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sjsmith56 · 3 months

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Customer Service - Part 2

Summary: Bucky makes it right with his former girlfriend. Second part of two part story.

Length: 3.8 K

Warnings: Angst, acknowledgement of emotional distancing.

<<Part 1

🔹 🔹 🔹

It had been several weeks since Bucky bought his suit at the store where I worked. He picked up the trousers that had been hemmed, waiting until I went on my lunch break to take them, so that we didn’t meet. Even though it was what I wanted, a part of me was hurt that he didn’t even try to see me. The suit looked good when I saw the TV coverage of the White House visit showing the Avengers receiving their commendation for a difficult mission that was successfully completed without the loss of life. Fashion blogs singled him out for the black monochromatic look he wore, saying it was obvious he had a professional stylist help him look so handsome and debonair. It was flattering and devastating to me at the same time. I knew I was good at my job, but I also knew that by remaining coldly professional with him I likely destroyed any chance of ever reconciling with him. C’est la vie.

We did notice an uptick in sales after the fashion blogs took note, as someone connected to the Avengers PR team mentioned our store, and the excellent customer service Bucky encountered in his search for a suit. The store manager was pleased, commending me for taking advantage of the lucky opportunity to sell a suit to an Avenger as well-known as Bucky Barnes. If he only knew the truth, that I only did it so I could see my former boyfriend once more. Then I noticed a couple of the other Avengers showing up, some of them like Joaquin Torres and Peter Parker browsing in the men’s wear selection, shyly waving at me when I became aware of their presence. Others, like Yelena Belova and Kate Bishop trying things on in the women’s wear or makeup departments. If I had been a suspicious person, I would have thought they were spying on me. But I wasn’t and they weren’t, at least not in the way I was expecting.

It wasn’t until I became aware of the celebrity gossip shows promoting the appearance of Bucky at several premieres and fashion events with some starlet on his arm that I understood why they had been at the store. As long as I was unaware of what was going on everything was alright. But as soon as Bucky moved on, I wasn’t alright; I wasn’t happy at all. When Sam showed up just before my lunch hour one day (with suspiciously accurate timing) I knew he was there for me.

“I’m fine,” I said to him, when he presented himself near the staff room door to intercept me.

“You’re not,” he said bluntly. “You’re allowed to leave the store for an hour, right? Come with me and we’ll talk. I’ll buy you lunch.”

Five minutes later we were in a small café, our hands around a couple of cups of coffee and an order placed for a Cobb salad for me, and burger with fries for him.

“Ever since he showed up at the White House wearing the suit you chose for him, the PR team has been pushing him to be more visible,” he said. “Apparently, he’s got the hottest look going for men right now and they want to take advantage of him being the first one to show up in public like that. He’s not dating any of them. In fact, he doesn’t even like doing it.”

“Could have fooled me,” I said. “Not that it matters since we broke up months ago. He’s free to see anyone he wants.”

“He doesn’t want anyone else,” declared Sam. “He only stayed away because that’s what you wanted; what you indicated the last time he saw you.”

“I know that,” I answered. “I created a monster. Now I have to live with my creation.”

He breathed out my name, but I just glared at him. Even though seeing Bucky out with those other women hurt, I knew objectively that he had no obligations to me, just as I had none to him. We were both free agents, free to do what we wanted or see whoever we chose to see. The fact I hadn’t even gone out on a single date since we broke up was beside the point. I could go with whoever I wanted, once I was ready. Sam gamely tried to make me feel better and even tried again to convince me to speak with Bucky, but I was pretty adamant. We were done. Taking some cash out of my purse for my part of the bill I left it on the table.

“Hey, no, this is my treat,” said Sam, putting it back in my hand. “Please, just think about things, will you?”

“You know, Sam, I would,” I said. “It’s just that when we were together, he never wanted to go out in public with me. Said he didn’t like the attention. I only wanted to go out maybe once a week to dinner or a movie and he wouldn’t do that for me. Yet, he manages to go out for the PR people several times a week with different beautiful women, meeting celebrities, rubbing shoulders with the famous people, people who don’t even matter to him. What does that say to me, the woman he supposedly loved. He needs to get his priorities straight, don’t you think?”

Sam’s face fell as he didn’t have a comeback for that because it was true. When I stepped outside it was raining which was just great, as it totally added to the crying I was trying not to do. By the time I got back to the store I had to excuse myself to the ladies' room and fix my makeup before I was presentable again. I threw myself into my job and tried to put any thought of James Buchanan Barnes out of my head.

That lasted another week until I was on the late shift, helping to close down the store at 9 pm. As a manager, it was my responsibility to go through the various departments, confirming that every till was closed off, the empty cash drawer left open to indicate the employer had bagged the money, minus the float, and taken both upstairs, where another manager confirmed they turned both amounts in. Security had already shooed the customers out, although there was always one or two who showed up with a minute or two left until the store closed, insistent they could get what they wanted quickly and at no inconvenience to the staff. Fortunately, the security staff were under strict orders to refuse entry to anyone arriving up to 5 minutes before closing, citing store security policy. A few years before someone had showed up, then hid in a storeroom and waited until they were certain they were alone, in an attempt to rob the safe. They weren’t alone, as the security system picked them up as soon as they exited the storeroom. By the time they made it up to the office the police were waiting with drawn guns.

It was 9:30 by the time I finished my duties and grabbed my purse and jacket, ready to take the train to my apartment, almost an hour’s ride away. I was tired, both emotionally and physically. After saying goodnight to the security guard on duty while he let me out, I headed towards the subway station when I heard my name being called. Turning around I saw Bucky, leaning against a car that was parked on the street. With a sigh, I approached him.

“What do you want?” I asked, knowing I was sounding abrupt, but I was too tired to care.

“Just to talk,” he said. “Get in, I’ll drive you home.” I looked around, trying to think of something, anything to say to him, as to why that wouldn’t be a good idea. “Please.”

He held the door open for me, waiting to make sure I was buckled in before he closed the door then he got behind the wheel and started up the car. Smoothly, he pulled into traffic and headed towards Queens. The sound system was on, connected to one of his jazz playlists. Turning it down so that it didn’t overwhelm us he drove quietly for a few moments.

“How are you?” he asked, finally.

“Fine.”

“Sweetheart, I know that fine means a lot of things, but it usually isn’t something good. Please, talk to me.”

“Alright, if you want to know the truth. I’m not fine. I work, I go home, force myself to eat something, then I watch TV until I fall asleep in front of it. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and drag myself to bed and other times I don’t, waking up in my clothes the next morning. Then I shower, force myself to eat breakfast and go to work. That’s my life. Satisfied?”

He breathed heavily, almost angrily, although his face seemed more upset than angry.

“Sam told me he talked to you.”

“And? What more do you want me to add, Bucky?”

“It wasn’t my idea to go out to these events,” he said. “It’s an obligation I would rather not have.”

“Right, yet you still do it. I only asked for us to go out on occasion like a real couple and you didn’t feel any obligation to do it for me, but you’ll do it for PR people. Did you not want people to know we were a couple?”

“Did you?” he countered. “I noticed that you didn’t say anything to the people you work with that we were a couple once upon a time. Were you ashamed of me?”

“No, I wasn’t,” I snapped. “I didn’t say anything to them because they’re a bunch of gossips who would have bugged me constantly for any juicy tidbits about the Avengers.” I looked out the window, shaking my head, while I trembled inside. “I didn’t need that in my life.”

Bucky looked away for a moment before looking at me. “What did you need? Because I feel there were a whole lot of things that I obviously didn’t know you wanted or needed. What did I miss?”

I knew if I started listing things that I would start crying so I said the only thing I could think of. “Everything.”

He looked stunned before he pulled over to an open spot, parking the car. Then he turned to me.

“Darlin’, look at me.” His voice was so silky and soft. When I turned towards him, I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, unchecked. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I honestly thought I was holding you back.”

“You see, this is why … I couldn’t do it anymore,” I cried. “You were so unavailable to me, even when we were in the same room. You didn’t tell me things; didn’t say anything about your thoughts or fears. I thought I wasn’t that important to you. I thought that what we had was physical more than anything. So, I withdrew as well, trying to protect myself from how much it hurt.” I looked at him, feeling the pain on his face in my gut. “Aren’t we a pair?”

“Is there any chance to make it right? I don’t want anyone else; I never did.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I want to believe that I matter to you, I really do.”

I undid my seatbelt and opened the door, unable to take any more of it. Before I had even gone ten feet, Bucky was in front of me, blocking me from going any further. Every move I made to get past him; he countered it. It was too much, and I broke down completely, wailing like a baby. He enclosed me in his arms at that moment and held me, stroking my hair and rubbing my back, just letting me cry it out until I was spent. When I stopped crying, I didn’t know what time it was, or where we were. All I was aware of was the warmth of his body and the sound of his heart pounding as I laid my head against his chest. Then Bucky murmured something, and I wasn’t sure I heard him right, so I looked up at him.

“What did you say?”

“I said, let’s go home,” he repeated, looking into my eyes.

“Which home?”

My place was still quite a drive away in Queens. When we broke up, he had been living in a small flat in Brooklyn. It wasn’t the nicest place, but it was what his Army pension and a government stipend could afford. With a smile he kissed me.

“I have something to show you,” he said quietly, gazing at me with those blue eyes. I started to ask for details, but he placed his fingertips on my lips. “Let me show you, then you can ask me anything.”

Just the way he was looking at me, so softly and sweetly, I knew it was something important. We got back in the car and were soon on our way to Brooklyn. On a street in Prospect Heights, Bucky slowed up, then parked in front of a brownstone that had scaffolding set up in front of it. He turned the car off and pointed to it.

“With what I make with the Avengers and my lawsuit settlement finally coming through I decided to invest in a home. It needed some work as it was used as a rooming house for a long time. New plumbing, flooring, HVAC, windows, and then when it’s finished, painting and furnishings. Would you like to see it?”

I could see that it meant a lot to him, so I nodded, and he came around to open the car door for me, offering his hand to help me out, still very much a 1940s gentleman. He followed me up the steps then entered a number in the keypad which unlocked the door. Turning on the entryway light he stepped back to allow me to enter first. The floors were covered in a layer of protective paper. The walls had been refinished but still needed a final coat of plaster, then paint, and the windows needed trimming, but the lighting fixtures were up and as he turned them on, I could see that it would be a lovely home. He showed me the kitchen and unlocked the door to a terrace that led down to a small patio area with a shade tree. Returning back to the house we went upstairs to the second floor which had two bedrooms, one of them a large master with an ensuite bathroom and walk-in closet. The stairs led to a third floor with two more bedrooms. All of them had hardwood floors and had been painted in a soft grey colour. As we headed back down to the living room area, he told me more.

“The basement has an office and a workout room. I’ll need somewhere to stay fit.”

I looked at the back of his head, as he descended ahead of me on the stairs, puzzled by the last comment because I knew that Stark Tower had the best in terms of fitness facilities.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are you showing me this now?”

He stepped out into the living room area, took a breath, then placed his hand on mine, playing with my fingers.

“When I agreed to be part of the Avengers, I never envisioned being in a relationship with anyone,” he began. “I thought it would be enough to pay back society for what I did as the Winter Soldier, maybe date a bit, and then someday, buy a bar somewhere on a tropical island and finish out my days there. Then I met you, and it threw me for a loop. I didn’t handle it well, convincing myself that you would realize I wasn’t a good bet. So, I held myself apart from you. I guess I was deliberately sabotaging our relationship, trying to see how far I could push you away before you left. Well, I found out and I hurt you in the process. I hurt us both because I rationalized that it was all for the better. Then I saw you again, at the store.”

“Sam told me you were there deliberately, to see me. You bought those boots on an impulse so you would have an excuse to come back.”

He didn’t deny it. “All those times you offered to help me buy a nice suit and I turned you down because I thought you were just being polite. Then I needed help for real and you were so detached and professional, that I figured it really was over between us. When the PR people said they wanted me to be out and about, showing how I had evolved from this jeans and T-shirt guy to someone who could represent the organization I said yes, thinking I should be a better team player. The others kept telling me you were hurting after the first PR pictures and videos came out. They could see it every time one of them came into the store then you admitted how much you were struggling to Sam. It just all came to a head how unfair I had been to you.”

“Tell me,” I demanded. “Tell me how you’ve been unfair. I want to know if you realize what you really did.”

He had the decency to look embarrassed. “I know that I wasn’t good at telling you how much you meant to me. When we were on missions, I know I should have called you or texted you more, just to say I was thinking of you and couldn’t wait for when I got back. It wasn’t fair asking you to look after me when I was hurt. I tried to rationalize it by convincing myself that because I would be healed the next day that it wouldn’t bother you, but it did, didn’t it?” I sobbed out loud then, and his face broke. “I guess the worst thing is that I was being selfish when I didn’t want to go out. Part of me tried to say it was time devoted to you, but the truth was that I was afraid to be out with you; not just because I was afraid of people judging me, wondering why I should have someone like you in my life when I’ve taken so many lives. There was hate mail, threatening to hurt my loved ones.” I stopped crying, as this was the first that I had heard of it. “So, I rationalized staying home so I could protect you, not thinking that it made you feel trapped.” He touched my face with a worried expression on his. “How am I doing?”

“What does this have to do with buying a house?” I asked. He took another deep breath.

“I’m retiring from active duty,” he said. “They’re recruiting a bunch of new people, some of them kids but with powers that make me look like a stick in the mud. In many ways I am a stick in the mud. I like my 40s music, I don’t get reality TV, and I haven’t had a break since 1943. I think I’ve earned the right to have a private life. I’ll still help train these new kids, and if there’s a big mission, I’ll consider going on it, but I want a home, and a family, with a wife and kids, and a dog, and a cat … all of it.”

“What else will you do?”

“Get my GED, go to college,” he replied. “Maybe be a house husband, cook the meals, clean the house, and look after my kids while my wife continues on her career, if that’s what she wants to do. I’m in a new century and there are parts of it I want to embrace as long as I have the right person with me.” He was touching my face again, with his fingertips just brushing against my jaw. “I asked you earlier what I could do to make it right. I already knew the answer. I make you the focus of my life. It’s all about you and should have been from the start. Let me make you happy, let me show you every day how much you matter.”

I wanted to believe him and by the look on his face he wanted me to believe him as well. He bought a house, a big one, to fill with love and laughter, children and pets, and he bought it for me. Not only that, but he was also willing to retire, and start doing something else with his life; embracing the life he wanted in the 1940s but wasn’t allowed to have until now, if only I was willing to embrace it with him.

“You know, I was thinking of getting out of retail,” I said. “The hours aren’t great for relationships, from Thanksgiving on through the New Year the crowds are ridiculous, and customer service isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. I’m at a point in my life where I’m ready to try something different.”

“Like what?” he asked, a soft smile on his face.

“Like marriage and a family, and a husband who adores me.”

“I can provide that,” he murmured, his arms moving around my waist. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, then I’m more than willing to help you get it.”

“Is that a proposal?” It became very still at that moment.

“No, but I can do that, too,” he said, not missing a beat. “That’s a promise.”

Our lips met then, and he poured every bit of his love for me into that kiss. We stood in that unfinished living room, the smell of plaster still in the air from the first coat put on the walls. There were no window coverings so anyone passing by would have seen Bucky Barnes and some woman kissing like there was nothing else in the world pressing upon them. When I got into his car after work, I was certain that this was it, the end was coming, and whatever was keeping us apart was too big to overcome. Instead, I found someone who wanted what I wanted, and was willing to change his life to make me happy. If he was willing to do that, then so was I. I never wanted him to quit the Avengers for me, but it was always going to be an option now, a choice that we could make together, when the time was right. The timing was perfect.

Short Fiction Masterlist

Please reblog if you liked this.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #sam wilson #reconciliation #kiss and make up #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #buckybarnesshortfic #bucky barnes short fiction

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my-soupy-brain · 7 months

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i have a little angst/fluff thought for you: ted/jason getting your name wrong during some mundane task and then GROVELING to apologize and prove they weren't thinking about their exes?

Going with Ted on this one because I can picture how sympathetic and sorry he would be. So let's gooo!

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Relationship: Ted Lasso x reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, making up

---

It was a day like any other. A random weekday evening, cleaning up the kitchen table from your meal with Ted.

He was helping you gather the dishes, you were filling the sink.

"Hey Ted, can you give me that pot on the stove?"

Without a beat, he answered: "Sure thing, Michelle."

Freeze. Record scratch.

He hands you the pot and doesn't even realize what he said. Your mouth is agape, staring at him.

"What? I got sauce on my face?" he starts asking, scrubbing his chin.

You don't answer. You're still trying to catch up with what he just said.

"You just called me Michelle."

Ted's eyes furrow in the center. "When?"

"Just now, when I asked you to hand me the pot. You said 'Sure thing, Michelle.'"

He thinks for half a second, and then his eyes go wide.

"Oh, God..."

You nod. "Yeah. My thoughts exactly."

"Oh, honey, no, that's not...I don't know why...I didn't mean..."

You turn back to the sink to wash the dishes, feeling a little too hurt to look him in the eye right now. Sure it was a slip-up, but why? Was he thinking about her? Did he have regrets about his relationship with you? Does he want her back?

Ted puts his hand on your shoulder.

"Y/N, I'm sorry..."

You bump your shoulder to shake him off, not looking at him, going back to scrubbing the pans in the sink. A few tears gather in your eyes as the anxiety of what just happened sets in.

"I didn't mean... I don't know why I did... I'm so sorry," he's begging, his hand hovering on your shoulder to comfort you but not wanting to upset you further.

He retreats to the living room to wait for you. He tries to take a deep breath, feeling the tingling in his ears starting as he begins to panic.

Why did he say that? What would make him use her name? Of course Y/N is upset... of course she is. And now she's gonna leave...

He can feel his chest get tight and he raises a hand over his heart to take a breath. Calm himself. Do what Doc Sharon always recommends, and remind himself he's safe.

When you leave the kitchen and walk through the living room to the bedroom, you don't even glance at him. Your eyes are red, and he can tell how upset you are.

He sees the glow of your bedside lamp flip on, and he knows you're probably reading. Or journaling. Or just trying to gather your thoughts.

Eventually, he's in the doorway, knocking gently with two knuckles.

"Y/N? Can I talk to you?'

You take a breath and set your book down, crossing your arms.

"Yes."

He moves to sit on the bed, not touching you, but facing you while you curl your legs to your chest and hug them. You want to feel...small. You already feel ignored.

Ted opens his mouth and shuts it. His eyes are wide but worried. He looks at you and doesn't reach for you.

"I don't know why I said that," he offers, shaking his head. "I don't know a damn reason why that name fell outta my mouth."

You nod. "I don't either."

He waits for more.

"Have you been thinking about her a lot lately? Do you want her back? What's going on. Just give it to me straight so we can get this over with."

Ted's breath hitches..."What do you mean over with?"

You let a tear roll down your cheek.

"Us. So you can go back to her, or win her back. Whatever it is you want. Don't drag me through purgatory to do it."

Ted's heart rate increases in worry. God, no. The last thing he wants is to lose you. You put him back together. You're his best friend, his whole world. Dare he say, his soul mate.

He knew it the minute you met.

The way you smiled. The way you laughed. How you listened to him. How you always found time for him.

How your lips tasted on your first kiss. How it felt like lightning.

All these thoughts bombard him as he watches the tears leave your eyes and he wants to cut off his own arm for making you feel this way.

He takes his chance, placing his hand over your bare ankle and rubbing it gently.

"Sweetheart, please believe me. I don't want her back. I don't miss that life. I don't know why that slipped out, but it ain't anything to do with thinking about or wanting Michelle back..."

Your eyes dart up to his and he can see all the hurt there. He thinks for a moment how it would feel for him -- and yeah, he understands the pain.

You let out a heavy sigh, studdering out of your aching lungs. His hands trail up and down your calf and shin, loving touches.

"If I had to peg a guess..." he starts... "It was the domesticity of the moment. Cleaning up the kitchen with you after having a meal with you. And I haven't had that... in a while..."

Your icy heart melts a tad by that. You're trying to see his point of view.

"That's the life I knew before you. And then I was alone. And now you're here, and you've changed my life. You're my glue, sweetheart..."

Your lip quivers as you cry, your anger dissipating.

"I just heard that name, so effortlessly come out of your mouth," you reply, "And it felt like...sure, why not. Why wouldn't he want his old life back?"

Ted shakes his head and tries to smile, moving closer to you now, holding both your hands in his. His hands are so big and warm.

"No no, no. Never," he assures you. "Never. I've never loved someone like I love you. Even when Michelle and I were at our best."

You nod and listen.

"You're my sun, moon, and stars, sugar. I don't want my old life. I want my new life. With you."

You can't help launching forward into his arms to hold him. Because that's all you want, too.

He holds you tight, hugging you to him. So happy to feel you back in his arms.

"I promise, it's all you and only you for me, darlin'."

You sit back and look into his dark hazel eyes. His thumbs wipe away a stray tear from your cheek. He leans in and places his lips on yours, his tongue running along your bottom lip. It turns you on immediately.

"I love you, Ted," you murmur to his lips, and he pulls back and smile. "I love you, Y/N. Madly."

Your lips connect again and he moves you to your back, anchoring himself between your legs and caging you under him, his lips trickling down your cheek, your jaw, to your neck. Your hands climb under his t-shirt and touch his warm body.

"Can I show you?" he murmurs to your soft skin. "Can I show you how much I love you and only you?"

You sigh.

"Yes, God, please..."

He leans up and smiles, flipping off the lamp.

---

I love a little angst now and then. I know Ted would never mean it but I think it's safe to say the GUILT he'd have of making that mistake would be immense. I bet flowers come the next day - I just bet. Thanks for the prompt, friend!

#ted lasso x reader #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fluff #ted lasso angst #kiss and make up

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yowyowyaoi · 9 months

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*Itachi bandaging up Kisame after returning from a battle*

Kisame: We’re lucky it didn’t start raining until after we got back here, aren’t we?

Itachi: Mm.

Kisame: And it’s a good thing we still have bread left in our packs from earlier … as usual there’s not a scrap of food in this place.

Itachi: Mm. *wraps the last bandaid in place* Done.

Kisame: … Itachi? Are you angry with me?

Itachi, cleaning up the first aid supplies: It’s not worth discussing. You lost a lot of blood. Perhaps you should go rest for a bit.

*he starts to walk away, but Kisame reaches out and grabs his arm*

Kisame, softly: ‘Tachi …

Itachi: Kisame. Don’t. What you did today was exceedingly foolish. I would have thought that the fact that you’re older than I am would have prevented you from trying to take on three opponents by yourself. *starts to walk away again*

Kisame, softly: I won, didn’t I?

Itachi, whirling back around: You call this a win?! We just barely made it out of there! Go look in the mirror, look at how bruised and banged-up you are, and tell me that this is a win!!

Kisame: Your sharingan was exhausted! YOU were exhausted! What was I supposed to do?!

Itachi: LEAVE ME THERE!! Leave me to die and get yourself to safety!

Kisame: You and I both know that such a thing isn’t an option, Itachi. How could you even suggest such a thing?

Itachi: Do you have no sense of self-preservation?

Kisame: I do. I know that I wouldn’t want to go on if you weren’t here with me. I wouldn’t survive. Therefore just leaving you is an absurd proposition.

Itachi: You think too much of me …

Kisame: *wraps his arms around Itachi’s waist* I love you, idiot. Now say you love me back so we can make up.

Itachi, grinning: What if I don’t want to say it, mm?

Kisame: *growls low in his throat* Are you challenging me?

Kisame: *lifts Itachi up and positions him against the wall, aggressively kissing down his neck* Guess I’ll have to torment you to get what I want, brat …

Itachi, barely holding back a moan: D-do your w-worst …

*Hidan walks into the room*

Hidan: Okay, fuck you both. I’ve been listening to your “fight” for twenty minutes, waiting for something good to happen … and you’re about to do it instead?! Where’s the drama?? Where’s the anger? Where’s the yelling and the smashing and breaking?!

Hidan: Fuckin’ pussies, can’t even have a goddamn decent brawl!

Deidara, from his room: Right?! That was the most boring shit I ever heard, hm! That made me want to punch the wall!

*a loud crunch is heard*

Deidara: Tobi, what the hell?!

Tobi, howling: Y-you said you wanted the wall punched!

Deidara: IT’S A FIGURE OF SPEECH YOU MORON!! Who’s going to fix that hole?!

Tobi, in Obito voice: FUCK THAT, WHO’S GOING TO FIX MY HAND?!

Hidan: Finally, some decent action! Later, losers! *runs to Deidara’s room*

Itachi and Kisame:

Kisame: … you still in the mood?

Itachi:

Itachi: … shamefully, yes.

#kisaita #kisame x itachi #tw: suggestive #kisame hoshigaki #itachi uchiha #deidara #hidan #tobi #implied tobidei?#kiss and make up

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savasavva · 1 year

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a bunch of sketches

#soukoku #skk #skk art #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #dazai x chuuya #kiss and make up #mention of oda's death #bungou stray dogs #bsd fanart #dachuu #my art

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britanniabay · 11 months

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Cowes Week (2014)

UKSA Patron HRH The Princess Royal and her husband, Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, are ready to race each other on-board Farr 65s.

HRH at the helm of the Albatross II while The Vice Admiral is at the helm of Whirlwind II.

And, it was HRH with the win over her husband!

Courtesy of UKSA

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prompts-by-anjali · 1 year

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"Hey, can you not get killed so much?"

"Uhhh… I mean, I can try. You know I always come back, though, right? Kinda what immortality is all about."

"Yeah, but it's kind of a hassle."

"Sorry, mid-battle I'll try to remember that getting un-alived is inconvenient for you."

"Hey, I'm not trying to start a fight!"

"It sure sounded like it!"

"Shut up! You already have like 78 birthdays because of your regeneration abilities and we CANNOT EAT THAT MUCH FUNFETTI FROSTING!"

"..."

"Babe, is this about cake?"

#it truly was about cake #when you realize the argument with bae is about the stupidest thing #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #character dialogue #writing resources #writing #creative writing #dialogue #dialogue ideas #imagine your otp #dialogue prompts #kiss and make up

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dr3wsgf · 1 year

Text

crying I miss them together

#kylian mbappe #neymar jr #kiss and make up #when ney would make him sing brasilian songs

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theeroticlover · 8 months

Text

Right here.... Right now....

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hang-on-lil-tomato · 7 months

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youtube

when Ed and Stede finally kiss and make up, I want this song to be playing.

#ofmd #our flag means death #stede bonnet #rhys darby #ofmd s2 #gentlebeard #blackbeard #edward teach #Whoa oh whoa oh oh oh oh #kiss and make up #i just want my beautiful gay pirate boys to be happy #mateologe #the ronnettes #baby i love you #Youtube

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jodithann827 · 1 year

Text

Pretty Woman 7/11

Rating: explicit / posted on AO3 / tagging @today-in-fic

Beverly Hills Country Club

Polo Field

Monday

1:03 pm

The shriek of an air horn sounds at full blast, signifying a start to the day's activities. Mulder walks around to Scully’s side of the car and waits patiently as Langly opens the heavy black door. Mulder reaches a hand out to her, one that she graciously accepts, and she uses his arm to steady herself upon exiting the limo. The day is warm and bright, the sun exploding with blinding light over the open sky. Mulder, sporting a sharp gray suit, looks dapper, though his looks pale in comparison to that of his companion. Clad in a sleeveless, knee-length brown dress with white polka dots, and a thick brown belt resting across her petite waist, Scully looks every bit the part of a wealthy companion of Mulder’s. On her head rests a wide-brimmed white hat adorned with a swatch of brown and white polka dots, and her hair styled in a sleek, low bun. As much as her outfit wears like a suit of armor, her nerves are getting the better of her.

“What if someone recognizes me?” She panics a bit, leaning into Mulder before they make their way to the center of the event.

“We talked about this, Scully, I promise no one will recognize you here. You look amazing, like a lady, although it would help if you stopped fidgeting. You’re going to have fun. I promise.” With that, he draws her hand into his as they make their way to the large crowd.

Mulder stops to introduce Scully to people he recognizes as they weave their way through the droves of well-dressed patrons. Near the announcer’s booth, he greets two ladies with a kiss on each of their cheeks.

“Dana,” he says, using her given name effortlessly, as though he’d been saying it his whole life. It sounds foreign on his lips and even more so to her ears. “Let me introduce you to the Carter sisters; Dori and Christina.” They each shake Scully’s hand and Scully casually nods her head in greeting. Seeing a familiar face out of the corner of his eye, Mulder excuses himself, muttering something about leaving Scully in good hands. For a moment Scully feels like a deer in headlights, but adjusts quickly, giving herself a small pep talk in her head.

“So, Dana, you’re Fox’s flavor of the month,” the one named Christina says.

Scully is taken aback, and it must show on her face, because Dori interjects almost immediately, “Fox is our most eligible bachelor. Every single woman here would love to be in your position. To be on the arm of Fox Mulder, no matter how long,” she explains.

Scully decides she doesn’t particularly want or need to hear anymore. Darting her eyes across the crowd of people, she spots Mulder. She looks at the Carter sisters and says in the steadiest voice she can muster, “Well, I’m just using him for sex,” then triumphantly walks away, unable to believe the words actually left her mouth.

Strolling over in Mulder’s direction, Scully can’t help but notice that he is standing next to a tall, leggy brunette; one who seems to be leaning into Mulder a bit too closely. Perhaps a flavor from another month, she thinks, then immediately chastises herself, as it isn’t her place. As Scully advances on them, the leggy woman backs away, though only moderately.

“Scully,” Mulder says as he sees approaching. He reaches out to draw her in closer, then continues to keep his arm placed firmly, almost territorially, around her back. She moves in closer, tucked into his side like her own personal cocoon. “Scully, this is Diana Fowley, my attorney.” Scully, noting that Mulder introduced her to this woman as Scully and not Dana, reaches out her hand. Diana, after a blink and you miss it, hesitation, reciprocates the gesture.

“Scully,” Diana repeats snidely, “that’s an interesting name.” Scully looks down at her shoes conflictingly.

“You know how much I dislike my first name, Diana, though you seem to be one of the few people who doesn’t follow my request not to use it. Scully told me that if she was going to call me Mulder, then I should call her Scully,” Mulder explains nonchalantly, attempting to smooth over the slight awkwardness he feels in the air.

“Charming,” Diana replies coolly, barely containing the eye roll that is just on the surface.

A tension-filled moment passes before Mulder adds, “I think I see Mr. Spender, over by the bar”

At those words, Diana lifts her head, perking up, though only somewhat. “Well, I should go introduce myself to him.” She turns towards the direction of the bar and walks off without another word to Scully.

Scully moves out of Mulder’s embrace and cocks an eyebrow at him.

“What?” Mulder asks, genuinely confused. Scully tilts her head, as if to quietly say, you’re kidding right? Mulder nods his head, seeming to understand her thoughts. “She’s great once she warms up to people. I’ve known her for ten years. She’s been through many big business deals with me,” Mulder explains, though he isn’t sure why, as he knows he doesn’t owe Scully an explanation.

Scully shrugs. “Not to sound like a high schooler, but she likes you, Mulder,” Scully tells him matter-of-factly. Mulder, having taken a sip of his drink, starts choking a bit. Scully waits patiently for him to compose himself.

“Diana? No way, Scully. You are so off base. You aren’t even near the stadium,” he shakes his head at her. Scully’s mouth twitches and she shakes her head right back at him.

“I’m telling you, Mulder. I know these things. She was all up in your space when I walked over and then she hesitated when she saw me. Not to mention that very welcoming hello and handshake she had for me,” Scully tries explaining. She will never understand how some men are so unbelievably dense when it comes to women.

“She’s protective of me,” Mulder tries explaining it away again, though even he knows it’s a weak argument.

“So what do you think Mr. Spender is doing here?” Scully asks, diverting attention away from what is clearly an uncomfortable topic for Mulder.

“I know he wants an answer from me,” he explains.

Scully looks into his eyes. “I don’t trust him, Mulder. There is something about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I am sure that he is not a good person.” Mulder nods his head slightly.

In the not-so-far distance, an air horn blasts for the second time that day, indicating a pause in the game. Over the loudspeaker, an announcer invites everyone to participate in a polo tradition: stomping out the divots. Mulder eagerly grabs Scully’s hand, like a child with their parents on Christmas morning, and leads her to the field. There, he continues to clasp her hand as they stomp divots together. He looks down at her, affection filling his eyes, and shares a genuine smile with her. They don’t see Diana glaring suspiciously at them from the shade of a tree.

After the ceremonial stomping of the divots ends, Mulder leads Scully to a chair and a polo club employee begins to clean her dirt-caked shoes; another time-honored polo tradition. He then leaves her, begrudgingly, to go in search of Spender. Scully continues to take in her surroundings, observing the different people, their body language, guests and employees, and how they interact with each other. She likes observing people; it’s helped get her this far in life.

“Dana,” someone calls from behind her, and she’s pulled from her thoughts. She turns in the direction of the speaker and sees Jeffery Spender, the young man from the other evening, approaching. Scully slips her now clean shoes back on and stands to greet him.

“I didn’t know you would be here,” he confesses to her. “Come meet my horse,” he says warmly, attempting to guide her toward the stables.

“Fox is around here somewhere,” she tells him, unsure if she should accompany him to the stables. While his father gave her an unsettling feeling, she didn’t think anything of junior. “He’s probably schmoozing,” she adds. She looks over her shoulder and, not seeing Mulder, decides to hell with it, and walks towards the stables with Jeffrey. “I didn’t know you were playing in the match,” she tells him as they approach his horse. Scully reaches out a soft hand and strokes the horse's mane. They make chit-chat for a bit, about nothing consequential. Scully is pleasantly surprised that he is a decent conversationalist, though they don’t share much.

Across the polo field, Mulder is chatting with a colleague when Diana approaches in a huff, inserting herself into their conversation.

“Did you get a chance to talk to Spender–” he begins.

“Where did you meet her?” Diana asks abruptly, almost accusatory. Mulder bids his colleague farewell and gives all his focus to Diana.

“I’m sorry?” Mulder asks, genuinely misunderstanding her question.

“This Scully person. Where did you meet her?” she repeats, her patience limited.

“I was asking for directions and there she was,” Mulder states in a half-truth. Diana tilts her head in disbelief.

“What does she do for work?” Diana pushes in a rather aggressive way.

Mulder bites the bottom lip, then replies, “She’s in sales.”

“Sales?” Diana parrots, both of her eyebrows reaching the top of her forehead.

“What’s with the third degree, Diana? You’ve never questioned any of my dates before,” he asks curiously. Diana lets out a dismissive laugh. “Okay, maybe once or twice, but what gives?”

“You’ve been different these last few days, Fox. It was subtle at first, but now I’ve seen it a bit more,” she explains, honestly.

“That’s absurd,” Mulder immediately retorts, his defenses on the rise.

“I’ve seen it, you’ve been different. Hemming and hawing on business deals, getting in late to work, that tie,” she indicates, poking a finger at the tie a very naked Scully was wearing just the night before. Mulder blushes, thinking of their evening.

“I think this woman is changing you, Fox, and not for the better. I don’t trust her, especially not when I see her talking to Jeffery Spender.” She lets Mulder connect the dots on the rest of her thoughts after pointing a finger toward the stables. Mulder’s eyes travel the distance and he sees Scully and Jeffery talking. He waves the thought away, along with Diana’s comment.

“They met Saturday at dinner,” he says, his dismissiveness irritating Diana.

“Yes,” Diana says. “Why is she talking to Spender’s son? Is she talking them out of the deal? Does she know what Spender wants from you?”

“She’s not a spy, Diana,” Mulder asserts, suddenly overcome with a great need to defend or protect Scully, maybe both.

“Fox, I cannot believe how naive you’re being. Your motto is to trust no one. Suddenly You meet this woman out of nowhere, without a care in the world, no caution at all–”

“She’s a working girl,” he blurts out as quietly as he possibly can. Diana, utterly astonished, stops dead in her tracks, her mouth obscurely hanging open. He truly has rendered her speechless.

“I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood you. Or I had a small stroke,” she declares in a sobering tone. Mulder bends his head closer to her and tells her a watered-down version of the entire story.

“Fox,” she practically scolds, once she has some semblance of her wits about her again, “a hooker?! Are you out of your mind?” Mulder shrugs off her questions. Diana turns, clearly unable to continue the conversation with him, and swiftly walks away. Mulder catches a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye.

“Mr. Spender” he calls out, following after the man.

***

Elsewhere on the field, Scully leans against a tree, watching the second match. She’s in awe of the horses: their size, and their ability to work in different situations; sporting events, labor, and camps for kids. She’s pulled out of her thoughts when she feels a presence descending upon her, and she looks to her left to see Diana approaching. She paints on a smile, willing herself to be nice to the woman Mulder works with.

“So, Scully,” Diana spits out, not attempting to cover the disdain in her voice. “Are you enjoying the match?” Scully nods but doesn’t make eye contact, keeping her guard up. Mulder may work with and trust this woman, but Scully doesn’t trust her as far as she can throw her, feeling a very Spender-like vibe.

“Good, good,” Diana acknowledges. She pauses, then adds, “I’m sure you don’t see many polo matches on Hollywood Boulevard.” For a moment, Scully forgets to breathe. She feels like a million tiny needles are breaching the perimeter of her chest. She turns to Diana, eyes wide, and though she doesn’t speak the words, Diana knows exactly the question Scully wants to ask.

“Oh, Fox told me,” she flaunts casually. “But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” she pronounces, then begins to walk away. She turns back and adds, “Oh, and I have many other colleagues who I am sure would love your… business. You know, once Fox goes back to New York.” With that she turns for good, not bothering to look over her shoulder at the damage she caused.

Waldorf Astoria

Penthouse

9:34 pm

Mulder fumbles with the keycard in the door lock. He’s feeling a bit off-balance since leaving the polo match and he knows one reason, but the other evades him. Once he’d caught up with Spender, he’d learned more about the dubious business activities he would be partaking in if going to work for Spender. Diana was right, in a sense. He’s changing. Whether it’s because of Scully or some other reason, he’s unsure, however, the more Spender spoke, the more Mulder began to despise the man. And then there’s Scully. She had appeared to be enjoying herself— at least he thought she was. Silence loomed in the car on the drive home; the usually chatty Scully had nothing to say. Mulder realizes she hasn’t said a word to him since leaving the polo club. He manages to open the door, allowing her entry first.

“Scully?” Mulder asks, hesitantly, cautiously, following her into the foyer. She doesn't turn to look at him, but he pushes forward anyway. “Are you okay?” he asks, facing her after depositing his coat on the bench in the entryway.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she replies curtly. She heads straight for the bathroom, not allowing him a chance to ask follow-up questions, and slams the door at full force once she’s on the other side of it. Very un-Scully-like, as she hasn’t engaged in this type of behavior during the week.

Mulder hesitantly heads in that direction, but before he can do or say anything, the bathroom door flies open and Scully shoots out.

“You know, Mulder, I don’t know why you made me dress up.” She pulls the hat off her head and haphazardly tosses it on a nearby chair.

“I don’t under—”

“If you were going to tell everyone I’m a hooker, why couldn’t I wear my clothes? At least that way I could be prepared for the ammunition coming at me,” she says. Mulder, seeing the utter hurt in her eyes, can only look at the floor. She can’t look at him either, out of anger or hurt she doesn’t know, but she can’t meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” is all Mulder can think of to say, something so simple, yet not. As if he doesn’t already have his foot in his mouth, he continues, “I’m sure Diana meant no harm, I’ve known her for years.” It was the wrong thing to say if her wide blue eyes are any indication. Mulder can practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

“You going to act as my pimp now? Diana can hook me up with all of her people and you can get a cut of the money?” Scully, no longer holding back, is decidedly close to yelling. Mulder looks struck, dumbfounded, and hurt, though he knows not as hurt as Scully is. However, instead of being empathetic, anger takes over him.

“That’s not me, Scully, come on. I thought you had gotten to know me better than that. But I hate to point out the obvious, but you are a hooker. You are my employee. I’m paying you to spend the week with me,” he says, adding the last bit just for spite.

Scully sees red. “It’s my body, Mulder. My choices, my life, my say.”

“I’ve apologized,” he says, as if that statement solves everything, attempting to end the argument. Mulder, someone who is generally in charge of everyone and everything, is always used to having the last word.

“You know, Mulder,” Scully says, a bite still on her tongue, clearly not done with the discussion, “I’ve never had anyone make me feel as low or as cheap as you made me feel today.”

Mulder rolls his eyes at Scully and before he can stop himself replies, “I have a really hard time believing that in your line of work.”

Scully visibly recoils, as though she’s been slapped in the face. She walks out of the room without another word, grabbing her shoes and bag. Mulder catches up to her in the dining area. It dawns on him that she intends to leave, and suddenly he is devoid of air.

“I want my money,” she declares, her words hitting him like ice. Not wanting her to see that he is shaken by her abrupt departure, he takes a stack of bills out of his wallet, throws them carelessly on the table, and retreats like a wounded animal.

Scully stares at the money, disappointed in herself for enjoying her time with him, disappointed in Mulder for, in her eyes, letting her down, and disappointed in how it’s coming to an end. Leaving the money untouched on the table, she turns and quietly makes her way out the door.

Pausing, once in the bedroom, Mulder sadly thinks, this isn’t how it’s supposed to end. He quickly makes his way back to the dining area. Seeing the money on the table but no sign of Scully, he makes haste and heads to the hallway in hopes of stopping her. She’s standing in front of the elevator, staring at her watch while tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. Don’t look at him, she orders herself.

“I’m an asshole,” he affirms in a loud enough voice that she can’t mistake what she heard. She huffs out a diminutive laugh, indicating that she more than agrees with him, though she still can’t meet his eyes.

“I’m a self-absorbed, cocky, pain in the ass, asshole.” He inches nearer to her, cautiously, as though he’s approaching an injured doe, scared it will run. She shifts her head slightly, acknowledging she is listening to him. “I’m used to getting my way with everything. I’ve been told on more than one occasion that my people skills are not always top-notch. Scully, I wasn’t planning on telling anyone and wasn’t prepared to answer questions about us; that was a mistake, I should have been prepared. But I am also a person who generally tells it like it is, and I truly am sorry for hurting you Scully. Dana. I don’t want you to leave, especially like this, he pauses, then dejectedly adds, “Please.” Holding his breath, he waits for her response.

The elevator doors open and Byers stands there, ready to take his next passenger to his or her destination. He looks from Mulder to Scully, waiting with bated breath to see which one, if either, will come aboard. Scully shakes her head carefully, indicating she will not be needing a ride. He lets the doors close and descends. She slowly turns to face Mulder, wiping a tear from her eye.

“You hurt me.” A sentence so simple, yet very impactful. Mulder is silent, having said everything he needed to. “Don’t do it again,” Scully continues, half a command and half a warning.

Mulder holds out a hand, much like an olive branch peace offering. Taking it, they advance together back through the door.

Penthouse

Master Bedroom

10:30 pm

The room is dark, the only sliver of light coming from the moon peeking through the slatted blinds. The sound of nightlife bleeds through the window. The smell of sweat and mingled bodily scents waft through the room. They lay in bed breathing heavily, naked, sated, and facing each other, their heads draped cozily on pillows. Mulder kisses Scully’s nose.

“What’s going on in your head?” he asks curiously. He moves a finger towards some stray hairs on her face and gently tucks them behind her ear.

“I’m enjoying this more than I thought I would,” she replies honestly. Mulder scrunches his eyebrows, and Scully realizes he thinks she means the sex. She lets out a laugh and quickly explains, “This arrangement, not the sex, Mulder, though I am thoroughly enjoying the hell out of that too. But this, the week.”

Mulder nods, understanding. “Tell me something about yourself, Scully.” His hand makes gentle, rhythmic up-and-down motions over her naked side.

“You want the Dana Scully 411?” she asks. Mulder nods, biting his lip, almost afraid that she will refuse him. He doesn’t know why that bothers him, but he suddenly has an intense need to know everything about her. Instead, she lets out a breath and begins her story.

“I’m the third child of four. An older brother and sister, and a younger brother. My father was my first love, my biggest defender, and the person who was the hardest on me in the world. I always wanted to please him, do my best, and live up to his standards. He died when I was sixteen. My oldest brother had already left home and my sister was just about out the door. My younger brother had his stuff going on. My mother tried to hold everything together. I was lost. I was drowning. I tried to make myself as small as possible. I had been a pretty good student up until that point; my dad and I shared a love of learning. He always told me I would be an amazing doctor one day. But when he died, I spiraled. I barely made it through the year and ended up dropping out about six months before I was supposed to graduate. I know I broke my mother’s heart, but I needed to get away. I couldn’t breathe. I hopped around from one friend’s house to another, taking odd jobs at diners or other shops when I could. I lived that way until I was twenty-three. Soon after, my sister, Missy, got in touch and persuaded me to come out here. She had been living here, trying to waitress and maybe make it as an actress. But that didn’t pan out and she ended up trading tricks. She introduced me to this life and I was suddenly making more money than I knew was possible. I had boyfriends now and then. None of them knew what I did. I was always safe, and never put anyone in danger. Looking back on it, I for sure had a pattern; I always went for the older guy, the father figure, one I wanted to please,” she pauses, looking into Mulder’s eyes. “A psychologist would have a field day with me,” she admits honestly.

“We’re not defined by our past, Scully. We’re defined by what we do each day moving forward,” he tells her. Not scolding, not harshly, simply stating a fact.

Scully nods and whispers, “I’ll have to remember that.”

“What’s one thing you wish you could do that you never had the chance to?” he gently asks, after a few minutes of silence. She contemplates this for a bit, thinking back to her childhood.

“Disney,” she settles on after a bit.

“Disney?” he reiterates. He searches her eyes to see if she’s joking, but her face conveys seriousness.

“What? I never got to go as a kid, and then my dad died and my world fell apart. Doesn’t every kid want to go there at some point?” she asks. Observing the look on his face she silently asks him, What?

“Nothing, it’s cute. That was probably the last thing I was expecting.”

“Well, Mulder, I guess I just like to keep you guessing.” She yawns and snuggles closer into his chest, drifting into a peaceful sleep as visions of horses, divots, and Mickey Mouse flow through her head.

#dana scully #fox mulder #the x files fanfic #x files #au fanfiction #msr #first fight #kiss and make up #damn Diana

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sxtaep · 1 year

Note

'she’s crying? console her no matter how little the problem is 😭'

This is so cute 🥹🥹💕💕💕💕!!! what the smallest thing she cried about and what did jimin do?

she saw a tiktok of a mother duck crossing the road with her ducklings but they fell through the sewer 😭 she cried so hard jimin went and brought her some baby ducklings 😭❤️

#anon #anon asks #kiss and make up

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angelsfalling16 · 2 years

Text

Kiss and Make Up

Summary: After an encounter in the Wavering Woods, most of Simon's clothes have been burnt off, but he refuses to get dressed until Baz admits that the fight was his fault.

A/N: I am very late with this fic, but this is what I wrote for this year's @carryon-reverse-bang. I want to say a huge thank you to my artist in this event, @cutestkilla, who was completely understanding and patient when I needed an extension to finish this fic and too stressed by work to be able to focus on this fic. I could not have asked for a better or kinder partner, and I have loved working with her. Also, her art is amazing, and I’ve included it at the beginning of the fic!! It was so fun to write a fic based on her work!

Word Count: 4689

Read the fic on ao3 or down below

Simon

There is a distinct scent of campfire in our room. You know, that smell when the fire is beginning to die out and it's more smoke than anything. Plus, there's actually smoke in our room. I'm not sure if it's from my clothes - what remains of it anyway - or the feeling of being about to go off that still hasn't dissipated.

I've been trying to calm down, but it isn’t working, which is only frustrating me even more. I've been taking deep breaths and trying to focus on something other than the anger that I feel coursing through my veins like something’s alive that’s just waiting to take over.

I hate feeling like this, like I have no control over my feelings or my reactions to them. I can’t even get mad without nearly blowing everything up, the way I did tonight.

Baz is in the bathroom, and I focus on the sound of the water running from the sink. It’s a normal, soothing sound, and it actually works in helping me to get my breathing under control, and after a few minutes, I no longer feel like a ticking bomb, waiting for the moment when the time runs out and I go off, destroying everything in my path.

Baz exits the bathroom, and the sneer he gives me is almost enough to break through the sense of calm that I was just beginning to feel.

“Aren’t you going to get dressed?”

I shrug. “I don’t have anything else to wear.” Everything else I own is disgustingly dirty, and my uniform has practically disintegrated, an unfortunate side effect to going off so close to the flames that Baz was hurling my way.

I don’t even know what we were fighting about. Probably something stupid. We hurling insults and shoving each other and I dont know. I guess I got so worked up that I couldn’t control my magic, and I just went off.

I was relieved that Baz wasn’t actually hurt, but he still yelled at me the whole way up to our room, acting like the whole thing was entirely my fault and he had nothing to with it, which isn’t really fair because he was the one who brought magic into the fight to begin with, summoning a flame with an irritating effortlessness.

And now he’s looking at me like he’s disgusted by me and my actions, and I won’t let him win that easily.

“I will get dressed as you as you apologize.”

He glares at me. “I have nothing to apologize for. You are the one who nearly killed us.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re perfectly fine. The only thing that happened was our clothes got badly singed, and that was from your fire.”

I shake my head because that just isn’t true. I was minding my own business, walking through the Wavering Woods when he confronted me. And yeah, maybe I got a little more defensive than was strictly necessary, but Baz drives me crazy. He gets under my skin so easily, and once that starts to happen, I’m hopeless to control my emotions, which seems to be intricately connected with my volatile magic.

I don’t want to argue with him anymore, so I pick up a book that I discarded on my desk earlier today and pretend to read it.

I can feel the force of Baz’s glare, but he doesn’t say anything else. He stomps over to his desk and opens up his laptop.

It seems he won’t be apologizing anytime soon. And that’s fine with me. I still feel too warm from our fight to be comfortable in clothes, so the cool air on my skin feels nice.

Baz

I have my laptop open in an attempt to work on the essay I need to complete for our Greek class, but I just can't focus on it. I get two, very mediocre, introductory sentences written before I glance off to the side, catching a glimpse of Simon's bare chest out of the corner of my eye.

I immediately snap my eyes back to my computer, but I know I won't be getting this assignment done tonight, not with Simon’s golden skin exposed like that, so close to me.

I pull up a new tab and switch over to one of my favorite sites, hoping for a distraction. I start scrolling, but I don't really take any of it in.

My eyes glaze over yet another gif of the angels falling, something that the Supernatural fandom doesn't seem likely to get over anytime soon. I keep scrolling passing similar gifs, some accompanied with the characters' reactions to the angels falling. I scroll past a long post, probably something informational, which I would usually be interested in but can't focus on right now, so I keep scrolling, words and images passing quickly by as my attention is drawn elsewhere.

My eyes keep drifting away from the screen and over to a mostly naked Simon. "Would you please put some clothes on?" I ask for probably the hundredth time. I'm practically begging at this point.

"I will," he says, and I sigh, some of the tension leaving my body, but then he continues speaking and it comes right back. "Once you admit that this is your fault."

I grind my teeth. Yelling at him hasn't worked thus far, so maybe a kinder approach will work.

"I can see why you might think that it was my fault, but I think we were both equally to blame. I will admit that we both played a part in the events that led to your being...underdressed. But I will not accept the full blame."

He seems to take my words into consideration for a moment, but then he shakes his head. "That's not good enough."

I take a deep breath, still trying not to yell. "You could at least use a blanket to cover up."

"Why does it bother you so much?"

"How would you like it if I was just sitting here in my pants?"

"Go for it! I wouldn't mind." A pause as his cheeks turn a dark shade of pink. "I-I mean. I w-wouldn’t care." He shrugs like that's explanation enough.

I don't think either of us knows how to respond, but I definitely will not be taking my clothes off.

We stare at each other for another long moment, then I turn my attention back to my computer, my eyes glazing over the images as I continue to scroll. All I can see is Simon stretched out on his bed, practically naked, that damned cross between his teeth, which I’m not sure he even realizes he’s doing.

I could probably come up with a spell that would clothe him, but he'd probably remove them just to spite me, and watching him strip is the last thing that I can handle right now. It's bad enough, his body is on display. It's driving me mad.

Simon

Baz turns back to his computer, but my cheeks are still burning with the embarrassment of what I said. I almost want to put my clothes on so that I can leave our room and the awkwardness of that moment. But I can't let Baz win.

I turn my attention back to the book that I'm supposed to be reading for a class, flipping to a random page, but I don’t even look at it. I can't stop thinking about what I said. Not because it was embarrassing. (I'm always saying embarrassing things in front of Baz. Nothing ever seems to come out right.) But because it came out so quickly, like it was the truth.

Would I mind if Baz took his clothes off? No. Not really. I mean, he's not ugly. He's muscular from all the running he does in football, and I'm sure he wouldn't be bad to look at.

But I didn't mean it like that. Like I want him to take his clothes off. Obviously, I don't go around wishing that I could see more of Baz's body. I don't care. I know he looks good. But I don't have any secret desire to see his naked body.

But now I'm sure that's what Baz thinks.

I need to come up with a way to let him know that I don't want him to take his clothes off without it coming off as weird.

Baz

Simon seems to be spiraling. He's thinking so loud that it's distracting. His leg is jiggling so hard the bed is vibrating, and his teeth are grinding, making a sound that has me clenching my own teeth. It's distracting, but it’s also nice to know that he isn’t taking any pleasure from this whole situation.

One of us is going to have to stop being stubborn so that we can put an end to this whole thing, but it can’t be. This was not my fault, no matter how much he wants to believe it is. He is the one who went off, destroying his clothes in the process.

Bringing fire into our fight was admittedly a bit of an overstep, but I was just so mad. I’m not even sure that I was at mad at Simon, though. I think I was mostly mad at myself for the way that my heart wouldn’t stop racing just from running into him in the Woods.

I hate how deeply I feel for Simon, and I hate how unrequited those feelings are even more. It isn’t right for me to take my frustrations out on Simon all the time, but I don’t know what else to do. I wish that just once, he would look at me without the usual hatred and suspicion in his eyes.

Simon

Baz is focused back on his computer and seeing that he’s not going to admit to his fault anytime soon, I focus my attention more intently on the book in my hand, which I only now realize is upside down. Turning it the right way round, I decide that it can’t hurt to at least attempt to do some reading.

A half hour passes, and I’ve only managed to get through a handful of pages. It’s always been a struggle for me to read quickly, but I’ve got the added distraction of being barely clothed and freezing because the crisp fall air coming in is not a comfort to me anymore. Not that I would ever admit that to Baz by closing the window. I also can’t pull a blanket over me because that would be almost like getting dressed and letting Baz win. Instead, I turn back to the book, which is when I realize that I’m not even on the chapter for this week’s assignment.

Sighing, I close the book with unintended force and toss it aside. The sound draws Baz’s attention, and his gaze flickers from my face to the discarded book, then back to my face, then lower towards—.

He turns back around abruptly, not saying a word.

Hmm. That’s interesting.

Perhaps there’s more to his desire for me to get dressed than he let on. I may be oblivious at times, which Penny never fails to point out, but I’m not an idiot. I can tell that Baz is uncomfortable. And maybe I’m the one who’s being an arse here by refusing to get dressed.

“I’m sorry.” I’m not sure who’s more surprised by the words. It’s what I meant to say, but they came from Baz. “I’m sorry, okay?” He repeats, standing but still not looking at me. Then, “Will you get dressed now?” he asks before storming out of our room, slamming the door behind him and leaving an eerie silence in his wake.

I’m too stunned to move for a moment. That was really strange. I didn’t actually expect Baz to apologize. I thought that we would sit in a tense silence for the rest of the night, and in the morning, when I would be forced to find clothes in order to go to breakfast, I would ask for a new uniform. Baz’s reaction was completely unexpected and leaves me with a whole slew of questions. I can’t just let it go, so I stand and quickly spur into action.

Baz

I couldn’t stand being in our room for a moment longer. I had to get out of there, and this was the only place I could think of to go. The dark, rat-infested Catacombs, which creates the perfect ambiance for me to sit in self-pity and try not to hate myself for the feelings I’ve been struggling to keep ahold of all night.

Simon was driving me crazy, stretched out on his bead with his gorgeous golden skin and freckles out on display. It was taking everything I had in me not to openly stare at him, which proved extremely difficult when all I wanted to do was reach out and touch.

I was so close to giving in to my deepest desires, which is why I had to leave so abruptly. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold onto my self-control. I just need a moment to breathe before I go back, and hopefully, since I apologized, Simon will be fully dressed when I return.

Simon

I honestly don’t have any clothes of my own that are currently wearable, and I will have to wait until morning to request new ones. (It won’t be anything people aren’t used to. I’m always ruining my clothes in one way or another, especially when I’m going on missions for the Mage.) That only leaves me with two options, and I’m certain that Baz would hate for me to chase after him in nothing but my pants even more than he would if I were to borrow some of his clothes.

I only hesitate briefly before making my way across the room to his wardrobe. I pull out the first things I see, which happen to be a pair of grey joggers that are softer than anything I’ve ever felt and one of his old football jerseys, which is a little worn and faded, but almost as soft as the joggers. I change into them quickly and slip into some shoes before racing after Baz.

I always forget just how fast he can move but am quickly reminded when I step out of [name of the building] and he’s nowhere to be seen. It doesn’t take me long to figure out where he went, though, since I’m almost certain that he wouldn’t head back to the woods after the events that transpired there earlier this evening.

That only leaves one place. The Catacombs.

I spent a lot of time during our 5th year following him around down here, but I haven’t been back here since I confronted him, hoping he would admit to being a vampire but finding him drunk and depressed instead. I felt a little bit bad about intruding on that moment and decided to just leave him be whenever he needed time to disappear down here – I could always prove he was a vampire some other way – but after his reaction in our room, I had to follow him down here to see what was up.

Why would he suddenly give in and apologize? Why would me being so scantily dressed make him so uncomfortable? Whatever the reasons, I still owe him an apology of my own. I pushed him too far, and I never wanted to make him uncomfortable. Irritated? Yes. Annoyed? Absolutely. But uncomfortable? That was never my intention.

It doesn’t take me long to find him, slumped against the wall, head down, and looking exhausted. Our fight earlier must have taken a lot more out of him that he was showing before.

I know he had to have heard him walking towards him, but he doesn’t look up or acknowledge my presence in any way besides the tension now apparent in his jaw.

“Baz,” I begin, but I’m not sure how to finish. I don’t think I’ve ever really apologized to Baz despite the number of times I probably should have. It’s new territory for me, and words have never been my strong suit.

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” He sneers in typical Baz fashion.

Baz

I don’t know why I’m so surprised that he followed me down here. He never has been able to let things go.

I can’t quite bring myself to open my eyes, worried that he’ll still be wearing basically nothing and that the sense of calm I was finally beginning to feel will dissipate immediately. I do it immediately because apparently, I am on some sort of masochistic streak.

Simon

Baz finally opens his eyes, but it seems to take a moment for him to actually notice what I’m wearing. I can see it in his expression the moment he recognizes my clothes as his own because his eyebrows rise almost comically just before he schools his expression back into a sneer.

“Glad to see you finally decided to get dressed,” he murmurs coolly.

I open my mouth to retort but take a deep breath so that my voice is calm when I say, “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Baz’s sneer shifts slightly into a frown. “Then why did you follow me down here?”

That’s a good question; the answer to which I’m not completely sure of myself when I could have just waited for him to return to the room. For some reason, I felt a sense of urgency in regard to figuring out why he was so upset. I should have expected him to see this as a fight.

“To apologize,” I say because it’s the best answer that I can seem to come up with.

Baz

I’m not sure that I actually believe that Simon came all the way down here just to apologize, but I decide to hear him out because he sounds like he really means it. And because I would let him do practically anything while he’s wearing my old jersey. (How have I never imagined what he would like in it? And how does he manage to look so bloody attractive despite it not really fitting him?)

Simon is quiet for a while, and I start to wonder if he thinks that simply declaring that he needs to apologize is apology enough. Which it isn’t. And frankly, it's pretty irritating that he would think so. Before I can tell him this, though, he starts to speak.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by refusing to put clothes on. It was stupid of me and honestly such a ridiculous stance to take.” Simon is being strangely honest. I don’t think he’s ever admitted to doing something stupid even though a lot of the stuff he does is frankly very stupid. So, why is he doing this? Why does he care that he was making me uncomfortable when he was so obviously trying to irritate me? What’s the difference and why does it matter to him?

“Thank you.” I’m not sure what else to say. He doesn’t want to argue, so I won’t. And I’m not sure why I’m doing that either. Maybe it’s the look on his face: open and honest. Or maybe it’s because I’m not sure what was worse: him not being dressed or him being dressed in my clothes. Either way, it’s probably best to say whatever I need to get him to leave me alone so that I don’t do something stupid myself.

Simon

I’m not sure what to do or say now that I have apologized. I should probably just leave, but something is keeping me here. Something that is obviously being unsaid. Something that has likely gone unsaid for a long time. Something that I know I’ll regret saying if I can even possibly find the words. Something I’ve not wanted to admit to myself for so long that I’m only just realizing it now.

“Baz,” I say, again unsure how to complete that sentence but making an attempt anyway, “I hate fighting with you.

Baz

I find it shocking how much those words seem to hurt me, like each one is a small puncture wound to my barely beating heart. I know it sounds ridiculous – because it absolutely is – but if Simon and I aren’t fighting, what does that leave us as? Just two guys who share a room? That would be even worse than all the fighting. To me anyway, because at least when we’re fighting, he sees me; he interacts with me.

If we’re just acquaintances, will he even notice me? Or will I fall to the background of the hero story he seems to be playing out at the Mage’s insistence?

I want to tell him no, or even just to ask him why he has had the sudden change of heart, but since he just said he didn’t want to fight anymore, it is probably best that I don’t immediately start an argument.

“Okay,” I say even though it’s an added punch to my already wounded heart. “So what does that make us?” I ask because I can’t help it and because I have to know. “Acquaintances? Friends?” I nearly laugh at how implausible the second one sounds. Simon and I could never be friends. We can’t even have an argument without nearly blowing up the school.

“Maybe,” he says with a shrug. “Or…”

Simon

“Or…” I drift off for a moment, wondering if I’m actually going to do this. Am I really going to risk all of this for the slightest possibility that the way that Baz looked at me earlier actually meant something? What if I’m wrong? What if I change my mind? What if I’m wrong about this feeling in my chest?

I won’t delude myself. I know that there is a slim chance that Baz would ever want to be anything other than enemies with me, but even if there is the most miniscule chance, don’t I owe it to myself – and maybe even to him – to at least try?

If he’s felt this way – the way I’ve felt but am only just now beginning to understand – for any amount of time, wouldn’t it be better to risk it all for something good than to coast through the next two years hating each other or even just ignoring each other’s existence.

It’s a huge leap, and I know I’m setting myself up for something painful, but it’s too late to go back now. I have to push through this. Get it over with and hope for the best.

“Or maybe—,” deep breath “—we could be more than friends.”

The words are out, and there is no taking them back now. I don’t think I would even if I could. It feels good to say them, to put that out there, even though it’s terrifying to wait for his response while he stares at me in a stunned silence.

And then he continues to just silently stare at me, his expression completely unreadable, and I start to wonder if maybe there is a way I can take it all back. Perhaps I could claim some sort of brain injury from our early fight. Or I could say it was all a joke to try to irritate him further. Although that seems senselessly cruel.

And anyway, I don't want to take it back. I put myself out there, and yes, it's terrifying, but I never would have thought I could do something like that. Admit to liking a boy — especially who I have pretended to hate for so long it seems like it might be impossible to get back from that. But I want to try, if he'll let me.

Right now, I just need him to say something. Anything. So that I'm not standing here like a fool.

Finally, his expression shifts, but it's still unreadable, even as he says, "Are you joking?"

I can't tell if he means it in an Are you an idiot? sort of way or a Do you really want that? way.

Hoping it's the latter, I say, "No, I really mean that. I want to be more than friends with you. If you want," I add with slightly less confidence, and I swear if he keeps staring at me without a word, I might go off again. Which would be rather unfortunate because I'd hate to ruin these impossibly soft clothes.

Baz

I honestly cannot tell whether Simon is joking. He said he wasn't, bit am I really supposed to just take him at his word?

I mean, I guess I could, but it's difficult to leap and hope that he will catch me. I want him to and he's looking at me like he will but….

I have to stop being so negative. If there is any chance that this will go anywhere, then I have to take a chance on Simon. On us.

Simon

Baz takes a step towards me, and I freeze, not totally sure that he isn't about to throttle me.

He takes another step, and my hand goes instinctively to where the Sword of Mages sits invisible at my hip.

One more step, and there's barely a foot of space between us.

One last step, and his hands are on my face, pulling me closer and stealing my breath away.

Baz

Simon doesn't make a move to stop me as I move closer to him, slowly as if approaching a deer I hope not to startle before I can catch it. Except, I want to do a very different thing with my mouth once I get my hands on Simon than I would do with the deer.

He doesn't flinch when I bring my hands up to his face, and that's when I start to fully believe that this is real. That he was being genuine about what he wanted.

I take a moment to stare into his ordinary blue eyes for a moment, making sure that there's no uncertainty in them before closing the distance between us.

Simon

The kiss starts out soft and gentle as our lips hesitantly press together, then once we get the feel for each other, we both start to lean into it and deepen the kiss.

Eventually, one of my hands finds its way into his hair, tangling there, while the other settles on his hips, gently pinning him to the wall. One of his hands slides down to the back of my neck, holding me there against him like he never wants to let go, while the other travels slowly down to the edge of my shirt — or rather, his shirt — before dipping under where the chill of his touch sends shivers throughout my entire body.

I never thought that being with Baz like this would feel so good.

Baz

I'm not entirely sure how long Simon and I spend down in the Catacombs, exploring each other's mouths and pushing and pulling at each other ever so slightly, almost like we're so used to fighting that we still do it even when we're kissing. All I know is that when we finally emerge into the late night, Simon's hand is in mine, and I can't seem to stop smiling.

Our earlier fight has been all but forgotten, and I'm trying to figure out a way that I can get him to wear my clothes more often. He's gorgeous in them, and I can't seem to keep my hands off of him when his arse looks like that in my joggers. Something about it just gets to me.

It's safe to say that we do more kissing than sleeping that night, but the sleep deprivation is worth it because when Simon asks if this makes us boyfriends somewhere around 3 in the morning, I don't hesitate to say yes.

I'm not completely sure how we went from nearly burning down the woods to dating, but I will say that this has truly been the happiest day of my life so far.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #the simon snow series #co/ws/awtwb #rainbow rowell #my writing #corb 2022 #carry on reverse bang #kiss and make up #20 first kisses

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