a huff.

“I don’t want you to either, but we don’t have a choice. Trust me, I tried begging them to change their minds several times, but eventually they said they would refuse to let me continue working at the company and that I wouldn’t get my inheritance,” Arthur replied with such a dejected look on his face that it made Francis laugh despite the bad mood he was in.

“You really want to get rid of me, don’t you?” Francis asked with a smirk.

“Well, yeah,” Arthur replied, but he let out a laugh that was more gentle than teasing.

It was simple interactions like that where the tension between them seemed to diminish completely. It was rare, very rare, but sometimes it felt like they really could talk normally to one another.

With that, the two of them went downstairs and told the realtor that they would go with that house. They were both making compromises by choosing that one, but at the end of the day, compromising was inevitable.

It didn’t take Francis long to pack his things, seeing as he had done it already when he came to England at the beginning of summer. Arthur, however, took a bit longer trying to decide what he should take with him and what he should leave at his house.

Naturally, Francis had voiced his opinion on what Arthur should and shouldn’t bring, which was essentially that he shouldn’t bring anything because he would help him find better clothes and decorations. That, of course, led to bickering and then the silent treatment on the way from Arthur’s parents’ house to their new home. He would’ve told Francis to get there himself, but unfortunately because of the whole no-license ordeal, he had to take him with him…

As soon as they got to the house, they were still tense, but at the same time a bit relieved to get out of the same car. They immediately parted ways and went to their respective bedrooms.

Naturally there were two bedrooms, because despite the title of being engaged or married, they weren’t really a couple. They both would’ve gone crazy if they had to sleep in the same room as one another, let alone try to agree on how to decorate the room.

After unpacking for two or so hours, they both coincidentally got hungry at the same time and ended up seeing one another in the kitchen. That was when things really escalated.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Francis commented when he noticed Arthur taking out a pot and various different ingredients, finally breaking the silence that had lasted for hours.

“Well, I can, and if you’re nicer to me I might let you eat some,” Arthur replied, never looking up from the ingredients he was mixing.

They were living in the same house after all, so it would make sense if they shared meals sometimes, Arthur thought. However, just like every interaction the two of them had, Arthur’s tone had rubbed the Frencman the wrong way.

“Just because you can cook doesn’t mean it’s good. I’ll try it, but based on the way it smells, I have a feeling I already know it won’t be good…”

Arthur scoffed at Francis’s comment. Even when he tried it wasn’t good enough, so why bother?

“And here I was trying to be nice to you,” Arthur commented, putting the lid on the mysterious food he was cooking. It looked like some kind of stew.

“Non, you weren’t. You said you might let me eat some. That’s not being nice,” Francis replied, his voice calm despite the fact that they were obviously getting into another argument.

“Just leave me alone,” Arthur replied, trying to keep his eyes on the food so he didn’t have to look over at the Frenchman and lose his cool. However, he’d run out of things to do. It was just stew, after all, so he needed to let it cook for a while.

“I would, but I’m hungry and there’s only one kitchen,” Francis said, walking over to the fridge to look in it. Oh, right, they hadn’t gone to the store yet.

“I’m going to the store,” Francis eventually said, his stomach growling loud enough that even the Englishman could hear it.

“Okay–” Arthur stopped himself when he remembered the distance it would take to get to the city from where they were at. “You won’t be able to walk from here– it’s too far away.”

Francis seemed to ignore him as he pulled on his shoes and coat. Eventually, with a grin, he said, “It doesn’t matter if it takes me a few hours. I’ll come back with delicious food and won’t have to eat yours.”

With that, Francis left, leaving Arthur scowling at the closed door.

Out of curiosity, Arthur walked over to the kitchen window and watched Francis walk away, surprised that he was really going to walk that far. If only he’d been nicer to him and hadn’t complained about everything, he might’ve offered to drive the Frenchman into the city. But it was too far-fetched to think that they could stand each other for another car ride…

Meanwhile, Francis was feeling optimistic as he sought out the grocery store. He thought he could surprise the Englishman and be home within an hour, seeing as he’d pulled up a map on his phone that showed a store which was only a twenty minute walk away.

However, cell service wasn’t the best in rural areas, so he had lost it rather fast after he left the house. He wasn’t one to panic, but secretly, he was a bit worried after he had walked for fifteen minutes with no cell service in a different country and saw nothing… but eventually he came across the store.

Francis had been to England a few times before, but it was mostly for sightseeing and promoting his family’s wine, so he hadn’t really had much experience in small towns or rural areas like the one they were in. That was why upon entering the small shop, he felt a little confused.

The English supermarkets Francis had been to were filled with foods from various different countries, but this one only seemed to have English food. Probably because they were in the middle of nowhere.

The Frenchman had intended on buying groceries that would last for at least a week, but there was no delicious coffee, wine, or freshly baked bread in sight. He had no idea what he would have for breakfast in the morning, but surely it wasn’t eggs.

In an attempt to find what he was looking for, and talk to someone who wasn’t Arthur, Francis tried to talk to the only employee in the store, an oldman with a British accent heavier than Arthur’s.

Francis didn’t think he would face such a situation in a country he had visited so many times, but he struggled to understand the worker due to his thick British accent and the fact that the Frenchman was not a native english speaker. In fact, the interaction made the worker laugh and ask Francis if he could understand English.

The situation was frustrating and embarrassing for the Frenchman, so he left without purchasing anything. And Arthur was right, it was much too far of a walk to get to the city from where they lived. Not to mention that it would cost a fortune to get an Uber to drive him that far… So he had no choice but to walk back home without food. He would starve to death if it meant keeping his pride.

On the walk home, Francis felt miserable. He was hungry and exhausted from moving furniture around all day without food, and he knew that Arthur would have some kind of snide remark if he saw him come home without anything after he made the comment about cooking more delicious food than him…

Unfortunately for Francis, when he entered the house through the kitchen, it seemed that Arthur had just finished cooking his stew. He was standing there, attempting to carefully remove the lid without burning himself, but he almost dropped it out of shock when he realized the Frenchman had entered the room without a sound. Well, either that or he was just that zoned out while he was cooking.

Then Arthur seemed to look the Frenchman up and down in confusion, as if his eyes were scanning to see where he’d set the bags of groceries. Eventually he laughed and turned back to attend to the food.

“I told you it was too far of a walk. You gave up, didn’t you?”

Normally, Francis would’ve fought with Arthur, especially after a comment like that, but the stress of the day seemed to build up and he said nothing.

Arthur, a bit unsettled by the silence, turned around to find something even more surprising– the usually argumentative Frenchman standing there with teary eyes.

The Englishman froze, unsure of what to do or say, but Francis acted quickly when the other man locked eyes with him and shoved past him, rushing upstairs to his bedroom without removing his coat or shoes.

“Francis, wait–” Arthur called out, but it was a bit of a delayed reaction, and by the time he had followed the Frenchman up the stairs, his door was already closed.

The shorter blonde hesitated as he stood in front of the shut door, but eventually gave a small knock, softly calling out the other man’s name again.

“Francis, what’s the matter? I know you and I don’t get along very well, but you can still tell me,” Arthur started, flinching at his own words as he realized they didn’t come out the way he meant to. Yeah, that was probably why they fought so frequently…

After hearing nothing but silence in response, the Englishman grew impatient, his sympathy quickly turning to irritation.

“The least you could do is reply– I’m asking you why you’re so upset. I don’t–”

Arthur had pulled on the door knob without thinking, and for some reason, Francis really had let it unlocked.

It seemed that when he was out of Arthur’s sight, he let loose. There were salty, clear streams that could only be tears flowing down the Frenchman's cheeks and he looked utterly upset.

“Surely you’re not this upset because of the stew I made,” Arthur said after he stepped further into the room, assuming that cracking a joke would help lighten the mood.

Surprisingly, despite how awful he felt, the corners of Francis’s mouth did upturn some at the Englishman’s comment.

“Making that stew is easily one of the most offensive things you’ve done,” Francis teased him back, but it was different than usual, as his smile was more of a sad one and his voice was quiet.

Despite any kind of feud the two of them had going on between them, for the first time since they’d met, Arthur felt worried about Francis. That didn’t erase the awkwardness between them though as Arthur sat down on the edge of the bed beside Francis and lightly patted his back.

“Just try it– it’s not so bad,” Arthur said, standing up and extending a hand down to pull Francis up with him.

Big, blue orbs stared up at the Englishman as he seemed to contemplate whether or not he should take the other man’s hand. Fortunately, he didn’t make it too awkward though and simply let out a small laugh before taking his hand and standing up.

“Make sure to send my family condolences after this,” Francis said with a laugh, making Arthur narrow his eyes at him, although the exchange felt playful rather than vengeful.

The two men went back downstairs into the kitchen, only to find that Arthur had left the burner on too hot for too long, so the stew had started to burn at the bottom and boil up out of the top and pour over the sides.

In a panic, Francis turned off the stove and carefully wiped up the scalding hot liquid, but the smell of burnt soup had already filled the entire kitchen.

“I could’ve sworn I turned that off,” Arthur said sheepishly, using an oven mitt to lift the lid up and look inside.

It wasn’t completely charred, but basically the entire bottom was burnt to a crisp, which influenced the flavor of the rest of the stew.

Then embarrassingly, despite the awful smell of the stew, Francis’s stomach growled loudly again. He still hadn’t eaten anything yet, after all.

“It’s fine. Let’s just see if it’s edible,” Francis replied with a sigh as he got out bowls and let Arthur serve it.

Even the chef himself seemed to cringe as the thick stew got stuck to the spoon and eventually fell on the plate with a plop sound, but the two of them sat down at their small dining room table in silence and started to eat it anyway.

Francis flinched as he took a bite of the stew. It was terribly salty, like it was drying him out as they spoke.

“This might be more bearable with some wine at least,” Francis commented, but it was more of a wish than a suggestion, as he knew they didn’t bring any wine to the house with them.

“Well, why didn’t you grab any at the store, or wherever it is you went?” Arthur asked, genuinely curious as he took a sip of the glass of water in front of him.

Arthur did want to know what Francis was actually upset about, but if it wasn’t fighting, he was awkward and didn’t know what to say. Well, he didn’t know what to say without accidentally coming across as insensitive and hurting the other man even more.

Francis was quiet for a moment, pondering whether or not he should share the embarrassing thing that happened to him with someone he fought with so often.

“I couldn’t understand what the man was saying and he was very rude, so I left,” Francis said simply, pretending like it hadn’t bothered him as he took a sip of his water and beared through another bite of the Englishman’s homemade stew.

Arthur paused for a moment, too, before he returned to eating the stew. So that was what happened, he thought.

“Sometimes people in rural areas do speak different, you know, with different accents and such, so it’s not that strange that you couldn’t understand him,” Arthur eventually replied after contemplating what to say for longer than he had meant to.

However, Francis didn’t respond, so Arthur averted his gaze from his food to the other man, only to find the Frenchman gazing down at his own bowl with a dejected look on his face.

The night continued on like that, the two of them not saying another word to each other before they went to sleep and awoke the next morning.

Arthur woke up first, although it was secretly on purpose, as he had set an alarm. He would go out into the city early in the morning and bring back something for Francis so he could see it when he woke up, he thought.

Despite any kind of rivalry they had before, upon further thought, Arthur realized that the two of them were in a similar state of misery together, but maybe Francis had it worse. After all, Arthur didn’t know any French past a few basic phrases, so he couldn’t imagine how Francis felt having to rely on a second language all the time. Not to mention that the Frenchman was so prideful that it genuinely concerned the Englishman when he was so visibly upset. He knew his terrible cooking skills weren’t helping the matter either…

Arthur quietly got dressed and left early in the morning, heading to London to pick up whatever fancy wine and French bread the other man might want. He didn’t know much about which kinds were good and which kinds were bad, but he had an idea of what Francis would like based on the kind that his family’s business had made, so he thought he would go based on that.

Admittedly, he felt a little embarrassed, like he was betraying his past self for being so concerned over a man he couldn’t stand, but there he was, trying his best to please his old rival…

Eventually, he had what he needed, and was even advised to put it in a nice woven basket by one of the employees at the wine shop. She insisted that his fiancé would love it, but his cheeks burned red at that comment because he obviously hadn’t explained the whole situation to her.

When Arthur returned home, he entered the house with caution. He was indecisive and had taken a bit longer than he had meant to, so he was sure Francis was up already. However, when he opened the door and glanced around, there was no sign that the Frenchman had been downstairs at all.

It was already past eleven in the morning, so once again, Arthur was a bit concerned and let out a heavy sigh as he realized he would have to go make sure the other man wasn’t dead or something.

Arthur brought the basket of wine, bread, and other treats upstairs with him, but then he hesitated to knock on the door. He was too embarrassed to just hand the man he had always hated an assortment of things to cheer him up… It felt too much like they were friends, or even worse, a real couple.

While Arthur was contemplating what he should do with the basket, Francis ended up opening the door right in front of him. It was a sort of jump scare for both of them, but honestly, more than anything, Arthur was surprised to see how disheveled the man in front of him looked.

It was almost noon, but the Frenchman looked like he still hadn’t brushed his blonde locks that meant so much to him, there were dark circles under his eyes, and he was basically naked except for the un-tied robe he was wearing, which, well, maybe wasn’t so strange for him, but basically he looked like a mess.

After the initial shock of seeing one another, Francis rubbed his eyes and let out a yawn, and Arthur awkwardly held the basket out for him. Francis looked down at it, and then back up at Arthur and blinked in confusion.

“This is for you,” the Englishman said awkwardly, his cheeks dusted pink as he averted his gaze away from the other man.

“Vraiment?”

Francis took the basket from Arthur and eyed the items in it, moving them around some to see what was in it, a small smile forming on his face as he did so.

“Ma mère told me that she sent me some packages, but I didn’t think they would arrive so soon,” Francis commented, a happy look on his face for the first time in a few days.

Oh, so he thought it was from his mother, Arthur thought. He would’ve corrected him, but he was already embarrassed giving it to him in the first place, so he would let it go.

“Yeah, well, you should like everything in it. It’s all French wines and pastries and such,” Arthur replied softly, feeling a bit relieved when Franics seemed to enjoy the basket so much.

“Hmph, you’re the one who should’ve received this basket,” Francis said, a smirk taking over his face. For some reason, Arthur’s face flushed at that comment.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You don’t know a thing about what tastes good. Tonight, we’ll have one of these with dinner, and I’ll cook so we don’t have to suffer through it again,” Francis said with a laugh.

If only he’d known that on the contrary, Arthur was the one who picked all of those things out. The only part he hadn’t thought of on his own was the basket…

It shouldn’t have bothered him so much, but for some reason that he couldn’t understand, instead of feeling angry or argumentative, he was hurt. He had spent all that time preparing things Francis would like, but that was how he repaid him? By insulting him?

Arthur knew that he only would’ve embarrassed himself further if he told Francis that the basket was from him. Besides, the basket served its purpose– Francis was happy now, so Arthur decided not to say anything.

They could go back to hating each other for all he cared.

#fruk #aph fruk #aph england #aph france #hws fruk #hws france #hws england #hetalia #hetalia angst #hetalia fluff #hetalia fruk #now we are getting into some angst #I have great ideas for the next chapter already #let me know what you think #if you have great ideas too pls tell me #i want more angst but in order to make angst i need fluff first

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