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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Crackin’ the Code

prompt: Harry and YN tie the knot in a beautiful castle off the coat of Italy. Harry reflects back on his life before his love. YN has past insecurities creep on on her before the wedding.

note: this is the necklace that YN receives as (one) her wedding gifts from H and she wears it during the ceremony.

word count: 9k

warnings: smut

***<-- click for visuals throughout (super important for this one shot!)

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---

The world expected an extravagant wedding with week-long festivities, celebrations in destinations only the richest could afford, and all the big names of the business world who ran in his circle.

The media outlets were just waiting, quite impatiently, for the day that the richest man in Europe settled down with a significant other. They would have news stories for decades when it came to the couple.

Of course, Harry Styles was going to marry a household name - the public thought.

Whether it be an heiress, a model, maybe even an actress? The choices for the most eligible bachelor were limitless.

Any time he was at an event, usually a charity gala or black-tie dinner, paparazzi would take candid pictures of him with any female and then the following day publish an article about how they were a couple.

However, what the world didn’t know was that he’s been in a relationship for a year and a half, has already been engaged after the eight month mark, and moved into pretty soon after but that was hushed.

Nearly no one except a few key employees and family members knew about the couple. Everyone in his office building in the heart of London had to sign NDA’s at the beginning of their job - though almost all of them didn’t know she existed.

Harry did not put any limits on YN for the wedding planning.

No price, no expectations, nothing. If she wanted ten-thousand people or zero people in attendance that was her call. If she wanted to drop ten million dollars on a wedding or a hundred that was fine too.

The CEO never fantasized about a wedding.

Well he had but no in the terms most do. He didn’t sit and imagine the venue, the food menu, or the decorations.

No, he didn’t care about any of that, he daydreamed about the fact that he and someone would commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.

Harry wanted to marry his fiance after their first date.

He was usually a very patient man, couldn’t have gotten where he was if he wasn’t. When it came to this, each day he wasn’t married to the love of his life felt like torture.

Since he proposed to her in his briefs in their bedroom, he had imagined her looking immaculate in whatever she chose to wear, exchanging vows of devotion, and then being tied together for life.

He never thought he would get here. He’d never felt a connection with someone like he had with the feisty waitress who bumped into him. Begin to believe that he was broken or lacking emotion because no matter how sweet the girl was he couldn’t see himself with the person.

Don’t get him wrong.

He took many women out on dates that were downright awful. Asking him about money, suggesting he take them on expensive vacations or buy them a designer item, being too forward and palming his crotch in the middle of dinner.

One of the last dates he went on before he gave up was the one that made him stop looking all together, about six months before he ran in YN.

---

It was an expensive restaurant in the heart of London. It had a waitlist for months but one call and they could magically make an available booth for the billionaire within the hour.

The girl he was sitting across from was a so-to-speak blind date.

A set up by one of his business partners who stated that they would be a good match. Harry had rolled his eyes at that but couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough to say ‘no.’

Her name was Aria, she had a respectable job at a local law firm as an assistant to a very well-known lawyer in the area.

She was beautiful in the way of looking just like an instagram model with long dark extensions, false eyelashes that made it hard to determine what color her eyes were, and an outfit that made Harry a bit embarrassed to be seen with her - short and low cut at a five-star restaurant.

“Yeah, I just got back from Mallorca with a group of friends,” She tells him, flipping through the photo album on her phone to show him pictures.

When she ‘accidentally’ swipes (and slowly swipes) again so that Harry definitely gets a glimpse of a nude selfie.

Harry internally groans, couldn’t be less turned on by that, and doesn’t acknowledge it - much to Aria's disappointment.

She was fishing for a compliment, maybe a request for him to take the phone and look closer at the picture like most men would.

Instead he sits back, takes a sip of his wine, and nods curtly, “It looks like you had a good time.”

She stumbles for a second, confused by his sudden standoffishness, and clicks her phone locked before putting it next to her on the table, “Did I offend you?”

He was already done with the date, with the dating scene, with fucking everything honestly.

What a goddamn waste of a night.

Harry barks out a cruel laugh, “It takes a lot more to offend me than a picture of y’tits but it’s a bit offensive that y’think so little of yourself that you think that’s how y’going to impress me. Those tits didn’t impress me much, darling.”

Aria’s eyes narrow in blatant disbelief at how much of an asshole he was being.

Granted, she did feel a bit of embarrassment creeping up in her stomach about thinking showing him that picture was a good idea but still, he didn’t need to react like that.

“It really makes sense why you don’t have a girlfriend, it’s because of what an asshole you are,” The girl sneers with venom as she tucks her phone into her clutch, swigging down the last drops of the expensive wine.

He shrugs like he’s unbothered, a nasty feeling quilling in the pit of his stomach as he keeps an outward expression of nonchalance and ease, it make the raven-haired woman even more furious as he replies cooly, “I’m not being an asshole, honesty hurts sometimes. Maybe if you think the way you attract someone is by nude pictures, you should try Tinder or Bumble.”

“I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have,” Aria tells him before pushing out her chair and leaving before the main course even arrives.

Harry sits there for a moment, swallowing and pleading with himself to not let the nasty words set in because they felt too real and too personal - she had actually struck some type of chord within and it had his stomach churning.

When he pays the bill, apologizing profusely for leaving dinner before the entree arrives but with an excuse of a company emergency - it’s eerily quiet in his car as he drives home to his massive home with no one in it.

It doesn’t happen often.

He should call his mum, Gemma, Dorothy even to talk it out but he feels so fucking alone because he can’t get it right. He can’t connect with anyone and it is starting to feel hopeless.

He is angry, so angry at himself, that he can’t shake the feeling of it and he feels like he’s losing control because he never fucking talks about his emotions.

A beautiful set of dishware was sitting out his dining room table, the housekeeper had carefully unwrapped them earlier in the day.

They were imported from Beijing, decorated with real gold, and handcrafted. It had cost him nearly forty-thousand dollars for a set of fucking plates and bowls.

I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have.

It is repeatedly on a loop in his head, glares at the items on the dinner table like they’re mocking him, and he has no wits about himself before he’s taking one of the beautiful bowls and throwing it against the wall as hard as possible.

I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have.

By the time he’s done, his chest is heaving, and his face is red.

When reality starts to set back in, every single item from the set is destroyed on the floor, the wall’s paint chipped from where he’d hurled them.

He was so fucked up.

Harry couldn’t help but relieve the feelings of that nasty flashback. He couldn’t believe that he had been at that point in his life - not when he had the most all-consuming, amazing in every single way woman laying next to him in his bed.

YN had shown Harry that he had never been broken, he had just been waiting.

She was his soulmate and he had been waiting for her since forever. He truly believed that as he looked at the girl next to him with enough emotion his heart might burst.

She was just...everything.

YN was so fucking funny - the funniest person Harry had ever met. She was loving in a way that made you feel like you belonged. Compassionate in a way that makes you want to be more selfless yourself. Intelligent enough that it was breathtaking and unreal - and that was just the tip of the iceberg.

She was uncaring of who Harry was - in the most perfect way.

Money wasn’t a personality trait that she defined him with. She loved him for who he was at the bare basics, stripped away from his public life.

She was confident in a way that girls rarely were.

Bared face and more beautiful than the highest-paid models.

Her body was her own, embracing every curve and inch of it without any shame. Let herself be authentic in front of Harry which made him feel like he had won a secret lottery.

Right now, she was fast asleep next to him in bed after stuffing herself full of oreos that she was dunking in milk. She ignored Harry’s looks of disgust at the soggy cookies and munched away happily which made him happy in turn.

She still had a dark crumb on the corner of her puffy lips, her mouth parted just the slightest amount, and her face smushed halfway into the pillow.

The shirt she had on was so oversized she was swimming in it and a pair of soft pink cheeky underwear.

Currently, she was the farthest thing from graceful and Harry loved that so fucking much.

As they lay mere days away from their wedding, remembering that nasty flashback, he can’t help but remember their first date and how he had known from them that he had finally found a spark, a connection to another human being.

Harry cannot remember the last time he had been nervous.

Maybe back in his teenage years? If that.

It was an unsettling feeling that was currently pooling in the pit of his stomach as he changed his outfit for the third time before finally being somewhat satisfied with the suit he had picked out - tighter black jeans, black button-up, black blazer - couldn’t go wrong there. ***

YN had texted him asking what she should wear for their first date when Harry told her he was going to keep it simple and take her to a restaurant.

He had to dress nice, it was an expensive restaurant that he had not taken any other dates to before, it was right outside of London - going towards the countryside with a beautiful view of a meadow and stream.

When he had arrived in front of her apartment, well he had never been on this side of town, and it quite frankly looked like the roof of her building was about to collapse at any minute. It was rough to say the least.

Harry had picked out a car he thought would impress her. He remembered her saying the doors of his Lamborghini were stupid so he picked a car with normal doors this time. It was his new Audi Quattro that had cost him upwards of 170,000 pounds. ***

YN had popped out of the front door, her face didn’t read impressed when she saw the car like he had hoped. It was interesting before YN, he did not care whether or not his dates were impressed by him - now he craved it.

She looked extraordinary in a form fitting silky black dress that hugged every single curve of her body perfectly while accentuating them at the same time. Minimal makeup, loose waves, and simple high heels - it was like a dream that he was taking this girl out on a date. ***

When she slips into the passenger seat, the smell of her floral yet cinnamon perfume makes the car smell heavenly, she looks over at him and says, “You didn’t even come open the door for me. We’re off to a bad start, Harry.”

His heart sinks, fuck - he had been blindsided by her beauty that he wasn’t even being a proper gentleman, “M’so sorry, I wa-”

She chirps out a tender laugh, patting his arm, “You’re face, oh my god. I was just fucking with you.”

Harry’s frown turns into a pout, “S’not nice, pet.”

YN shrugs before a bit self-consciously adjusting the fabric around her midsection, “Erm, I hope this outfit is nice enough? It’s really the only semi-decent thing I own.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, “Y’look absolutely stunning. I can’t even believe y’real to be honest, so fuckin’ pretty.”

YN gives him a shy, unsure smile but he can tell she’s preening at the compliment internally (which she totally is).

The restaurant is one of the nicest in England, let alone London.

There wasn’t even a menu, they just served eight courses over a few hours time by servers in suits with bowties on.

YN had never felt more out of place.

As they sat down, Harry was proud that he was able to show off his abilities for a good date, YN was looking around nervously before looking up at the server and saying, “We didn’t get menus yet.”

The man gives her a humorous expression before telling her, “We don’t do menus here, miss. Your date is a regular, I am sure he can fill you in. However, we are starting off with a Cabernet from 2001 imported from Napa, California.”

As he pours the wine into their sparkling glasses, she asks unknowingly, “I don’t really like wine. Is there any way I could get a Coke?”

Harry frowns when the server laughs meanly at her, “Ma’am this isn’t McDonald’s. We do not carry soda. I can provide you with water, if you so wish.”

Harry can’t help but snap at the waiter, “Oi, she’s never been here before. Lay off with the attitude alright?”

“My apologies, Mr. Styles,” He murmurs obediently before finishing the pouring off the whine and retreating from the table.

YN is trying to hide how uncomfortable she is but it is still obvious with how she fidgets in her seat, doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands as she doesn’t even bother to reach towards the wine glass.

“This isn’t really your scene, is it?” Harry murmurs, embarrassment with his failure to impress her with an expensive car and dinner.

It was falling flat and it was the only thing he knew how to do - flaunt his wealth, everyone else had always been impressed.

“No, it isn’t,” She agrees quietly, fingers folding the edges of the cloth napkin to keep her anxiousness directed somewhere, “I appreciate this, er, dinner. I thought we were going to go somewhere like Mary’s.”

Mary’s was a restaurant that was considered ‘nice’ to the commoners in the city. It was a bit more expensive than a pub and the attire was a bit fancier than if you were going out to a bar.

For someone like Harry, that was not considered a fancy restaurant.

However, YN was not him and this was not something that she had ever been accustomed to. He now definitely felt like an idiot.

It’s made even worse when a massive plate is put in front of each of them.

The plate is huge but the dish is merely one scallop with a lemon sauce and sprinkle of parsley on top. YN can’t even try to hide her confusion at the food.

“I’ve mucked this date up,” Harry sighs, nearly thirty minutes into the actual date.

YN had taken a small bite of the scallop before setting down her fork and not touching it again - it tasted like dirty feet. Did rich people like that taste?

She decides not to answer directly, “I already know you have money. It doesn’t ‘wow’ me. I was hoping for a fun date, this is….nice but quite truthfully, not for me. I prefer a pub or bowling - this feels more like a business meeting.”

Harry usually doesn’t have dates that are this honest with him.

He feels embarrassed but he really did appreciate her honesty. He should have known to do something different than this but he was comfortable with his normal pattern.

“Can we get out of here?” YN asks, placing the napkin back on the table and gathering up her small purse to swing over her shoulder.

He feels defeated as he nods, paying for the meal in full as he accepts that he’s fucked up the date beyond repair by being an arrogant, ignorant asshole who doesn’t truly know how to talk to a girl he likes.

It’s quiet as he starts the car and pulls back onto the road, he startles a bit when YN points to a glowing sign of a golden arch and demands, “Go there.”

With a bit of confusion, Harry pulls into the McDonald’s parking lot and then to the drive-thru as she motions for him to do so.

God, he hasn’t been to a fast food joint in years now if he was being honest.

When they pull up to the screen, YN leans across and shoots out their food order with ease before sitting back with a smug smile, “We’re going to have a date my way.”

Harry sighs with relief when he realizes the date isn’t over - but really just beginning. They sit and chat in the parking lot. He is thoroughly impressed when YN manages a box of nuggets, a fry, and a milkshake without shame.

Not like she should be shameful - just usually on dates women were hesitant to actually eat and instead picked carefully at their food instead. Their conversation in the car is bright, at some points deep and meaningful, but refreshing. It made him feel young again.

After they finished eating, she’s ordering him to drive a bit further out into the country where he can’t help but make the joke, “Are y’taking me somewhere to kill me?” YN smiles happily with a wide grin, “You’ll just have to wait to see.”

It ends up being a lake. A beautiful body of water that was surrounded by trees that were being reflected into the ripples with the light of the moon. The only sounds were of crickets chirping and the light lapping of the water against the small shore. ***

“I used to come here a lot in the summer in high school,” YN murmurs as Harry takes in the scenery of everything. It had been so long since he had appreciated nature - not the bright clear waters in the tropics but something like this.

“S’beautiful,” Harry replies, can’t help but observe this girl he’s infatuated beauty in the moonlight.

Her skin looks like it’s glowing, the moon sparkling off the twinkle of her iries, and she just looked...ethereal. Like she belonged in the beauty of the wilderness.

He couldn’t believe his eyes - had to blink harshly a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it when she pulls the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders and shimmy the garment down her body until she’s left in a delicate lace bra and cheeky pair of underwear.

Harry, always the gentleman, keeps his eyes (with effort) on her face. Unsure of what is going on in her mind before she turns around with a little run and dives headfirst into the deep waters before popping back up and giggling, “Jump in!”

She’s just so...carefree, adventurous. Harry hadn’t felt free in fucking years.

It has him shucking out of all of his clothing, just down to his tight black briefs before he’s diving in, right next to her, and feeling around. He wraps his hand around her ankle to teasingly tug her under with him before they both surface.

As they wad in the water, YN swims over to him, and wraps her legs around his waist, arms around his neck. Her soaking wet hair was dripping and he was breathing heavy, feeling his ribcage expand against her soft tummy.

She murmurs quietly over the light lapping over the water, “You haven’t even looked at me once.”

Harry swallows, feeling like a schoolboy again, “I...I didn’t want to without permission.”

“I want you to look at me,” YN replies, letting her nose nudge his and her eyes searching into his nervous ones.

He nods, closing his eyes when he feels her lips brush his, letting his large palms grip at her sides and pull her closer to his chest. Their lips not breaking when his hands begin to explore the intricate, plush curves of her body.

They don’t do anything else, don’t go any further but he groaning when she traces her fingertips down his muscular, defined abs and thumb rubbing over the trail of light hair leading into his briefs.

After a swim, filled with splashing and dunking, they retired to lay in the grass. Both of their backs, looking up at the clear night sky, moon full and stars glittering against the stark darkness that surrounds it.

YN wriggle until she’s tucked into his side, hand running up and down his chest, as she says, “I’m sorry your date didn’t go as planned. I ruined it.”

“Y’didn’t ruin anything. I...I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” Harry admits as he gives off an embarrassed laugh, “I..I’m a little bit scared, to be honest.”

“Scared? Of what?” YN asks, lips pressing against a tattoo on his bare shoulder.

“Because I already am falling for you,” Harry utters, heart racing and his eyes glued upwards and pointedly not wanting to see her interaction.

“That’s a relief.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “A relief?”

“Yeah, I would say. I’m falling too,” YN whispers before leaning up to connect their lips once more as the moon rises further in the sky and the crickets sing a little louder. They lay like that for a very long time.

Harry went home that night for the first time not feeling the empty weight of his loneliness, instead he feel asleep imagining the beautiful, spontaneous girl next to him in his bed.

It wasn’t going to be the wedding everyone expected for The Harry Styles. **

There was not many invites set out for this event. It wasn’t the wedding of the century or the most expensive wedding of the decade.

Harry would have let his wife-to-be have this day however she wanted without complaint but could say he was very happy that it was going to a be a low-key event. It was going to be some of YN’s family, though she didn’t have much, and Harry’s extended family. No one from work or business. Just family.

They had just gotten finished with the rehearsal dinner, the couple being ordered to separate rooms for the final night before they were married. It was tradition.

Harry had walked YN to her hotel room, they were staying at the venue, and pressed her up against the door. His hand coming to weave into her meticulously curled hair and cupping the back of her head, bring her mouth to his.

He wastes no time in letting his tongue find hers, hips coming to press her further back against the aged wood, and his teeth nipping roughly at her plump bottom lip, “Baby, y’gonna be m’wife tomorrow.”

YN’s eyes twinkle up at him like they did during their first date, “I can’t wait. I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

His fiance laughs kindly as he gets a bit watery eyed, her thumb coming to swipe under his eye, she jokes, “Are you regretting proposing now?”

“Just never knew I could be this happy,” He murmurs against her lips, can’t help but reach around to grip a generous amount of her backside and pulling her flush against him where he’s hardening quickly.

“Mm, down boy. You don’t get the goods until tomorrow,” YN scolds, hand wrapping around his wrist and squeaking when he squeezes harder to get the point across - how much he wants her, all the fucking time.

“Want it now, pet,” Harry whines lowly, grinding his hips forward into her, “Give it t’me, y’mouth, y’cun-”

“Alright lovebirds! Separate now!” Gemma barks to interrupt with the laughter of their childhood friend Chloe.

They pull Harry by the back of the shirt and push him forward towards his room, Gemma smiles back at YN, “Make him put a ring on it before you give it to him!”

“Gem!” Harry scolds with a whine, giving his fiance puppy dog eyes and a pouted bottom lip, “Baby, don’t let them take me!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I love you!” YN shouts back, waving and smiling to herself as she opens up the door to her room and then locking it after she steps in. It feels weird being in a hotel room without him but she was a bit sweaty and her nerves were wiry so she decided a nice bath would be a good idea.

It’s past two in the morning and she was no less ready to find sleep. The worries of whether everything will be set up properly, if she’ll stutter during her vows, there were just so many things that could go wrong.

Life didn’t even seem real at this moment.

She was marrying her husband at an amazing castle on the coast of italy with family to surround them in love. She had the perfect dress, the perfect flowers, the perfect partner. ***

She had never had it easy. Never thought she would deserve something like this. Harry had made her feel worthy of all this, they deserved to have a happy ever after.

When it hits three in the morning, she can’t stand the quiet of the italian countryside anymore, and is swinging her legs over the bed. She pockets the keycard Harry gave her earlier in the day in her cotton shorts before sneaking out of her room.

After she taps the card to the sensor, the large oak doorknob clicks, she slips in and closes the door as silently as possible. YN steps in to the room, Harry's asleep in his bed on his stomach, face smushed into the pillow.

Harry’s facial expression and body language while he was awake was so severe, serious, intimidating. In sleep, his face was lax and his limbs loose. He looked more boyish when he was dreaming.

YN’s heart aches at how much she loves him, pulling the covers up, and crawling under them until she’s jostling him unintentionally, waking him from his light sleep with a mumble, “Baby, y’okay? Wha’s wrong? Y’alright?”

She giggles at his dazy panic, “I just missed you.”

“Mmm,” Harry agrees, pulling her all the way down and rolling on top of her, “Missed y’more.”

“You’re like a toaster!” YN squeals as he’s encompasses her, laying on her with his weight. His lips finding her pulse point and gently sucking. He was barely awake and he still couldn’t stop himself from her finding comfort in her body.

“I’m warmin’ y’up,” Harry growls against her neck before giving her a lick which has her giggling even more and pushing him off until he falls on his back and she’s swing her legs over his waist, straddling him.

“Y’breakin’ the tradition, m’heart.”

YN shrugs, humming while he palms at her belly, and she (much to his disappointment) ignores where he’s hard and waiting for her.

“I want t’sleep with you,” She pleas sheepishly, leaning all the way over to connect their lips in a quickie peck before she’s moving off of him and into his side.

“Never say no to you, y’know that, dovie,” Harry replies as if it’s obvious (it is).

“We’re getting married tomorrow,” YN whispers into the dark, like it’s a secret just between the two.

Harry nuzzles his nose against her temple, “Never wanted anythin’ more than I want you.”

YN can’t help but sniffle softly, overwhelmed with emotion and love, “You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

“You saved me. You saved me from myself, from where I was going. You gave me hope, feeling again. Y’are m’heart, it fuckin’ beats for you.”

It may not be tradition but YN wouldn’t of had it any other way, sleeping in a magnificent castle on the ethereal coast of Italy in a classic hotel room, and the excitement of their wedding rumbling in both of their stomachs.

“You sneaky bastards!” Bethany screeches, door flinging open with Gemma in tow as they intrude into Harry’s room - finding the couple curled up under the covers with Harry spooning YN with his face tucked into her hair.

“Fuck off,” Harry groans, pulling his fiance closer into his chest as she wriggles awake and whimpers lowly, “Mornin’ lovie.”

“Out out!” Gemma shoos, pulling the covers off of them and the sisters showing no mercy while they yank YN out of the bed and titter about how she needs to start getting ready, no time for cuddles, breaking traditions.

“Bring her back!” He whines childishly, hurling a pillow at his sister’s retreating back as they guide YN back to her own room.

“You’ll see her in a few hours!” Gemma shouts back before slamming the hotel room door and leaving Harry to doze off for just a few more minutes.

Hair and makeup went fast.

It was getting closer and closer to actually walking down the aisle towards her soon-to-be life partner and she’s never felt more nervous.

Rosemary and Bethany were all rushing around - attempting to get ready in the midst of getting the bride ready.

YN didn’t want to look like a doll or have any intense makeup. It was a soft champagne smokey eye with dewy skin and a glowing highlight. A nice lip with a bit of glittering gloss.

Her hair was in big, loose curls that cascaded down her back with the front pulled off of her face. A real white flower holding it back.

Then it was the dress. She was anxious about whether Harry would like it or not. She wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to wear - a massive ball gown, a form-fitting mermaid, or something less over-the-top?

It was a show-stopper that had her memorized when she had first seen it - could automatically imagined herself getting married in Italy with this on her body.

It was also one of the only times she didn’t even care about the price tag - she knew this was it. Yes, it was absurd to spend fifty thousand pounds on a dress but it was the one time she took advantage of Harry’s wealth.

It was flowy, reminding her of the soft waves that lapped at the coast of the italian beaches. It was sophisticated, classy with a sharp starch white that billowed into a dreamlike beauty.

What had made her fall in love was the sheer, detailed sleeves that gave the dress more of a vintage, glamour appearance than the modern tight-fit, overly sexy gowns that most brides wore nowawadays. ***

The train was long and sleek. It would trail beautifully down the aisle before being bustled for the reception. It made her feel confident in a way that an item of clothing next had made her feel before.

“Your tits look amazing,” Bethany compliments before giggling when their grandmum pinches her arm for her crude language.

YN couldn’t find it in her to laugh. She felt like her voice was stuck in her throat and it wasn’t moving.

It started to feel real.

The fact that Harry had proposed, had planned a wedding with her, that he was agreeing to marrying her today.

It was starting to scare her - no, not cold feet but anxiety that he would realize that he could do better than the lowly waitress.

Now, on a normal day, she wouldn’t be having these irrational thoughts. Today was different and it felt too good to be true.

Rosemary and Bethany sense the tension in the room, rub her shoulders, and respect her wishes when she asked for a moment alone.

YN debates picking up her phone, knowing he was busy with his bigger side of the family in the groom’s suite.

She finds herself picking up her mobile, dialing his number, and waiting with bated breath for his syrupy, warm voice to pour through the speaker.

“Everythin’ okay?” He answers, she can hear Anne and Gemma tittering about in the background, yelling at him to get a move on.

“I’m scared,” YN whispers, she holds back her tears because the last thing she wanted to do was ruin her meticulous makeup.

“Leavin’ me at the altar?” Harry jokes lowly, stepping away from prying ears.

YN giggles at his teasing tone, “Never. I…I feel like this is all too good to be true. Like it’s a dream and I’m going to wake up.”

Harry huffs, “Sweetheart. Y’my soulmate, if y’wake up - I’m right there with you, okay? God, if anyone is dreamin’ it’s me. I get t’marry the most beautiful, intelligent -“

Gemma’s voice interrupts him, “You already seduced her into marrying you! We don’t have time for this sweet talk!”

The line goes dead but YN feels much better now.

—

Rosemary was going to be the one walking her down the aisle to her new husband. It didn’t feel right to have anyone else do it as she was the one who raised her into the strong, independent woman she was today.

YN knew she wanted to have an outside wedding.

What would be more perfect than a cool evening in Italy? It was what she had dreamed about since she was little without the idea that it would ever happen.

The weather was absolutely perfect. There was a slight warm breeze that would keep the guests from being overheated, the sun was peeking in and out of vibrant white clouds that complimented the blue sky.

She knew exactly where Harry would be standing.

Underneath a beautiful, dated archway with intricate designs about.

The old material had lovingly grown luscious ivy that kissed the walls in a swirling, natural design.

YN would never forget how beautiful that ivy had looked on her wedding day, encompassing the magnificent that was her soon-to-be husband.***

The venue was open, airy but still gave off an intimacy. There weren't many rows of chairs because not many were invited to share in such an ethereal experience where soulmates have found each other and were announcing their commitment to the world.

“Are you ready, my daughter?” Her grandmother had asked quietly as they lined up behind the expansive, old brick wall that hides them from the rest of the ceremony and crowd. She could hear the whispering as people took their seats.

YN nods, her vocal cords refusing to cooperate as she imagines Harry just as nervous on the opposite side with his family.

When the twinkling, traditional music begins from the small orchestra off to the side - the realization hits her - it is actually happening, right now.

Bethany puts her bouquet in front of her, giving one last meaningful smile at her sister before she takes her cue to turn the corner and begins her walk down the aisle.

It meant Harry was up there, watching as she was about to appear.

Then the orchestra’s melody became louder, more grand in the signaling for the guests to stand and turned toward the back of the room - awaiting the bride’s entrance to the ceremony.

Rosemary takes the initiative to hook their arms and guide her past the wall.

YN clutches onto her own flowers as if it’s her lifeline. ***

Every fear, insecurity, moment of self-doubt dissipates when her eyes connect to Harry’s. There is no longer a doubt in her mind that she wasn’t enough. It was a deep, unbreakable stare as Harry’s mouth parts in a gasp of awe.

He was in a suit that was undeniably him. It displayed how fucking regal he was, how it looked like he was handcrafted into the italian design, how it fit him just perfectly.

It wasn’t a normal tuxedo. It was a perfectly tailored, custom (of course) Gucci suit that excentuate his broad shoulders and the nip of his narrow hips *** ***.

YN can’t even hear the noise of the guests - whispering about how beautiful she looks.

All she can see is her future husband, who swallows harshly as an unexpected sob wracks through his chest at the sight of his bride.

The guests can’t help but look with wide eyes as the man they know - who they’ve barely ever seen smile, let alone cry, cannot control his emotions.

Gemma, who was his ‘best man’ which they deemed ‘best woman’, rubs his back soothingly with a watery smile herself at seeing her brother so estastatic as he looks at the woman of his dreams.

Harry rubs his eyes before meeting hers again.

YN is holding back her own tears as she reaches the end of the aisle.

In tradition as old as time, Harry steps forward and Rosemary passes her hand over to him in a signal that she trusts him to take care of the girl she’s spent meticulous time raising and cultivating into the person she is today.

“I trust you to take care of my girl, she is now yours,” Rosemary tells Harry, her tone is calm and full of emotion as she allows Harry to lean over to kiss her cheek softly.

Harry nods, his usually stable voice shaky as he replies, “I promise, I’ll take care of her until the day I die.”

Rosemary nods before patting his cheek and finding her seat in the audience.

When they are finally standing face-to-face, YN reaches over to thumb off a stray tear that was sliding down his cheek before he turns his head to kiss her thumb then kissing her palm.

Harry didn’t even acknowledge that there was anyone else watching - it was just him and her.

“Y’look breathtaking, can’t believe y’mine,” Harry murmurs trembling, his chest moving faster than usual and it felt like it was nearly impossible for him to catch his breath as he looked at the woman in front of him.

When it comes to the vows, Bethany hands over her small piece of paper that she had scribbled onto and scratched out multiple times - never quite able to get the wording just right and she says just that.

“I couldn’t find the right words to explain my love for you,” She starts, voice raspy as she looks up to see Harry watching her raptly, eyes intense and only focused on her.

“And maybe there aren’t even words to explain it because nothing felt like enough. It is how I feel a lot of the time with you. I’ll never have enough of you because you’re all-consuming to me. I have never felt happiness like I have with you.”

YN is trying to stifle her tears as she continues, Harry reaches out to rub her arm in reassurance then he lightly brushes over the new necklace he had gifted her, “You’re by far the most complex, closed-off person I have ever met. I feel like you’ve allowed me to crack the code and once I did, I wasn’t disappointed. I’ve cracked my own code, you see.”

“The code to explaining my feelings for you will come with my dedication, love, loyalty to be your wife for the rest of our lives.”

Harry can’t help what he does next despite it not falling in line at the ceremony.

His hands come up to cup her jaw and he sears his lips to hers, kissing her with all the passion and emotion he cannot seem to keep in any longer. It’s too much, has to show her in that moment how much he loves her.

A few of his uncles whistle from the crowd as their wives smack their chests in warning.

YN giggles, returning the kiss before pushing him off.

The look in his eyes is one she knows extremely well - it sends shivers down her spine and makes her hair stand on end -, the stare down of lust and want.

“Mr. Styles,” The officiant redirects, nodding towards the piece of paper he has in his hand.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry mumbles, unraveling the wrinkled notecard he had tucked in his inner suit pocket.

“I knew I was in love with you the moment you spilled that drink on me and undressed me in that dodgy employee bathroom,” Harry says with full sincerity, smirking at YN’s blush when he brings up the way they met.

“I tried to talk myself out of it. It was impossible to fall in love in mere minutes of meeting someone but it was the truth. I knew after our first date that I wanted y’to be m’wife. I knew after the second that I wanted y’to be the mother of my babies one day. And by the third date, I was planning on buying you a ring.”

“It sounds insane because it is. I’ve never been an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment, hopeful person before you. You made me throw all that out of the window, you make me feel alive, and when I tell you that you saved me. You saved me, m’love.”

“There is a lot of uncertainty in this world but I can tell you one thing that is absolutely fuckin’ certain -”

“Harry,” YN hisses with an eye-roll at his crude language.

“The one thing that is absolutely certain in this world is that I will always love you, always take care of you, and always do everythin’ in m’power to make you happy.”

The guests in the chairs are quite speechless.

They’d never heard such passionate, meaningful vows from a couple.

This was not what they were expecting of Harry who had never once put his heart on his sleeve and right now he’d laid it all out on the table.

“YN LN, do you agree to take Harry Edward Styles as your husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until the end of your time on earth?” The officiant asks, voice ringing against the walls of the castle.

YN has to take a big breath before she replies in a strong, firm voice as her eyes bore into Harry’s, “I do.”

“Harry Edward Styles, do you agree to take YN MN LN as your wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until the end of your time on earth?” The officiant repeats.

Harry, in ever typical fashion, in his loud, booming voice replies, “Of course I fuckin’ do.”

The guests in the audience laugh lightly as the officiant states, “I now announce to you, Mr. and Mrs. Styles. You may now kiss your bride.”

It doesn’t take more than a second for Harry to step forward, grip her face and pull her in for a kiss, it doesn’t matter that their family is there to him as he licks into her mouth which is bordering on obscene before YN brings it back to a softer, more appropriate one.

He whispers against his lips, barely audible, “Can’t believe y’my fucking wife, m’fucking heart.”

As people are moving towards the reception area, Harry manages to find a secluded area of the outside gardens where there is no one in sight.

“Baby, baby, y’married me,” Harry is nearly chanting, like he’s in disbelief, at the same time he’s cornering his new bride up against the brick wall with his mouth trailing sloppy wet kisses down her shoulder.

“Mmm, it was everything I ever imagined, it was so beautiful. Everything I had imagined for our day,” YN replies blissfully, hands running carefully through his meticulously styled hair.

When he bends down and lifts up the bottom of her dress, she giggles when he ducks his head underneath all the tulle and fabric, finding a very skimpy pair of white lace panties that are supposed to be saved for later.

“Harry,” YN scolds half-heartedly, it would only take one person to find them in this undeniable inappropriate situation but she willingly let him push her further against the brick and take one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Baby, these fuckin’ panties,” He groans, muffled by the barrier of the heavy fabric, and she hisses when pulls them down to the thick of her thighs and his mouths finds her center within moments.

“Fu-fuck,” She hisses, trying to keep her moans down as he wastes no time in pushing in two thick fingers to curve towards her front as his tongue laps quickly and sloppily on her clit until it feels like she’s about to explode.

“S’right, fuckin’ m’cunt. I have it f’the rest of my life, found the best one,” Harry mutters against her wet skin, almost to himself like he can’t even believe the words, before he’s back to speeding up his fingers to match the rhythm of his mouth until she’s quivering for a whole other reason now.

It takes a few minutes for Harry to calm himself down enough to be able to go into the reception, he tells YN that he can’t even look at her right now because if he does he’ll be perpetually hard throughout the whole thing.

The reception is more of a dinner than a party.

Fairy lights strung above the two long tables where decadent, mouth-watering food was served with the orchestra playing light, melodic music in the background. ***

It was perfect.

Their family drank, laughed, ate, and were merry.

Everyone was basking in each other’s company, congratulating the new couple, and enjoying all the beauty that was surrounding them at the castle.

There is not much more to say than that.

The honeymoon suite was located on one of the highest floors of the castle, away from all of the other wedding guests and staff.

YN was sure it was beautiful but from the moment she was carried over the threshold, she didn’t see anything but her new husband - he was blinding in his beauty. His skin was glowing, a slight sheen of sweat from the reception, and the still warm bite in the breeze. ***

“Sweetheart, baby. Please let m’undress you, y’my wife,” Harry pleas softly, his hands are everywhere - her face, her shoulders, hips - continuously wandering as if it’s impossible to find one place to settle.

“Please, c’mon. I need you, H,” She agrees, letting him take down the zipper on the side of her gown.

The expensive garment discarded on the floor in a pool of fabric as he fully takes in her lingerie set. ***

“Fuck me, darlin’,” Harry chuckles in amazement, fingertips tracing over the delicate lace that was stitched by Alessandro Michele himself for the bride, "Y’body is a god damn dream, look at you. - fuck.”

“Please,” His wife whimpers, voice desperate as his light and careful touches are no longer enough.

She needs him close, she needs her husband.

“Okay, okay,” He simpers, moving her back until he can have her right where he wants her, on her back in the middle of the massive, blanket-ridden bed - her white lingerie standing out against the dark duvet.

Harry had always imagined this night.

To have someone laid out underneath him.

No rush, no urgency but to truly, physically show that person through touch that you love them.

He starts near her collarbone, feathery heated kisses that warm her skin as she welcomes him with heavy weight on top of her so eager he wasn’t even undressed yet.

When his mouth finds her nipples through the sheer fabric, she pushes her chest up in encouragement as he bites at the nubs with sharp but careful teeth that wet the fabric.

“It feels so good, baby,” YN mewls, letting him nip and suck for a moment before pushing him up until he’s rid of every inch of fabric that had been covering his body.

“M’always gonna make y’feel good. I’ll fuck you wherever, wehenver cause you’re m’wife,” Harry grunts, impatiently reaching behind to unclasp the corset until her breasts spill free and jiggle in a way that makes his mouth water.

“Wait, wait,” YN puts a hand to his cheek when he already has his mouth darting out to lap at her hardened nipple.

“Don’t make me wait, m’heart,” Harry grumbles with a furrowed brow, his hand still unable to stop from reaching up to palm at her full breasts, thumbs rolling the nipples as he stares fiercely up at her.

“You know how you got me a present?” YN murmurs, biting back a whimper when a zip of electricity shoots from her nipple down to where she’s already dripping for him, “I got you something too.”

Harry’s face relaxes, it’s like he finds his grounding again, “Baby, didn’t need t’get me anythin’. Y’the best fuckin’ gift I could have gotten. Does look beautiful sittin’ between y’tits though.”

His new wife giggles, “Well I really hope you like mine….it’s non-refundable.”

He looks at her with confusion even more so when she wriggles down her panties and flips on her belly with her arms resting under chin.

Of course, Harry finds it immediately and she can tell by the deep, pleased growl he emits from the back of his throat, “You fuckin’ didn’t.”

“I did.”

It was his name, small and cursive right on her bum cheek.

After they got engaged, he went out and got her name tattooed on his pec - much to her dismay.

She had never talked about returning the favor and had kept it the ultimate surprise.

“I think I almost just came from this,” Harry rasps, his fingers tracing the small ink over and over in awe, “Baby, y’put m’name on your bum. It makes y’look like my property, sweetheart.”

“I am yours,” YN giggles, yelping when she feels his teeth graze the sensitive skin before he’s suckling and licking at his name - can’t take his eyes off the beauty of her.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are,” He agrees whole-heartedly, his hands calming to cup and palm at her cheeks as he fawns over his wedding present, “This is the best present I’d ever fuckin’ received, fuck - never goin’ to get over this.”

He doesn’t want to look away from the tattoo but knows how he wants to fuck his wife for the first time so he flips her onto her back once again, lips finding hers.

She whispers, hand wrapping around his cock, “Still have to pay you back for earlier.”

“No blowies tonight, pet. We’re goin’ to do it the right way, m’gonna make love to you,” Harry murmurs, his lips finding hers as he bats her hand away to grasp at his thick base. He teases the sensitive head over her clit and entrance a few times before slowly sinking in.

“Ohh, been ready for you all day. You looked like a fucking wet dream standing at the alter, waiting for me,” YN sighs happily, wriggling her hips to adjust a bit before she spreads her legs and lets Harry rest in between them, “Ever since I saw you in the suit, I’ve been waiting.”

“Yeah, baby? I can tell, y’so wet, warm f’me,” Harry praises, his movements are slow and unrushed, their hips meeting gently as he pushes in each time with care, “Can’t believe y’gonna let me have this for the rest of m’life.”

“I love you so so much,” She utters breathlessly as he continues to make her feel so fucking full - emotionally and physically, “Best husband ever, can’t believe it.”

Harry chuckles tenderly, “Baby, I need y’to come soon. I’m so close, never come this quick. The thought of y’being my wife is making it impossible to last then with the tatto-”

YN soothes his hair in understanding, pushing up to meet their lips and allow their tongues to dance as he lifts her thigh against his hip to thrust in with a bit more force. His thumb comes to her clit to spur her along which doesn’t take much with how aroused she’s been all day.

Harry follows right after, much to his embarrassment of his lack of stamina but can you blame him? He has the hottest fucking wife on the planet.

“Round two?” YN smirks as he leans down to pepper kisses all over her cheeks. She knows the night has just begun.

“Mmm,” He agrees instantly, “Now that we made love, m’gonna fuck y’from behind so I can watch my name jiggle on your arse.”

And that’s what he does. It takes nearly no rebound time, flips her on her belly again to gaze and worship his name as he fills out in no time again. His fingers occasionally dip back between her thighs to tease at her entrance before he swipes her own wetness on the tattoo to lick it off.

She’s tired, exhausted from the events of the day but wants to reach that last orgasm before sleep overtakes them.

On her hands and knees, Harry doesn’t pound into her like he normally would.

Instead, he eases back in with eyes darting between his wedding present and where they’re connecting, his thumb diligently rubbing hard and steady circle on her nerves.

“C’mon wifey, need y’to not be stubborn,” Harry goads, feeling his release coming again - he pinches her clit with just enough pressure that has her whining before Harry has to hold her up by the waist as she quivers.

It has him finishing right after with a gentle smack to her bumcheek, the skin already tender and sore from all of his attention on the spot as it was.

“I loved your vows,” YN murmurs against his chest. He had wrapped her up in one of the plush blankets and he had pulled on a tight pair of briefs and they were laying on a lounge chair on the blacony under the italian stars.

“I loved yours just as much, y’did crack the code m’love ‘cause now I’m yours forever,” Harry rumbles, his voice raspy with drowsiness.

Little did they know that in a few short years, they would be back under these italian stars with knowledge that they were growing a little product of their love in her belly.

A litte baby named Ivy, just like the beautiful, lucious nature that had decorated the place in magneificent as they spoke vows - dedicating their lives to each other.

if you’ve ask to be on my taglist and you’re not here - please check your settings because i’ve tried to add you and it didn’t work.

taglist babies (thank you): @dioc4ne @hazgoldenstyles @harrysdimple05 @wonwooen @ficnarry @leeroysdancer @harrysloveheart @harryscherrysugar @pradastardust @rish-haz @wildcstdrexms @evanstylestan @wisetoadbonkbiscuit @meredithhuntt @tpwkvictoria @lovely-him @haymix @eiffelmezarry @pilgrim-harry @soullessbabee @afterglowstyles @tulsasjesus @elenagilbert01 @meh–mood @pretty-pop-princess-hs @msolbesg @localfalsegodstan @evanjh @i-just-like-fanfics @harrys-hs-gf @lightsupdoyouknowwhoyouare @afterglcwswift @harrystyles-tpwk @amyvandijk @godilovetheenglishx @harrys-cherrry @theprofessionalfanby @your–sweetest–downfall @la-cey @bdbtchdir @killerqueencapstan @elizabeth23567 @camflowervol6 @its-a-finee-line @rish-haz @solonelytobe @nav1234 @harrynamjoon @hopefullimaginer123 @westallenhes @awesomebooklover17 @will-be-a-fineline @vasilikir5 @your–sweetest–downfall @pretty-pop-princess-hs @harrynamjoon @harrypinks @ivyirenehoax @harryspink @sunsetcurve-h @goldenstylesh @mouthfulloftoothpastehs @hello-34583 @prettylovley @nicolecarsley @lamariettes @imavirginhoe @unknown7549 @mellamolayla @kiwitsayedsugar @hopefullimaginer123 @harrysmatcha @weaslettesstuff @saintsmotels @hi-yekaterina @aubreyfineline @harrysgoldenbum @ebstylesx @goldeng1rl8 @tnqueen @percysaidnever @bebecalpal

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kitchenscene · 3 years

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four chambers buck/eddie (minor), eddie centric, an analysis of the diaz house, (home is about the people, not the space), 1.6k ______________

Eddie holds his heart in physical spaces. Frames, photo albums, ticket stubs. It’s less about the sentiment and more about the proof, evidence of the better moments, and a tangible reminder that they won’t be the last. He carries an old photo of Chris in his wallet and a yellow sticky note from Buck in the back of his phone case, scratchy, all caps writing — “Had to leave early, didn’t want to wake you up. There’s coffee on the counter for you. See you tonight.” — with a heart scribbled at the bottom. He carries his love outside his chest, but hides it in his pockets, under his shirt, and around his neck.

It’s scattered throughout the living room, his heart is in a comfortable place. The warm brown coffee table and throw pillows on the couch. Soft lights, lamps in every corner. An ash filled fireplace and charred brick, as if to say, “yes, there is life here, believe me when I say there’s life.”

[ao3 link]

Out in the living room, his love is most evident on the bookshelf. Loved ones held not by the hand, but by mahogany frames and canvas wrapped photo albums. Two albums, to be exact. The first is from Texas, from his childhood. Family photos year by year, some members disappearing, new ones flooding in, staying whether they want to or not. Some people who only continue to exist in these four-by-six slots, neatly encased in plastic, notes and dates scribbled over the back.

There’s photos of young Eddie cradling a baby Sophia, photos of Sophia and Eddie with Adriana spread across their laps, and a particularly memorable one of Eddie spoon feeding baby Adri ice cream when a baby her age definitely should not have been eating ice cream. First days of school, weekend trips, and middle school phases he’d rather forget. Newspaper cutouts of his baseball stats, team photos with trophies in hand, and senior pictures of him in his jersey. Team captain. He never really wanted it, but he accepted the offer all the same.

Shannon starts to appear around this time, prom photos together, though she wasn’t his date, just a friend of a friend with some sort of connection. Selfies taken on an old film camera from her mother, candid shots of Eddie, smiling, laughing, free, a side of him kept hidden from everyone but her. A few more photos strangers were kind enough to take for them, some strangers proving to be better photographers than others.

Another family photo, this time with Shannon in frame. Off to the side, attached only by Eddie’s arm around her waist, but in frame all the same.

A sonogram of Christopher before they had a name, engagement photos because that’s what they were supposed to do, and a single wedding picture taken from a courthouse bench.

Shannon still makes herself known in the last few pages, though her and Eddie no longer exist in the same frame. Her and Chris. Him and Chris. Chris alone. He’s off to Afghanistan.

Blank pages, accidentally skipped. A photo of him accepting the Silver Star he never wanted, added to the album despite his better wishes, alongside a handful of army memories he’d rather not look back on.

It’s in his heart, all the same.

The last few pages are filled with the only pictures Eddie took himself. Every one, every single one is of Chris. The time lost in those skipped pages finding its way back into the album, one day at a time. First days of school, weekend trips, and all his childhood interests coming and going in phases.

The second photo album carries his second chances. It’s not a memento from Texas or a gift he’d rather not receive, no. This one he chose all on his own. He chose Los Angeles, he chose Chris, he chose the 118, and with them, he chose a fresh start, a blank page. Family photos of a different kind.

Second page, third slot down, Buck makes himself known. He first exists in Eddie’s heart somewhere along the bottom shelf. Three, four, five pages in, Buck never disappears. In the firehouse, after work, trips to the zoo, he never disappears. Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, he never disappears. The couch, dining room, and kitchen, Buck never disappears.

It always comes back to the kitchen. Before there was a home, there was a kitchen and dirty dishes. Eddie washes the dishes by hand, one by one. Buck sits on the countertop, stacking dried plates, sorting cutlery in the drawers. He leaves every cabinet open — “it’s way more efficient, Eddie,” — and carries three mugs in each hand.

His heart skips in the kitchen. Flinging soap bubbles while rinsing plates, stealing from simmering saucepans on the stove, his breath hitches when Buck swipes a thumb across Eddie’s cheek, brushing away the suds. His breathing stops altogether when his hand lingers a moment too long.

New beginnings are also found in the kitchen, heavy palpitations bleeding from the sink onto the dining table. Anticipation exists between the tiles, melting the glue he’s used to desperately hold himself together. Buck plays music while he cooks, varying from swing to classic rock. On the good days he sings, out of key, but he sings. He whistles along with the guitar or the saxophone or velvety voices he doesn’t dare to replicate. Buck dances too, waiting for songs to end and timers to ring.

Anticipation flooded the room when he asked Eddie to dance along, a soft blues tune playing over the speaker. Hand to the waist, to the shoulder, hand draped in gentle hand. It was an easy choice; Buck leaned in and he leaned back, holding Eddie like he would never have the chance to do it again, kissing him like there was no sweeter air in the world. The first, “I love you,” was breathed against the counter, just above a whisper. “I always have,” followed shortly behind.

The brightest piece of his heart is held in Christopher’s hands. Rainbow carpets and terrariums, posters plastered on every wall, solar systems and galaxies hanging above. Buck pinned the mobile to the ceiling, Earth, Venus, and Mars dancing around each other, glowing as the room fades to black. The planets spin and spin just above his bed. It makes sense, really, that Buck would hang the stars for Chris.

Eddie didn’t decorate his room, unlike the rest of the house. No, the color, the light, the books lining every shelf, all chosen by Chris, constantly shifting as his interest wean and wane. He’s more than willing to provide, because who is he to deny an action figure on the dresser or plant on the windowsill?

His heart is full with Chris. His heart is empty in his bedroom. Everything Eddie has he gives to Chris. (Where else would it go?)

Barren walls and flat sheets. Empty walls, empty frames. Clock on the nightstand, a lamp on either side, nothing more. A dresser, a closet, it’s a bedroom, nothing more. Most days the curtains are drawn. Most days the door is kept shut. It’s best to keep this hidden, best to leave it bare. He had a rug once. Never managed to unroll it.

It functions as a space, that’s all he needs. Eddie sleeps, and sometimes he dreams. Sometimes he wakes in a sweat, sometimes his hands shake until he’s too exhausted to shake anymore. He resorts to self soothing then; counting ceiling tiles that don’t exist and pacing about the room until holes bleed through his socks.

Buck moved from the apartment to the couch, and eventually made his way to the bedroom. They started out two feet apart but always woke together, somehow making contact and swearing it meant nothing. Even in his sleep, he finds his way to Buck. (Of course it means something).

He first kisses Buck in the kitchen. He kisses him again in the bed. His bed, their bed. He sleeps with his head against Buck’s chest, this time with intent, counting beats instead of ceiling tiles as he sleeps, no sweeter lullaby to be heard. He sleeps through the night, no dreams at all. Buck opens the curtain when he wakes up. Eddie leaves it that way.

The changes are subtle at first, and Buck plays it off like it’s all accidental. “Your room has the best sunlight,” he says, moving plants from the kitchen to the dresser. The ivy cascades down the sides and the cactuses bloom in the new light. In the silence, his heart begins to beat again.

Buck covers his own nightstand with receipts and chargers and photos and reminders. “Printed this for myself,” he claims, filling a picture frame with him and Eddie and Chris, “but I made an extra copy.” He leaves it on Eddie’s side of the bed. It’s less and less barren each day.

The rug under the bed is a welcomed addition. Soft and full, Eddie doesn’t question where it came from. A mirror makes its way to the wall. He can count his scars in the reflection; two in the shoulders, one on the hip. Wrist and thigh, hand and head. With each day the sight is more bearable.

Buck ripped off the sheets, the dark navy sheets, and swapped them out for something brighter. He claims they’re softer, claims they’re more breathable, though Eddie knows the truth, the truth being that they’re lighter on his chest and make his heart beat even. One, two, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

“Good morning,” Buck whispers, and Eddie, half awake, half dreaming, feels his lips brush against his temple before moving to the kitchen. One beat, two beats, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

#nonsense plotless words but hey they're words !!#911 fox #911 #911 fics #911 fic #eddie diaz #the diaz house #evan buckley #christopher diaz #mine:911 #texas.fic

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summerbummin · 3 years

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Headcanons about Apollo and his former lovers from TOA

Naomi Solace 🎤

-Her and Apollo met when she was singing at a dive bar, he bought her a drink and they had a whirlwind summer fling

-They loved hitting up karaoke bars together and wowing everyone with their singing talent

-She really liked Apollo’s car and they’d did a lot of things in there (including conceiving Will lmao)

-One time when they were making out Naomi climbed into Apollo’s seat and her butt accidentally hit the steering wheel and HOOONK

-They jolted in surprise, then delved into hysterics, anything they had going on dying down as they laid their heads against each other’s shoulders and laughed so hard their ribs hurt, until Apollo suggested they used the back seat and things got going again lol

-Once Naomi said Jesus Christ in like response to smth, Apollo replied actually I’m Phoebus Apollo and Naomi was like what? And Apollo was like whaaaaat and Naomi just moved on bc she had other things to deal with lol

-Apollo ended up saying goodbye and leaving at the end of summer and a few weeks after he left Naomi realized she was pregnant and was like well shit

-She’s from the south and people there can be p judgmental about pregnancies outside of marriage, but Naomi never let them get her down, she actually met this great support group of women who helped her out and are still good friends even now

-Apollo eased her labor pains when she was giving birth to Will (and that’s why the kid has such good medical powers), but Apollo disguised himself as a nurse, not wanting to stress her out because the ex who she thought had no idea abt the baby was here, with her, holding her hand while she was gave birth

-Naomi brings Will up with love and kindness and she just wants the best for her sweet boy, but she gets concerned when Will talks about some weird things he saw at school and he gets pegged as the “weird kid” and is picked on by his classmates as a result

-Naomi would’ve fought those kids but Will told her it was fine, mama! His stuffed animals were his friends

-Will loved those stuffed animals and got really attached to them, so Naomi taught him how to sow them up when they started fraying and that’s the first thing that made Will want to be a doctor (when Will told his siblings this story they started calling him Doc McStuffins lol)

-Apollo didn’t tell Naomi he was a god and she didn’t find out until Apollo sent a satyr to bring Will to camp once he was old enough

-Realizing she had a fling with a greek god was a bit of a shock but Naomi dealt with it gracefully and gave Will the biggest hug before he left, making him promise to be safe and write to her as soon as he got to camp

-Naomi’s career as a country alt singer got a lot more successful after her whole thing with Apollo because he put a blessing on her, her voice was beautiful she just needed help getting noticed so Apollo nudged some influential people in the music industry towards her on his way out (he kinda felt bad about leaving so abruptly, even if it was just a fling, he tries to make it up to his ex-lovers with things like this)

-Naomi actually ends up writing a sad country love song about Apollo after he left, she titled it Suburn, not knowing how fitting the title is until years later, it becomes one of her most popular songs

-Naomi travels a lot for her career, touring around Texas and some nearby states, and that’s why Will stays at camp year round, but they write to each other frequently and love each other sm

-Naomi doesn’t date much since she’s always busy with her career and traveling, she’s just not ready to settle down yet, she’s happy living as a free spirit and a single mom with a wonderful son

-Naomi is 100% supportive of Will’s sexuality and loves Nico to bits (Nico is a little awkward around her at first bc he’s not used to affection lol)

-She tells Nico stories abt Will when he was a kid, whipping out photo albums and everything and Will is like mom s t a h p ur embarrassing me in front of my bf and Nico is reveling in how red his face gets

Latricia Lake 🎶

-she met Apollo when he was posing as a street performer for fun on the streets of the college town she worked in

-she put a tip in his guitar case and complimented his playing and his voice, Apollo was pleased by this and complimented her in turn, saying she must know her music which made Latricia laugh because she is a professor

-the two of them hit it off and start dating, spending hours talking about music

-being the god of music, Apollo could tell when people really loved music, feeling loved in return, and Latricia was one of those people

-being a college professor, Latricia was a bit older than Apollo’s usual lovers (she’s like in her mid to late 20s) and Apollo looks like 21, so he jokingly starts calling her a cougar just to tease her (when he’s so full of shit bc he’s over 3 thousand years older than her)

-Apollo attended some of her lectures, watching from the back of the room and her students were like ooh who’s that hot guy and she was like my bf and their jaws dropped bc daaamn ms lake way to go (Apollo found those reactions very amusing lol)

-There are many times when Latricia considers smacking that smug smirk off Apollo’s face, but she refrains and smacks his ass instead

-Apollo claims Latricia only loves him for his pancakes bc he made them for her the morning after their first time as a way to get her to keep him around lol (and it worked a little too well)

-When Latricia got pregnant Apollo told her who/what he really was and that was a bit too much for Latricia so they stopped dating but Apollo gave her the briefing about demigod children, powers, monsters, camp half blood, etc before he left

-One day when her sitter had to cancel on her she brought Austin to her class and all the college kids thought he was so cute that Latricia started bringing him around more often, Austin was just a baby but she could tell he loved the attention by the way he was gurgling lol (like father like son)

-Latricia is p busy since she’s a professor but she always makes time for her son and she has been teaching Austin about music since he was a kid, he grew up surrounded by it and that’s why he loves it sm (that and being a son of Apollo)

-On his 10th birthday there was a really nice new saxophone with a ribbon at the foot of his bed (a gift from Apollo) Austin always thought his mom bought it for him and Latricia just didn’t correct him

-Latricia sent Austin to camp half blood when he told her he saw a monster at school, he was only 11 but Latricia would rather be safe then sorry

-Latricia actually met someone while Austin was at his first year of camp, Austin was a little unsure around the guy at first but more out of awkwardness than anything the guy was lacking

-Austin and him bonded over “being boys” as Latricia put it (they blew up hot dogs in the microwave together) and the man soon had her son’s stamp of approval

-They ended up getting married the next year and Austin played the saxophone at their wedding

-Latricia was the first subscriber to his YouTube channel and showed all her coworkers and students her son’s videos, she’s a proud mama

Darren Knowles 🏹

-gay (obviously)

-he loves the outdoors and the crisp cold weather of Canada

-met Apollo when he saw him checking out the flier he had pinned up advertising his archery classes, Darren asked if he was gonna join and Apollo not so subtly checked Darren out over his sunglasses and was like well now I’m def joining

-Darren lowkey thought Apollo was a dumb American tourist at first and Apollo keeps telling him he’s not American and Darren is like uh huh

-Apollo is such a flirt during class and actually misses a few shots bc he too busy staring at Darren lol, but that does give the opportunity for Darren to come and “correct” his stance

-Darren is determined to be a professional with his students but he ends up caving because Apollo is just,, so cute

-Then when they start going on actual dates he finds out Apollo isn’t some dumb blond and is actually really intelligent and educated and Darren is like oh no my weakness, guys who are goofs but not dumb and also hot (Apollo be checking all of his boxes lol)

-Apollo told Darren he was a god while drunk off his ass one night and Darren didn’t believe a fucking word, Apollo just rolled with the drunken nonsense thing the next morning and didn’t tell Darren again (until Kayla)

-Darren lives alone but he’s always wanted a family, he was kicked out by his parents for being gay and he knows if he was a parent he would never treat his child like that, he’d love them unconditionally like his parents should’ve loved him

-Apollo magically created a child for Darren after the man confessed to him how much he wanted a kid of his own

-Darren was happy but like really confused because h... how? And Apollo is just like magic~ which explains fuck all

-Apollo tells him he has to leave now, he was having to leave soon anyway because of some trouble brewing back in America, but that he wanted to do this one last thing for Darren before he left

-he tells him to have take care raising the baby and to send her to cbh’s address when she starts attracting monsters, then poofs away, leaving Darren with a baby in his arms and wondering what the hell just happened

-Darren does raise Kayla with love and care just as he said he would, she grows up hiking through the woods with her dad and learning archery along with other wilderness skills (Artemis would really like her)

-Kayla has her aspirations for the Olympics pretty early on and Darren admires his daughter’s ambition, at first he thinks it’s just her being a kid but then later on as she keeps getting better and better he’s like damn she might actually be able to do it

-But then ofc monsters come and Darren drives her down to New York, lying through his teeth to the border guy who surprisingly lets him through without a problem (Apollo may have insured that but shhh)

-Darren sees her off at the barrier of Thalia’s pine tree and they say goodbye with a hug that lifts Kayla off her feet, there’s promises to write and reminders to practice her archery and take care of her bow and such before Kayla is escorted into camp by some other campers

-Darren managed to keep a hold of himself while saying goodbye but as soon as he’s back in the car he’s fucking bawling, all the way back to Canada because he’s gonna miss his little girl sm

-Darren has had some boyfriends but a lot of them end up jetting as soon as he tells them he has a kid ripp

-He does eventually land a good man and they’re going strong, even when Kayla, who was like 10 at the time, threatened to shoot him in the nads if he hurt her dad

-Darren and shows up to every archery match Kayla has in the future and promises to be there cheering for her with a big ass sign that says THATS MY DAUGHTER when she eventually reaches the Olympics

Bonus!

Georgina’s Mom 🎨

-She was an art student in community college

-She was on her own because her parents refused to support her “unrealistic” career choice

-She met Apollo at a party at some college dorm and they both got super smashed bc college parties be like that

-They had a one night stand that both of them mostly forgot about in favor of their hangovers the next morning

-until Hello!! You have a kid!

-She is most likely dead given that Georgina was led to the waystation by a ghost

-But Georgina has two new mommies now who love her very much (and an awkward dad)

#naomi solace #latricia lake #darren knowles #trials of apollo #toa #pjo #apollo #apollo pjo #will solace #austin lake #kayla knowles #georgina #georgina pjo #headcanons

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hjh-ceilo-monster · 3 years

Text

Dear letter... To you... (KTH)

Summary : There was no connection between these two strangers accept a letter in one’s hand.

Story inspo : a story from a wedding

Author POV.

*click*

The camera captured the scene of an empty alley. It was just another ordinary day for everyone to wake up and start their routines. In this little town, almost everyone knew each other-despite a few unfamiliar faces who might appear around the street.

Kim Taehyung was one of them, a wanderlust soul. He found this little town not long ago on a travel site. Visiting this beautiful and classic area for a week, he could tell that he fell in love, even if; there was nothing much to attract a large group of tourists.

*click*

Taehyung snapped another shot. This place was nothing but calming for him. He took a turn at a random corner and met with a local restaurant. Taehyung opened the wooden door. The bell shimmed as a signal of a new customer.

“Good day sir, what would you like to order?” Taehyung looked above the waiter for a menu.

“Any tradition dishes?” Taehyung asked. Every dish seemed to look the same since there were no note up on the board.

After having description from the waiter, he decided his dish. A waitress, who finished preparing a table, gestured Taehyung to take a seat.

“What would you like for today?”

The door opened and closed from time to time. Taehyung was still in the restaurant and enjoyed his meal. He looked through a photo album. He was so busy with his camera without noticing that someone approached him.

“Sir, can this lady have a seat here? The restaurant has no seats available at the moment.” The waitress interrupted him. Taehyung didn’t look up, but nodded as an answer.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Taehyung POV.

I felt like I was acting rude. However, I didn’t know how to start a conversation with the stranger either. I sat in silence and continued to play with my camera-taking the picture of the lake outside the window.

A glance at the person, but I only met a journal book. The person behind the book was so focused on the paper. Drawing or writing? I looked at the actions and kept those questions in my head.

I then put my attention back into my camera. I snapped a few shots and checked them. I did it again and again like a loop, not caring for the stranger who sat opposite me.

And both of us continued sitting there in silence.

“Have a good day miss.”

I looked up and met with an empty seat. The loud bell sound then appeared out of nowhere. I assumed that might come from a clock tower nearby. I checked my watch and gasped.

“I’ve been here for hour and a half already?” I started packing my camera and some postcards that I didn’t finish writing.

The moment I stood up and stepped toward the door, one of the waiters stopped me. He handed me a piece of brown ripped paper and a postcard.

“These aren’t mine.”

“It was on your table, sir.” I didn’t care about it that much and put both into my pocket.

‘What a tiring day.’ I thought to myself. I strolled down the eat part of the town today. The beach was nice. I could feel the breeze wash over me and left a fresh sea salt scent.

“What could it be?” I picked up the thing I got in the morning. Inspecting the handwriting, it must belong to that stranger. She surely had a neat yet unique handwriting. I assumed these were a part of her journal.

There were a few translucent color dots on a paper. She spilled something? She painted? I flipped the paper and searched for any clue to find her. Fortunately, there was something.

“Interesting.”

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Author POV.

2 years later

“Any meeting?” Taehyung asked his secretary to check his schedule. He had been busy for awhile after his father stepped down from the position.

“Sir, you have a meeting around…” His secretary reviewed his schedule.

“For the project, we have an appointment with the artist in the evening.”

The secretary closed her iPad and left him in the elevator. Taehyung went up to another floor before he left. He then stepped into his office.

“Sir, the artist arrived.”

After he ended the call, he stepped into a metal box. The door closed and the digital screen ran a set of numbers as he went down.

“Here is the copy of their plan.” Taehyung received the file and scrolled through the plan. Checking the details, he decided to wait for their presentation.

Everyone stood up and bowed to him as a greeting when the glass door slid open. He took a seat and the others followed.

“Shall we start?” When he asked, a woman stood up from her seat. She walked toward the screen that had already prepared the presentation.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Y/N POV.

‘Here we go.’ I thought to myself and the glass door slid open.

The CEO stepped inside the room. His every step echoed in the room-making my heartbeat went faster. When we all took our seats, I then noticed his feature. He looked young, probably around my age. His posture was calm yet intimidate.

“Shall we start?” Ok, y/n, you got this. I stood up with confident. I tried my best to look calm. If anyone could read my thought, they would know how nervous I was.

I started by explaining my inspiration a little bit before moving on to the concept and its details. It was nerve-wracking since the guy stared at me throughout my presentation. I felt him monitoring my moves, and that made me anxious.

“Is there any question?” Now, time to face the real anxiety.

I was right. He then started asking millions of questions about my idea.

The scribbling sound was loud and clear. I was now sitting in the CEO’s cabinet. He noted down the details while I explained. He dismissed everyone from the meeting half an hour ago since their working hour was end.

“Have we ever met before?” He asked a random question out of the blue.

“I..I don’t think so.” Why did I stutter?

I saw him smiled a little. Did I say something wrong? He knew me before? I was sure that I didn’t meet him before. My forgetful self started recalling his face.

“My secretary will contact you for our next appointment.” I nodded and stood up-ready to leave.

“Oh, can you leave your personal contact? In case, we have to call you for the urgent work.” I then left him my personal contact and left the place.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Author POV.

With the contact you left a week ago, Taehyung always messaged you. Even if it was about work, you were a little puzzled. Is it common for that huge interior company to let the boss directly contact any worker (even though you weren’t his employee directly)?

The clock was ticking. The sky gradually changed its shade. Everyone continued working on the job as usual. Taehyung was so busy surfing through the site and gallery of the artist. Lucky that he had his own office because if someone found him smiling like an idiot in front of the screen right now, they would think he was weird.

“I’ll see you soon.” He spoke to himself while looking through your work.

After Taehyung met you, to say Taehyung was head over heal into you wasn’t an exaggerated liar. He was even more obsessed with you when he saw your handwriting. He got his answer that you were ‘that’ stranger.

“Why are we here today? I thought we are going to work on the project.” You and Taehyung got closer after a week of him messaging to you unstop about work (A/N: *Ahem* work you say?)

“Well, this is also work, is it not?” His boxy smiled plaster his face.

“At the art exhibition?”

“Yeah, because I want learn about them. It can help me better understanding what you are doing and fuse them into my collection as well.”

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Taehyung POV.

‘Is that excuse work?’ I looked at her face. She seemed to not catch my real intention. I still put on my signature innocent smile-using it to persuade her.

“We better to be hurry then. Today we also needed to buy my equipment.” I succeeded. She entered the place without asking any further.

I snapped many shots when we were inside. She was so passionate about the exhibition. I usually preferred a peaceful atmosphere while walking in the exhibition hall. However, the way she kept talking about each piece of art, I didn’t find it annoying or boring.

“You seemed to be into this piece. Do you want it to be the main pantone of your collection?” I got out of my head and nodded. She then chuckled lightly.

‘Ah, I embarrassed myself, didn’t I?’

“Ok, we should leave then.”

We were here for a few hours now. She was lost in her world. When she picked the colors, she wouldn’t forget to ask for my comment. If I approved, she would be happy. Her eyes glowed thousands of lights. I couldn’t help but stare. She was indeed passionate about our work.

‘Our?’ When I realized that I used that word, I somehow felt a tingle feeling inside.

“We can get out of here soon. Do you think this is enough?” I snapped back to reality. I then met a cart full of art tools.

“I think these will do.” I emphasized the word these to remind her that it was enough.

“Sorry, I picked them for personal purpose as well. Hope you won’t mind.” I gave her a disbelief look while she grinned.

“If you mind, you can cut it from my salary.” She pouted and wheeled the cart.

‘Cute’

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Author POV.

Little by little, you fell for Taehyung. It was a feeling that gradually develop without your notice. By the time you realized it, you had already established your status with him.

“And again, you bring me to somewhere out of our schedule.”

“And you like it as always.” You rolled your eyes and entered the restaurant.

Entering a familiar elegant restaurant, a waitress led you both toward the VIP table. Guess who booked that?

The waiter then approached your table and left the menu on the table. He stood there and waited patiently for your order. You finished ordering your meal in the blink of an eye since you only had one fav dish. However, for Taehyung, it took ages to order.

“Why is it so quiet today?” You asked. You glanced around the floor and saw no one other than your table.

“Oh, I booked the whole floor today.” Taehyung answered it as if it was a normal thing to do.

“You did what?” You looked at the guy with a shocked face. He noticed your expression and chuckled.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Y/N POV.

This was unbelievable. Why on earth did he need to book the whole floor? I had no idea of what was on his mind. Being close with Taehyung, I learned one thing. That one thing was sometimes you needed no rational thought to do something.

The quiet atmosphere then got replaced when a musician started playing some tunes. The soft melody filled the air.

‘He is up to something?’

I monitored his expressions and actions, but I didn’t get the answer. I couldn’t keep the curiosity any longer. I opened my mouth to fire out the question.

“Please, enjoy the meal.”

��Lucky you, Tae.’ A waitress interrupted me before I could ask. Both of us started eating our meal.

I felt the meal was more delicious. Is it because of the atmosphere?

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Taehyung POV.

‘Phew she didn’t ask anything yet.’ I thought to myself while eating the meal. Thanks to that waitress, she didn’t get her chance. I didn’t want her to know my surprise just yet.

Curious right?

Today, I booked our favorite restaurant to discuss on the work like always. It looked ordinary until here. Now, the surprise plan will start.

I signaled a waiter who stood beside. He knew that it was the time for the special menu. Waiting for a bit, a box finally landed on the middle of the table.

“Open it.” I ordered her. She gave me a suspiscious look before carefully opened it.

*gasp*

“And that is your answer.” I spoke. I knew what she was about to ask before our meal arrived.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Author POV.

“That was such a lovely story. I could see ladies in the venue look jelous at you both.”

Wedding day

The MC spoke. Taehyung give his signature smile. He isn’t shy about it. You can tell that he is bragging your story to the audience.

“And I told her about the letter. I still remembered how she was surprise and then her face flush. It was really cute.” The audience awe at him.

“Ok, we will now moving on to the surprise of tonight.” Taehyung glance at the MC. He remembers that the next thing is throwing the bouquet.

“You didn’t expect it, did you? Since you gave me such a surprise that day, I am going to give you one today.”

You look at your husband who look so lost. You chuckle at his expression before 2 staff step on stage with a gift. They then hand it to him and you wait for his reaction.

“Oh my god.” He looks shock when he tears off a wrapper. It was a sketch of him from the day you met him.

“So is this why you didn’t have any conversation with me or even look at me?” He smirks and teases you.

“There are more.”

The MC now hand him a box which is much smaller than the first gift. He shakes a few time after recieves them. When he know that isn’t going to help him to guess, he open the bow.

He gasp so do the aucience. His eyes filled up with tears. His hands are shaking. The MC take the little gift out of his hand and show it to the audience. The audience go wild. The cheering and whistling sound echo in the venue. You then grab the mic and speak.

“Congratulation my dear, you are going to be papa.”

Author note : This story was inspired by the story from a wedding of my friend’s cousin. Her cousin met his bride because he found her note. Their story then began. My friend told me the groom’s comment about the bride. “I thought the handwriting was beautiful. When I finally found the owner, she was more beautiful.” It sounded cheesy, but that was their story. I hope you enjoy this one. See you in the next os.

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unholyhelbig · 4 years

Note

How about part two to the workplace Au you just did? Loved the first one!

A/N: Sure thing! I’m glad you guys liked the first one so much (You can read it here)

Request more prompts here | Read on ao3!

Chloe could read the discomfort on Beca Mitchell’s face as soon as she unzipped the bag that she had picked up from the dry cleaners. She was struck with the instant scent of lavender detergent, fanning her hand over the outfit like she was picking the next lucky number for the lottery.

Beca had her hand on her chin, a flash of red made her head spin. She was in sweatpants and a grease-stained shirt. She figured that if she had ignored the date on the bottom of the flyer long enough, maybe Chloe would just forget.

No such luck.

“How did you find my apartment?” She asked, clinging to the door.

“It was in your file.”

“I feel like this is slightly illegal.”

“Slightly,” Chloe pushed her way through the door and looked around the apartment. It was kept in a shockingly messy state. Beca presented herself as someone who dotted every ‘I’ and crossed every ‘T’. At least, that’s how she was at work. But there was a leaning tower of pizza boxes and a couple of record sleeves strewn across the room. “You’re not even close to ready.”

“I forgot,” She let the door swing closed “what if we just ignore this PR bullshit and watch a movie instead. Technically I’m still socializing.”

Chloe turned on her heel and scanned Beca up and down. She hugged the bag close to her. “It would look horrible for me to ditch a party I planned.”

“Then you go. I’ll keep watch here.”

“Beca,”

The coder flopped down onto the pile of blankets at the far end of the sofa. She crossed her socked feet and waved her hand in the air as if asking Chloe to continue. For the first time tonight, she noticed the makeup and the slim fitted dress that hugged every inch of the woman’s curves. The black material made the sharp disdain in her eyes glow even further.

But goddamn it, if she wasn’t absolutely captivating. And she smelled lie oranges. Beca had half the mind to stealthy survey her fingers for any trace of a ring. She hadn’t done so in the office, but there was no man to be seen in them. She had blown her chance, she figured, by being her authentic self.

“Red isn’t my color.” She stared at the dress. It had a plunging neckline and would make her look pale. She wasn’t working with much, Chloe was kidding herself. She was also here three full hours before the dreaded thing was supposed to start.

“Just give it a shot. You promised.”

“Wrong. I considered.”

Chloe tossed the bag at her. The fabric was nice, soft against her fingers. She stared at the slight bit of lace and the little bag of gold jewelry that the woman had attached. A few rings and a necklace tipped with a triangle that practically pointed at her cleavage.

“Alright, whatever. I’ll shower.”

She hoisted herself from the couch and tried not to stare too long at the look of triumph on Chloe’s face. It was equally as infuriating as it was attractive. She grabbed a towel from the pile of unfolded clothes on the other end of the sofa and vanished into the back hallway.

Chloe stood like a statue until she heard the water running. Then her curiosity got the better of her and she started to glace around the space; the walls were slathered in charcoal grey and a few album covers were framed and tacked up. Beca had a record player and an extensive library of music. It seemed to be the only tidy thing in here.

She walked over to the couch and picked up one of the blankets. It smelled like detergent and whatever musk Beca radiated herself. She started absently folding, chewing the inside of her lip, so deep in thought that she hadn’t even realized that the shower had shut off and Beca padded into the room in nothing but a towel, still soaked to the bone.

She cleared her throat “Did you clean up?”

“It’s a nervous habit,” Chloe turned and tried not to let her breath catch. The employee usually stuck with baggy sweatpants and even baggier shirts. They didn’t’ have a dress code at work and she border-lined pajamas with her outfit choices. But Beca? Beca had a figure. “You ready?”

“I’m at your mercy.” She grumbled, “But no eyeliner.”

“oh, come on.”

“You’re not getting close to my eye with a pencil, forget it.” She crossed her arms over her chest, not letting the towel slip in the slightest “Fine. But I’m doing it. Stop pouting.”

Chloe begged to differ. She didn’t pout. She didn’t’ want to push it any further though, so she nodded and grasped the dress before letting Beca lead the way to her room.

Beca tugged uncomfortably at the hem of her dress as they exited the car. It had hiked up as soon as she sat down, but at that point, she didn’t’ care. The weather had taken a turn to the colder side and she just wanted feeling in her legs. A light dusting of snow had forced their driver to flick on the wipers and move closer to the glass to see past the haze of headlights.

Chloe grasped at her wrist absently, forcing her to stop shifting the fabric. Her hand was warm enough to shock her into complying, but not without a glare. They looked like quite the pair; Beca was almost the same height as Chloe with the heels that were supplied, and she stood out horridly. Red like blood on the snow after a fresh hunt.

The company had spared no expense with the carpet, purple like their logo and leading into a lavish lobby in a hotel that Beca had never been in. She was sure they would throw her out if she walked in and asked to use the bathroom with fancy soap. But when Chloe was at her side, looping her arm through her own, she could pass instantly.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Chloe read the blush on the woman’s cheeks “I’m sure if I weren’t holding onto you, you’d be face down on the floor by now. Take it slow.”

“You sound like a stage mom.”

“In that case,” she frowned “You’re a horrible student.”

Beca scoffed but was secretly thankful for the human crutch. Chloe had an easy way of walking about her, she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin, and acted like she owned the whole building. It was one foot in front of the other, and Beca wobbled on the first few, but eventually evened out. Maybe the stance was a tactical thing- to keep the balance.

They walked through the doors and Beca instantly felt her legs wobble at the direct warmth. There was a clothed table by the entrance, lined with identical masks. Chloe plucked a red one off the table and passed Beca a black one, looking at her expectantly.

“The whole purpose of this is for you to get comfortable being around people. Maybe you can do that if they can’t see the top half of your face.” She spoke with ease as she knotted her own mask. And she had to admit, even though this was utterly stupid, she wouldn’t have recognized Chloe in a crowd. Not if she hadn’t spent the last four hours with her.

She fastened her own mask and took Chloe’s outstretched hand, begrudgingly but thankful at the same time; the ballroom was equally as impressive, violet lights on an installed dance floor and clothed tables with little favors and plates. It looked like a wedding for bank robbers, but Beca couldn’t help letting her mouth prop open.

“Shocked?” Chloe asked, scanning the décor “I do know how to throw a hell of a party.”

“The last party I went to was not this classy.” Beca breathed “We did have bongs made out of apples though, so I’m going to need you to step up your game.”

Chloe smiled, it looked brighter under her mask. She leads them towards a table in the corner and plucked two flutes of champagne from the passing waiter. Alcohol. That was something that Beca wasn’t opposed to. She finished it in two long gulps.

She hovered awkwardly by as the woman who had dragged her here in the first place spoke with a couple of people that she wouldn’t have recognized even if they were shrouded by masks. They shouted over the music; a man in a snazzy looking suit questioned her presence.

“This is one of the most talented coders we have!” Chloe shouted over the sound of the base “Almost single-handedly created the VPN.”

“You’re impressive!” He called out to her “Such a pretty date too!”

Chloe just laughed and Beca thanked him over the bass. He squeezed Chloe’s shoulder before vanishing into the crowd. She leaned close then, her breath hot against Beca’s collarbone, and that familiar floral scent clouded her lungs and judgment. “See, that wasn’t so hard. You’re a natural. Want to dance?”

She did not, in fact, want to dance. But Chloe pulled her onto the floor almost as smoothly as the champagne glasses. Beca was glad that she had swallowed it so quickly. It made the idea of dancing seem more appealing. And Chloe did have good taste in music.

They worked themselves into the crowd and Beca let the sound flow through her. She ignored all of the people, for the most part. Chloe was painfully obvious behind her, grinding close, running her hands across the dress that she had picked out. Beca felt like she was back in college- and she had to admit, she was having fun.

She lost track of how many songs they had danced to, but eventually, the DJ lowered the music and spoke into the microphone. “Alright folks, we having fun? I hope so! I want to interrupt your masquerade for just a moment.”

There were a few groans from the crowd, but none of them sincere.

“Now, I know you’re all being secretive about your identities tonight. But I want to pull the one and only Chloe Beale onto the stage. Y’all okay with that?”

There were a few shouts from the people around her, followed by applause as Chloe gave Beca’s arm a squeeze and maneuvered her way through the crowd. A woman in an even tighter navy blue dress helped her up the stage and Beca clapped along, lilting her head as she watched, captivated like the rest of the room.

This didn’t’ feel customary, bringing the party planner up to say a few words. Not when it was essentially a giant PR event for a tech company. Beca crossed her arms over her chest as Chloe captivated an entire crowd.

“I’m glad you’re all having fun under the cover of the night,” She lowered her voice dramatically, flashing that brilliant smile. “And we’re so happy to unveil our new VPN, that everyone has been working so hard on.”

It had been months of coding, Beca having to fix so many bugs that the 0’s and 1’s ran circles around her head. Hearing praise from Chloe’s lips made her tingly- or maybe that was the buzzing of her skin after eating cold pizza for breakfast and drinking on a nearly empty stomach.

“We strive for innovation and protection, and our new product can give you just that.” She gripped the podium and waited for a few cheers to settle “When I first started this company in my parent's basement, which doubled as our laundry room, I never imagined this. Thank you, and enjoy the party!”

Beca’s heart had seized in her chest then, as the music started up and the people around her moved with the rhythm once more. She let them bump into her as she mindlessly walked to the edge of the lit-up floor, towards Chloe.

This made sense to her, finally, it made sense. The reason why she was pushing her so hard to interact with other people in the office, why she didn’t have a title on her door. Chloe was the boss. Chloe had seen her ratty apartment and, oh my god, Chloe knows she smokes weed.

The woman in the navy dress talked animatedly to the woman at the side of the stage, nodding and gesturing to the rest of the room. Chloe looked pensive, she mumbled something under her breath and immediately turned towards Beca.

“Dude, what the hell?” She asked, sounding less elegant than she’d hoped.

Chloe shrugged “Stacie from HR wanted to talk to you first but I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“This is literally your party.”

“Yes?”

“Like in your honor. Not something you planned.”

“Well, I did that too.” She shrugged nonchalantly as Beca gaped at her “Look, Beca. I like you, okay? You’re one stubborn girl. And I wanted to spend a night with you, is all. When the report about your lack of social skills happened across my desk, I took a chance.”

She felt her cheeks heat up “You could have just asked me, you know?”

“Would you have said yes?”

“Absolutely not,” She pointed her finger “But only because you’re making me wear a dress. Maybe next time, we could just settle for street tacos or something?”

Chloe laughed, and it was a beautiful sound that mixed so perfectly with the music. “Next time?”

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe au #bechloe oneshot #bechloe fic rec #bechloe fanfiction #Pitch Perfect #pitch perfect au #pitch perfect fanfiction #workplace au

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catxsnow · 4 years

Note

can u do dick (titans) for the fluff alphabet please!

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Dick loves your ass just as much as you love his. B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

YES. Dick is unbelievably excited to have a baby with you. He had a great relationship with his parents before they passed and he couldn't wait to have that again with his own kid. He wanted to show him all the amazing acrobatic things that he could do and pass those skills along. (also check out the best goddamn parents if you're more interested in Dick wanting to be a dad)

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Dick swallows you under his body. He completely encases you when you cuddle so there's no way that you could get out (not that you'd want to). He just wants you as close as he can be. D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Dick likes going out for dinners with you. Nothing fancy, but he likes to try all the hidden gems in Gotham. However, you took him to the circus one time and you swore that he had tears in his eyes when the trapeze came out. You asked if he wanted to leave and if it was too much be he was just so happy to be there again. E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world...))

You are my knight in shining armour.

Dick always says that you're the one that's always saving him, not the other way around. F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

Dick falls in love fast and hard. He knew that he was in love with you when you stood up for him against Bruce during one of their fights. The second that you were out of eye shot of Bruce, he had brought you into the most knee buckling kiss. G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Dick has been rough around the edges for a long time. As Robin, he wasn't afraid to get blood on his hands. However when he was with you? Dick walked around you like you were glass - until you were between his sheets ;) He made sure that you would never have to see the Robin side of him when he wasn't in the costume. H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Dick would rather have his arm over your shoulder than hold hands when you guys are with others. The possessive side of him wants everyone to know that they should stay far, far away from you. When it's just the two of you, he loves when you play with his hands. You'll run over all the callouses and scars and he adores your touch. I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

Dick doesn't trust anyone. He didn't trust Kori at first and he certainly didn't trust you. Someone as gorgeous as you always had something to hide. J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Yes. Dick doesn't like any other man's eyes on you. He can't stand that someone would eye fuck you while he's standing right there. There's been many times where you have to hold him back from a fight. K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Dick kisses fast and with passion. He's the kind of person that has far too high of a desire for you to take it slow. He needs you, constantly, and sometimes he's only got brief moments to absorb your love. He was the one that kissed you first. L = Love (Who says 'I love you' first?)

You do. Dick knew for a while that he loved you but he could never bring himself to admit it. It wasn't until you said it first did he finally feel ready. He was scared of loving you. Losing people he loved was what drove him into that horrible life of Robin, he never wanted to think about what would happen if it were you instead. M = Memory (What's their favourite memory together?)

The first time you brought up having kids together. Dick had never seen your face light up so much and he wanted to see it again and again. Your excitement of the idea made him even more sure that you were the one for him. Dick was always weary about taking care of a kid, but with you he felt like he could do a better job. He was petrified that he would be cold like Bruce, but you had full faith that he would be the best dad in the world. N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Dick spoils you with coffee every morning. He doesn't buy a lot of things for you but he will buy lots of food. However, if you ask for something he won't hesitate to buy it. O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Blue. You're always so calm, cool, and collected right when he needs you to be. It's obvious that he's got some temperament issues and he appreciates you being there to keep him calm. P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

baby, princess, sweet heart, sunshine Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

Dick loves going to the record store with you. He likes pilings through every album until you guys find the perfect one. One day you spent nearly three hours in there, joking around and just having fun. R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

You have trouble pulling him away from cases on a rainy day. He just wants to work and help people but he doesn't realize that he too needs a break. Dick will take you to a nice little coffee shop and the two of you will spend hours there just chatting and drinking.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Dick cheers himself up through training. It's not really cheering him up as it is just distracting him. Each hit of the punching bag takes his mind off his issues until he's too filled with adrenaline to think of anything else.

He cheers you up by supporting you. He knows that you go through difficult choices and he never wants to be the reason that you pick one over the other. Dick will talk you through every possible scenario until you feel better. T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Literally anything outside of Bruce Wayne, Batman, and Robin. He doesn't care what, as long as it's normal and mundane. U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Sex. Straight up, enough said. V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Dick likes to show off his detective skills. He learned from the best and he wants to be better than Bruce one day. He's proud of how far he's come along and he just hopes that you are too. W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

Dick proposes to you when you're both lounging around (a rare occasion). You're half dressed and look like a mess but he just knows this is the perfect time to do it. He knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with you so why wait for some perfect moment that neither of you are truly yourselves? He wants this to be pure. X = Xylophone (What's their song?)

Yes I'm changing by Tame Impala Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Yep. Dick can't wait to marry you. Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Dick can barely take care of himself do you think he can take care of an animal? He settles on a succulent plant, there's no way he can kill that.

#dickgrayson #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson fluff #fluff #fluff alphabet #dc

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smiting-finger · 5 years

Text

Bin AU Headcanons

Part II of the (〃ω〃) 500 followers! unwritten-headcanon amnesty (some given in response to AO3 comment questions, and others given unsolicited, lol), this time for Out of the Bin and Into Your Heart and from me to you, my heart to yours

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian

Pre-Wei Wuxian’s first arrest, Lan Wangji was quietly volunteering as general legal aid (helping old migrants with their internet/other service contracts, helping women with their domestic violence paperwork), and then Wei Wuxian gets arrested at a protest and Lan Wangji is not there and he doesn’t know this area of law so he signs up to get involved with Activist Legal Support the next day.

Relatedly: Lan Wangji’s approach to helping Wei Wuxian has always been to turn up, do what needs to be done for Wei Wuxian to achieve his goals and then silently leave again. So when the two goobers eventually move in together (and are finally fully in each other’s space, and fully across each other’s movements), Wei Wuxian goes through a period of constant realisations like “Oh, Lan Zhan, you’re the one who’s been doing this? This as well?! THAT, TOO???”

Pre-fake dating, Lan Wangji knows that Wei Wuxian won’t keep any gifts given by secret admirers, but will shamelessly accept anything that Lan Wangji gives him outright as a friend (”friend”). He derives a petty satisfaction from that, and so has responded more than once to a gift-incident by giving Wei Wuxian a corresponding gift of his own:

So if he heard about the gift socks, he’d go out and get Wei Wuxian a pair of novelty There’s No Planet B! socks, which Wei Wuxian would naturally wear both immediately and proudly with his shortest pair of 4/5ths pants. (And Lan Wangji would stand next to him and somehow radiate smugness without making any change to his expression.)

Needless to say, Wei Wuxian has received a lot of Lan Wangji chocolate (chilli, fairtrade), lunches (homemade, nutritious) and other small items.

Wei Wuxian never even considers the possibility of not putting all his fake-dating eggs into the Lan Zhan basket. And also never stops to think about why that iss.

In re kungfu practice: when sparring against normal people, Lan Wangji does annoyed-leg-sweeps because of “I’ll bring you down every peg to the floor” reasons he’s too well-bred to voice.

Past recipients of this treatment have included:

Wen Chao,

Xue Yang at his most obnoxious

Jin Zixuan when gossip about his comments in re Jiang Yanli not being pretty or successful enough to date him (”I can’t believe my mum set me up with someone so mediocre”) is at its height.

This is pre-Wei Wuxian onstage-punch. That comes during the second round of gossip.

With Wei Wuxian (and only Wei Wuxian), however, it’s always leg sweeps and pinning, which is because of ... “irritation”.

The Phoenix Mountain Reserve photo has been Lan Wangji’s favourite shot of Wei Wuxian since it was made publicly available, but he couldn’t use it as a wallpaper for obvious reasons.

Then he agrees to the fake-dating, sees how far Wei Wuxian was going to take it and realised: chansu!

At some point during the fake-dating, Wei Wuxian escalates from the phone entry of Oppa to calling Lan Wangji “Oppa~!” in real life, and then from there to a full “Oppa! Saranghaeyo~!” with the arms-on-head love heart.

After n iterations of this, Lan Zhan responds with a mirror arms-on-head love heart and a deadpan “Saranghaeyo.” with his face still like (• _ •) and it’s an instant, supereffective K.O. for Wei Wuxian.

Every so often, when another one of his romantic overtures has soared right over Wei Wuxian’s head, Lan Wangji considers Jin Zixuan’s over-the-top demonstrations of affection and thinks (bleakly) “...Jin Zixuan got a singing telegram. Must I also resort to a singing telegram? ; _ ; “

In re: the concert hip-hop number, shirtlessness is the goal all along:

A-Qing (who is also a troublemaker on Lan Qiren’s radar - as soon as he receives the form that says that she and Wei Wuxian will be working together, his spidey senses start tingling) has been constantly referencing it throughout all their practices like:

“Well, because you’ll be shirtless, you’ll have to make sure to-”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea, totally do that, but remember that you’ll be shirtless too, so-”

Even Song Zichen and Xue Yang know about it and have been visibly bracing themselves for the dress (or undress, lul) rehearsal

Wei Wuxian has missed all of this because of his amazing tunnel vision.

Speaking of Song Zichen and Xue Yang, while they’re having their Moments:

Xiao Xingchen is swanning around like “But do you think the performance had artistic integrity? A-Qing, I’m a little worried that the choreography didn’t do full justice to the abilities of all our members! I hope they don’t think I’m hogging the limelight!”, taunting them with his half-nakedness while he earnestly tries to make sure that all the other dancers are comfortable and happy with the final arrangement

A-Qing fully notices the heart-eye beams shooting over from the wings (and fully notices the same heart-eye beams shooting over during various practices), briefly thinks about saying something to put the two losers out of their misery (because Xiao Xingchen is not the special level of oblivious that Wei Wuxian is), but then thinks ... nah.

During practice back-painting, Wei Wuxian is so focused on Not Looking that his mistimes his ~sexy stretch~ and gets it in precisely when Lan Wangji has turned his back to get the towel, so it really is all for nothing, RIP.

In the reprise back-painting session (and there definitely is one, what with Lan Wangji’s love for marking and the fact that Chinese calligraphers usually sign their name on their work), the levels of both shamelessness and trolling shoot through the roof on both sides:

Wei Wuxian suddenly feels the need to do a lot more whimpering and moaning, and his flinches of “surprise” and wriggling to “get comfortable” suddenly happen a lot more in the hip area than they did before.

Lan Wangji does a lot more touching of the skin he’s about to paint to “warn” Wei Wuxian that the brush is coming (do warnings have to be quite so ... lingering? Only Lan Wangji knows), discovers a sudden need for wrist-pinning to “hold Wei Wuxian still while he works” and his blowing on ink to get it dry suddenly gets a lot more ... sensual ...

Lan Wangji is the teacher that all his babies are always proposing to. They lOvE him with every inch of their tiny baby hearts, and after they get together, Wei Wuxian watches on with a knowing nod, like “My fam, I getcha. Gege will support you in expressing your feelings and we can ALL win!”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know it, but he has a group of grannies and grandpas wringing their hands over his happiness, too: It’s all well and good that he’s seeing the Lan boy now, but when are they gonna get married, huh? HUH?! WHAT’S THE POINT OF SAVING THE PLANET IF YOU’RE NOT GONNA FILL IT WITH BABIES, WEI WUXIAN???

So once they officially start dating, Wei Wuxian steps into the Cultural Centre like “Ah, our fresh new romance! Even after all this time of fake-dating, I’d better give people some transition time to get used to this new state of affairs!”

And in the background, 73 aunties and grannies are thinking “Look how behind schedule you are, Wei Wuxian!” (because it’s definitely his fault, and not Lan Wangji’s). “Where are the babies? WHERE ARE THE BABIES??”

The wedding advice Wei Wuxian got from the grannies during Mianmian’s wedding prep is liberally flavoured with real life anecdotes like:

“Don’t be like XX’s son. He made the mistake of trying to skimp on the dowry - so disrespectful to people who’ve poured so much love and energy into raising a daughter - and it poisoned the entire relationship.”

“That venue is no good - YY’s daughter had her reception there, and we all had diarrhoea after eating the prawns.”

(And Wei Wuxian is like: “How can you retain all of this bullshit detail about every wedding the Cultural Society has ever witnessed, but still not know how to say the phrase ‘Excuse me, what time is the bus coming’ in English?!”)

Mianmian definitely also gets strong-armed by her excited mother into some glorious(ly terrible) Chinese-style studio wedding photos (with industrial-strength airbrushing and wedding costume changes that span many cultures and many Chinese time periods).

Mianmian swears to never let Wei Wuxian get his grubby hands on that album, on pain of death.

But then her parents host something, and Wei Wuxian goes, and right there, hanging in their living room, is a floor-to-ceiling calendar, featuring Mianmian and Mian-man dressed as Chinese emperor and empress (because Mianmian certainly didn’t want it in her house, but it came with the package.)

Wei Wuxian makes a noise that Mianmian previously thought only dolphins could produce, and proceeds to take SO MANY photos with his phone.

At some point after Mianmian’s wedding, Lan Wangji comes out of the shower to find:

1 pair of pyjama bottoms waiting for him on the bed; and

Wei Wuxian in the corresponding top (which doesn’t cover his butt after all, but whatever, he’s committed), shooting him a double-thumbs up and wearing an expression like 8D!

(And Lan Wangji decides it’s not worth fighting and just goes with it.)

Lan Qiren

Lan Qiren is totally the kind of parent who never boasts about his children directly, but will listen politely to you telling him about how your son scored 86 in his maths examination, and wait for you to obligation-ask about his kids before casually saying, “Oh, Wangji? He scored full marks” and smiling thinly.

He’ll add “Sounds like your son worked really hard” for extra fuck you value if you were being particularly obnoxious.

The greatest tragedy in his parenting life is realising that if your children are The Best, it’s only possible for them to marry down.

His initial feelings regarding Wei Wuxian dating his nephew can probably be summed up as: “Wei Wuxian, I did not lovingly raise my precious Lan Wangji just to give him to you!!!”

(The problem is that his nephew (inexplicably) likes Wei Wuxian so much, mumblegrumble.)

For weeks after The Resentment of Lan Qiren, every time Lan Qiren sees Wen Ning, he shakes his head sadly to himself and mutters “What a shame, what a shame.”

When Wen Ning responds with a slightly panicked “?!”, Lan Qiren just pats him on the shoulder, like, “No, no, it’s not you. We can’t choose our relatives. And isn’t that the greatest shame in the world?” - and then DOESN’T EXPLAIN ANYTHING.

And after many bouts of thinking and rethinking still lead him to the conclusion that Wei Wuxian is the best choice in comparison to all the other available options, Lan Qiren may or may not visit Cangse Sanren’s grave to burn some incense for an excuse to stand there and offer a sullen, “You fukken got me again, you bastard. I can’t believe you.”

He doesn’t know who he hates more:

Wei Wuxian for being himself and yet still the best choice

Cangse Sanren for not letting being dead stop her from continuing to be a thorn in Lan Qiren’s side

Wen Ruohan for being undesirable enough to disqualify the only valid competitor

The other parents for failing to produce children who are better than Wei Wuxian

(Like: Surely it can’t be that hard if he (+ his brother + his sister-in law) managed to produce two)

So he settles for hating everyone.

For his next birthday, Lan Xichen sends him a box of blood-pressure-lowering supplements.

Lan Qiren is like “!!!” but he still takes them because just because his nephew is being impudent does not mean there is not also a Need.

In re 3zun:

Lan Qiren goes around determinedly Not Thinking about Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao. Every time his eyes approach something he doesn’t want to see, he just turns his head like NOPE.

He eventually realises that he and Wei Wuxian have this in common and that Wei Wuxian is therefore his most valuable ally - both in terms of having someone to pivot to and have very loud, very enthusiastic conversations about anything else whenever the 3zun do something they don’t want to see, and also having someone to commiserate with about Not Wanting to Know. (But because they’re them, they alternate between teaming up for self-preservation and using their mutual weakness to take petty jabs at each other.)

"-If two of them are dating, then where does that leave the third one?!"

"RIGHT? Imagine finding out that they were silently pining away, forced to third-wheel for their unrequited love and best friend - unrequited LOVES AND BEST FRIENDS? What would you say to that?!"

"That's not even considering which one the third wheel would be - I honestly don't know which option would be the worst, they're all terrible."

"I'm almost ready to say that I'd rather they all be dating each other, except then I'd have to think about how that would work, dynamic-wise, like - who calls the shots? Do you think Nie Mingjue is domineering all the time, or do you think it’s a public front, and he then goes home to be dominated by-"

“STOP.”

Even before 3zun get together (both Lan Qiren and Wei Wuxian have chosen to Never Know when this is), Jin Guangyao is throwing out suggestive comments left and right and then immediately whipping out his (◔◡◔✿) face for anyone’s double-take:

50% to test the waters of public sentiment before he makes a move and it actually becomes his problem

50% because he’s a troll who likes dominance displays

Knowing this factoid, one of Wei Wuxian’s mental 3zun Dynamics possibilities features Superdom!Jin Guangyao, but he does his best to avoid thinking about that.

After Lan Qiren mentally accepts Wei Wuxian into the fold:

He still internally responds to at least 50% of the things that Wei Wuxian does with “Why, that little shit”, but it’s also implied that Wei Wuxian is their little shit now.

And for Lan Family! Qiren, this means: If you shit on him, WE shit on you.

“Shufu”

Lan Qiren definitely Notices when Wei Wuxian calls him that, but it Doesn’t Do to make a fuss.

He probably has a conversation with Lan Xichen sometime around the first family dinner that goes:

LQR: You've noticed that he's still calling me 'Uncle Qiren' like we're nothing to each other.

LXC: ...If you want him to call you Shufu, should you perhaps not mention that to him?

LQR: What? No, he should already know these things!

And then after the wedding:

LQR: Your brother's boyfriend is finally acting like one of the family. LXC: Haha, oh my.

Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan

Although their mothers have been friends for ages, Jin Zixuan grows up in a different city, so they don't see each other growing up. The Jins later move for Jin Zixuan's high-flying corporate job, Madam Jin joins the Culture Society at her friend's behest and immediately falls in love with Jiang Yanli as a daughter-in-law.

After a lot of cajoling (in both directions), she gets them to agree to one date, which is a disaster (I have more headcanons about this but they won't fit in here)

Jin Zixuan has a lot of money and zero sense of proportion, which does not generally result in tasteful things. (Where Jiang Yanli is concerned, his desire to keep up a "cool" image is completely overpowered by his desire to please, so that doesn't help either. Like a golden retriever who wants people to think he's a cat.)

After they get married, Wei Wuxian sometimes thinks about the peacock's peacocking rituals, like: "It's good that he's gotten more reasonable now that they're married - no, wait, what if he hasn't gotten more reasonable, but there's just no one around to see it because they're married?!" and never gets brave enough to ask his sister about it.

After Jin Ling's birth, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng (and maybe even Jin Zixuan) get locked in an ongoing battle for Jin Ling's affections. Jiang Yanli is the clear favourite, as she should be, but they all want to be #2, and their constant jostling is how he ends up with no chill despite being raised by one calm mum and one aloof (but secretly disaster) dad

But because Jiang Yanli is around, he's very polite about it: the kind of kid who barrels in screaming blue murder, skids to a halt and says "Auntie", and then tears out screaming blue murder again

Wei Wuxian tones it down a lot after he and Lan Wangji adopt A-Yuan because he’s got better things to do, but it’s still A Thing (during visits, A-Yuan spends a lot of time in Auntie Yanli’s lap being gently fed things while his dad and shushu yell at each other over the top of his cousin’s head)

Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli

Initially brought together by their brothers, they now meet up for regular, peaceful, wholesome tea-dates where they discuss the lives of their mutuals and gently exchange advice (and strategies on how to keep their angry-angry parent/proxy-parent's blood pressure down.

Whereas Jiang Cheng gets closer to coughing up blood with every year that passes by without Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji getting their shit together, Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli take the more optimistic view of "Look at how well-prepared we are, we've just run another year ahead of schedule!"

Dinner Crew

Jiang Cheng has been the unwilling audience to years of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s bullshit.

If asked, he would say: “And you wonder why I’m so angry?! What do you mean ‘dating’, you’ve been fucking married for the last five years!” but no one ever does :’D

Every so often, he thinks about how happy their sister is about the dating situation because she doesn’t know that it’s fake, and he grinds his teeth because why can’t he also not-know!?

To this, Nie Huaisang says, “If we didn’t know we couldn’t help!”

And Jiang Cheng replies, “WE’RE NOT HELPING ANYWAY, LOOK AT HIM!!!”

Meanwhile, Jiang Yanli continues to gush about how happy she is for Wei Wuxian and all Jiang Cheng can do is laugh really unnaturally because he has to “Be strong, Jiang Cheng! Be strong for A-jie! ╥﹏╥”

He goes to read the comments on the Society Facebook after the fujoshi conversation, and gets so angry at all these people who are like “Ah, their love is so beautiful!” that he has to uninstall his Facebook app, and go and shout into a cupboard somewhere.

The non-Wei-Wuxian members of the dinner group have set up a separate chat to act as a support group, where they all go to:

Wail and gnash their teeth after Wei Wuxian does something particularly dumb

Scheme ways into getting Wei Wuxian to get a clue

Console one another when someone’s brave attempt at getting Wei Wuxian to face the truth fails miserably (because while they play by the rules of ‘what a normal human would do’, Wei Wuxian lives by the principle of ‘lol norms are for losers’.)

Relatedly: for every resigned Nie Huaisang face or enraged Jiang Cheng face that Wei Wuxian notices, there are at least three desperate-yet-silent exchanges that he doesn’t.

Wen Ning is always really optimistic about it, nodding encouragingly like “He’s gonna get it - he’s gonna get it! - oh no, he’s not gonna get it. Oh. Oh no. Ó╭╮Ò”

Wen Ning always has at least one small child hanging off him at all times when he’s at the Cultural Centre because they know he can always be bullied into playing with them and they think he’s great.

Past bullshit dinner group projects have included Getting Jiang Cheng a Date and Making a Picture out of Jin Guangyao’s Forehead Dot While He’s Sleeping

(In re the forehead dot, they end up settling for making it bigger every time he nods off during a movie night at Nie Huaisang’s house, and Nie Mingjue comes home to what’s basically a Japanese flag on Jin Guangyao’s forehead and is like ಠ_ಠ)

Future dinner group projects include providing Wei Wuxian with support for Grand Plans like Getting Along with Uncle Qiren and providing Jiang Cheng with unwanted support for things like Workshopping Jiang Cheng’s List of Partner Requirements

A-Yuan

After A-Yuan’s adoption, Wei Wuxian and Lan Qiren redouble their efforts in Can we divorce an in-law?! because although they couldn’t save themselves from being related to Jin Guangyao, for their PRECIOUS BOY--

Therefore, when A-Yuan is five or six and starts to sound out how he’s related to people and why:

A-Yuan: So if Jin-yeye is Uncle Guangyao’s dad, then that makes him my-

Wei Wuxian: NOTHING!

Lan Qiren (springing up from the other side of the room): NOTHING!

Lan Xichen: lol

At around about this same time, Wei Wuxian, who is never gonna stop trolling Lan Qiren about ruzhui until the day he dies, runs A-Yuan through the “You see, my son, my family is not so well-to-do, and since your Uncle married into the Nie family-” talk, and then proceeds to reference it at every opportunity:

1: Despite A-Yuan almost certainly not asking, and

2: despite (/especially because of) Lan Qiren shouting “DON’T TEACH HIM WEIRD THINGS!” in the background.

(Lan Wangji probably lets it happen or encourages it because he thinks it’s funny)

#CQL #The Untamed #Wangxian #陈情令 #魔道祖师 #mo dao zu shi #not-fic

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years

Text

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter five: dark vibrations

word count: 11.4k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: body horror, hallucinations (?), mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicide. spooky scary activities ensue. elliot has an increasingly difficult time keeping a grasp on reality. we knew this was gonna happen, though!

notes: howdy! i hope y’all enjoy this. sometimes i go weeks without updating and sometimes i wait like, 4 days before manically writing an entire chapter. you know how it be like that sometimes. i was feeling a bit more inspired and felt like i finally hit a groove on where this story was going, which i think definitely helped, and i hope you all enjoy it!

thank you, as always, to everyone who reads, likes/comments, even if you just come into my dms with two nice words or write something nice in your tags; it really does make my whole night to see even one person enjoying anything i’ve made. <3

Cold morning light filtered in through the window, drenched in wedding-silk grays thanks to the wintery cloud-cover. Everything in the room looked to be placed with absolute intent and care; polished, porcelain-white decor in elaborate geometrics, gold accents, a king-sized bed with impeccably pressed sheets. Truthfully, John had thought for certain he’d come back into the house to be informed by Elliot’s statuesque mother that, in fact, she had rescinded her offer to let him stay and actually, he would need to depart immediately, lest the authorities be called.

He was glad that it hadn’t come to that, of course, because it would’ve been such a shame to have to dampen Scarlet’s opinion of her own daughter so quickly into their meeting.

Dropping his small bag of belongings—the manila folder packed full of information, including his own scribbled notes; the burner phone; a few quickly-packed clothes that had been meticulously cycled to avoid the most long-term wear—John paused as the heat in the house kicked on with a delicate whirr.

Everything in Scarlet Honeysett’s home seemed to be precisely the shape and color that she liked, with not a single thing out of place; and yet, as the heat kicked on, he was certain that he could hear the sound of sharp, hushed voices downstairs, a little ripple in the woman’s perfect, arcadian home scene.

It was good. It felt good, to be here. To have gotten the upper hand. So much of the past weeks he’d spent with Elliot had felt like he was slowly, violently spiraling out of control, but this? She was here, and she had to play by his rules for once, and—

And he’d wanted just one more second alone, with her. To watch the way her eyes flickered over his face, to drink in the way her chin tilted up in defiance but not unlike the way she used to do it when she was waiting for him to kiss her, the same lovely high-color in her spreading along her cheekbones and the same little spark in her gaze. Whether it was anger or allure was neither here nor there, anymore; with Elliot, they were interchangeable, a stepping stone one way or another, just the way it had always been with them.

Because John liked her anger. He liked her wrath. He wanted to put his hands on it, his mouth on it, break it into pieces and wring it out of her and put it back and do it all over again, while she said his name, his name, and not anyone else’s. God, she’d been so fucking close—so close, and he couldn have just had her if he really wanted to, grabbed a fistful of her hair and kissed her when the sting of her slap was still fresh on his face. She liked when he did that; kissed her, like he was starved for her. Because he was starved for her, and then she could knot her fingers into his shirt or dig her nails into his skin or whatever it was she wanted to make him desperate.

The sound of excited barking downstairs broke him out of his thoughts. John blinked, taking one last swift look-over of the immaculate room his mother-in-law had decided to put him up in before he nudged his bag beneath the bed and stepped out into the hallway.

To say old money would be almost an understatement. Surely, this house had to have some kind of historical significance; it was several stories, with one of those grand staircases that was wide going up, hit a landing, and then split to either side of the house. As he made his way down, he caught sight of the flicker of Scarlet’s silk robe in the kitchen; music drifted out of it, the same kind of hazy, older music that Elliot had turned on in her mother’s house back in Hope County.

“Stop moving,” Elliot was saying to Boomer, strapping him into a little reflective vest that sat on him like a saddle blanket. For a second, she didn’t notice his presence—or willfully ignored it; he couldn’t say for sure one way or another—and instead focused on the Heeler, rubbing his ears and kissing the bridge of his nose. A tiny little smile ticked the corners of her mouth, and he thought he heard her say, so handsome, best boy, yes you are.

Boomer’s attention snapped to John, now at the foot of the stairs. He let out one sharp, accusatory bark (could dogs sound accusatory, John wondered, or was that just Elliot getting to him?), and what little of his hackles were visible from out under the vest spiked up instantly.

“Good to see you too, beastie,” John greeted him, trying to ignore the way the hound’s low-pitched, reverberating growls made his skin crawl. Flashes of Boomer’s numerous and vicious takedowns of not only Eden’s Gate members but at least one member of the Family that had the misfortune of having chained the dog up darted across his memory, like a flipping through a photo album.

“Don’t talk to him,” Elliot snipped, cupping Boomer’s ears protectively. “I don’t need him getting the idea we’re friendly.”

John rolled his eyes. “More than friendly, I’d say.” His eyes darted over her, drinking in once against the shock of her appearance—red hair, so fucking red that every time he looked at her it was almost like staring at a stranger until he took in the rest, the freckles smattering her nose and the flush in her cheeks, cupid’s-bow lips that were glossed. Had he ever seen Elliot with more than river-soaked mascara on before?

The woman shot him a look, dry and unamused, coming to a stand. He asked, “Going for a walk?”

“Trying to,” she replied tartly, “but someone is evil enough that Boomer doesn’t trust them.”

“We’re pals,” John offered pleasantly. “Me and the beast. You know, were, anyway. He probably just needs to spend a little time with me.”

“Speaking from personal experience, more time makes you less palatable.”

“Let me come on the walk with you,” he tried again, letting her little barbs and jabs roll right off of him, water skating off of his feathers. At this point, he really quite enjoyed her venom; it was familiar. “I’m sure we’ve got plenty to catch up on.”

Elliot eyed him warily, eyes giving him a scathing once-over—eerily reminiscent of her mother’s own disdainful look, and now he thought, ah, yeah, that is where she gets it from, then—as her mouth twisted around whatever it was she wanted to say but wouldn’t let herself. Something too vicious for Scarlet to overhear, perhaps. The threats she’d made in the past had been wildly colorful, but each second that Ell spent considering her words more carefully rather than saying whatever it was she felt with her eyes darting to the kitchen was another second that John became more aware of how little Scarlet actually knew.

“Fine,” Elliot said at last, her eyes narrowing. “I suppose that we do. Mama, we’re leavin’.”

The little quirk of an accent at the end of her sentence made him swallow back a laugh. He’d barely heard that Georgia accent back in Hope County, but maybe spending time with her mother had reinspired it.

“Alright,” Scarlet said, drying her hands on a towel as she stood in the doorway. Her eyes glanced between them, inquisitive for a moment, before she said, “Be quick. Doctor’s appointment in an hour and a half.”

John tilted his head. “Oh? Baby check-in?”

“Can’t imagine what else it would be, Mr. Seed,” Scarlet idled. “Are you familiar with the process of pregnancy?”

“Not beyond the knowledge of a man, I’m afraid.”

“Well, allow me to educate you,” the blonde said, her voice light. “When a woman is carrying a baby, she has to make frequent visits to the doctor, to ensure that all is well. Can’t have anything going wrong with the baby, you know.”

John steadied the intake of breath so that it did not sound so abrupt. He would have done a double-take and thought perhaps she was just overbearing, and not attempting to insult him, were Elliot not smiling. Certainly, only her mother’s attempted insult of him could elicit such an expression out of her.

“Then my arrival was fortunately timed,” he announced. “I look forward to it.”

“And you’ll be sorely disappointed,” Elliot cut in, her humor fading. “You won’t be coming.”

Ah, yes. That’s why I don’t love her attitude. “That’s absurd,” he replied, incredulous. “It’s nearly six weeks, and I haven’t seen a single ultrasound of our baby.”

He was careful, this time, to keep it to our baby. He’d seen the way Elliot’s expression tightened when he’d said my baby, even though that’s what came so naturally to him now, being that they were hardly on the same team—but he’d seen it, that look in her eye, the way she’d squared her shoulders like she’d suddenly been ready to go at him.

Only one thing to do with a rabid dog, Jacob had said, not two days before they found Elliot drenched in another man’s blood in the woods.

John half-expected Scarlet to jump in, to say that it was the father’s right to be there; she was more traditional than Elliot, if her comment about wedlock or her insistence of him staying were anything to go by, but when he turned his gaze to her, the older woman’s expression was devoid of any sympathy. Typical of Honeysett women, he was coming to find.

“If she doesn’t want you there, then you won’t be there. I won’t have my daughter stressed out,” Scarlet told him. “Stress is bad for the baby. Surely that falls within the realm of what a man knows about babies, Mr. Seed?”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Surely.”

“Good. Hour and a half, my beloved, do not be late.”

That a woman had become so capable of tacking the softness of my beloved onto something that verged on a threat was nearly beyond John—would have been, certainly, were he not accustomed to Isolde’s particular brand of venom that was not so unlike Scarlet Honeysett’s.

“I won’t,” Elliot promised. “Can you call the handyman? My TV’s been acting up lately. Turning on static and whatnot.”

“Fine,” Scarlet replied, waving her hand. “I’ll have them come out this afternoon.”

Elliot turned on her heel and opened the front door out into the frigid morning, letting Boomer dart out ahead of her and not waiting for him in the least. He fell into step beside her easily, shrugging into his coat halfway out the door as it clicked shut behind him; she trudged through the snow, passing the garbage can and opening the gate that led out into what had once been pastureland and towards the woods.

It was the same fence that she’d been standing at, early that morning, face lax and serene. If the return to the fence bothered her at all, it didn’t show on her face any more than her irritation at having him there.

“Your mother’s quite...” John’s voice trailed off. “Tall.”

“Mm.”

“Statuesque, even.”

“Mmhm.”

“I get the feeling she doesn’t like me that much.”

“Yes,” Elliot acquiesced, her tone dripping with something close to venomous amusement, “I’ve never seen her take so poorly to someone so quickly before.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

“You would be.”

A fourth of the way into the snowy pasture and Boomer was far ahead of them, leaping like a little speckled gazelle in drifts of snow. It was easy to forget that the dog had been ready to rip him to shreds just a little under an hour ago (and once more, more recently). Still, as they trudged through a path that it seemed Elliot had worn through a few times before, John let out a little puff of breath and glanced over at her.

For just one second, she wasn’t spitting any venom at him, but rather seemed to favor the act of pretending like he wasn’t there, which was a bit worse than having her fix her fury on him. Her gaze was focused forward, following Boomer’s little lines in the snow. Attention at all was one thing, but acting as though he didn’t exist?

John said, “So, Burke just got his autopsy reports back and dropped you off right here at home, huh?”

Elliot’s face had already gone pink from the cold, right on her nose and spreading through her cheeks. At his words, a new flush of color rose, a shade more vicious than the last, and her gaze slid to him. If looks could kill, he thought, that dreamy little spike of delight at her eyes on him going straight to his head. Look at you, my little Wrath. You’ve got the good girl mask on, but I know what your true face is.

He’d seen it. Kissed her when the blood was still in her mouth. Let her feed the monster inside of her when she told him to beg, when she dug her nails into his skin, when her breath hitched in her chest from the pressure of his knife blade against her sternum—not in pain, necessarily, but delight at that pain.

The scar had to still be there, of course. The reminder of its existence, swathed in the heavy winter fabrics she wore now, made his fingers itch. If he could just get his hands on her—get his mouth on her, if she would just stop being so obtuse—but he didn’t think he’d be so fond of her if she wasn’t.

“The same way the government probably drove you and your siblings back to the compound and dropped you off,” she replied at last, her voice tight, “isn’t that right?”

John flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Very astute, hellcat.”

Her expression tightened at the moniker. She sucked her teeth, fixing her eyes forward again, shifting back into the strategy of being withholding of her attention rather than entertain him.

“Oh, come on,” he said, swinging around in front of her and stopping her single-minded journey across the pastureland. “You can’t say you didn’t miss me even a little bit, Ell.”

“I told you,” she replied tartly, “not to call me that.”

“Because it reminds you of what it was like when we’re together,” he agreed.

An exasperated noise came out of her. “Did you forget that I lied to you?”

“At the end, sure,” John said, eyes flickering over her face. “But I don’t think you’re so good a liar you could lie about all of the times you said please, or the way that you said my name, or—and I think you’ll recall I’ve insisted on this bit from the beginning—the undeniable connection that we’ve had since we met.”

“You are a fucking lunatic,” Elliot snapped, her face flushing red. “And don’t fucking talk about me like I’m—like I wasn’t there, I know what I—” She sucked in a sharp breath; lower, and more threatening, “I’m aware of what I said. Of what I did.”

“And you’re going to tell me that it was all fake?” he prompted, unwilling to let go of this little thread. Gripping, sliding through his fingers, but he wouldn’t be so quick to let it escape him now that he didn’t have to think about her mother pitching in an unwanted opinion. “That you lied the whole time and you don’t feel anything for me, that—”

“Of course it wasn’t fake,” she bit out. Her voice had gone venomous, sharp, unbridled in its timbre. “I’m not a fucking psychopath, John, I can’t fake loving someone like you can.”

John opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. He hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, there was a part of him that was sure Elliot had her doubts about his intentions, otherwise she wouldn’t have fucked off to the middle of nowhere (nor turned them in), but—still?

“You think I—” He paused again, blinking. “You’re not that stupid.”

Her eyes narrowed. Everything about her stiffened, quite suddenly, like maybe she was bracing to take another swing at him. “You are fucking begging for a punch to the face.”

“I mean,” John began quickly, waving his hands a little, “that you surely don’t think that whole time I was just—”

Elliot made a disgusted sound and brushed past him, letting out a high whistle; the sound immediately drew a flurry of activity as a flock of birds when bursting from the treeline, followed closely behind by Boomer’s gray-and-black speckled form. John fell back into step with her, huffing out a breath of air. He was going to table that discussion for later—she was clearly still upset, still a little sore and tender from their departure, and that was fine. There were a lot of things at play concerning his wife’s mood, including but not limited to being pregnant.

So she did, he thought, glancing at her through the corner of his eyes. Love me. Back then, and maybe now, still.

“How have you been sleeping?” is what he said instead, when the moment had spread between them long enough for him to think that he was safe to speak again with incurring her wrath once more. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Fine,” she replied, her voice tight.

“Yeah?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational. Elliot blinked once, slow, clearly trying to temper herself. “I just remember what a restless sleeper you were, back home.”

He wanted to say, I saw you at three AM, twice, staring out your window and then walking out into the snow barefoot. I saw you sleepwalking, I know you aren’t sleeping well.

He wanted to say that, and he couldn’t, because if Elliot knew he’d been tailing her for a while she’d go berserk—pull the plug, self-destruct, take whatever loss she had to in order to fucking end him.

“I’m sleeping fine,” the redhead reiterated. For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something; her eyes flickered uneasily, like something was bothering her and she hadn’t been able to say it to anyone but maybe she wanted to, and maybe she could say it to him, but something in the treeline drew her attention away. They were about ten yards away, now, the low breeze skimming pine needles against each other as Boomer barked conversationally at the birds that had so rudely taken flight.

Elliot’s molars clicked, grinding together. Her lashes fluttered, and she sucked in a sharp little breath through her nose.

“Elliot?” John glanced at the trees, but that was all he saw—tall, dark pines, bunching together erratically through years of growth spurts and inevitable fellings. He turned his gaze back to his wife, gaze inquisitive. “What?”

“Don’t you—?” She stopped herself, and sucked in another sharp breath, and now John felt the concern spike sharp and hot in him, because when he reached up she didn’t even seem to register his movement; Elliot, the same woman who had snatched his wrist and threatened to snap it in half for having the audacity to ‘sneak up on her’ when he’d been in the middle of talking to her, completely transfixed on something that he couldn’t see.

“Elliot.” He tried something firmer this time, his hand coming up to sweep the strands of her hair away from her shoulder and neck. The gesture finally startled her out of wherever it was she had gone, yanked her back to reality.

Her shoulder bunched up to her jaw in an effort to deter his hand, swatting at him absently with her hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you going to tell me where you were just now?” John asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

“I was here. Just thought I saw something in the trees,” she replied tightly, turning away from the treeline and clearing her throat. “Just birds.”

Just birds, she said, even though the birds had already taken off and the forest was otherwise still and serene. Behind her, Boomer whined before beginning to follow her back towards the house. Elliot moved with a newfound purpose, one that she had been distinctly lacking before.

His mouth pressed into a thin line. John turned his attention back to the trees, searching for anything—any tangle of branches of play of shadows that might read sinister or threatening.

Only the trees and their shadowy pines. He thought about that night he’d fished Elliot out of the Family’s grip, when she’d been so fucking drugged up to her gills that she’d balked at the sight of the treeline on their way out. I don’t think I can, she’d said then, her voice pitching high with the anxious vibrations of panic. John, I don’t think I can—

“John,” Elliot snapped from ahead of him, “are you coming, or are you just gonna stand there all fucking afternoon?”

He thought about the way Ase had grabbed her hand, blood and viscera coating Elliot like she’d become a tried-and-true Scream Queen. If he searched long enough, if he sat in the memory long enough—did Ase’s mouth open? Had she said something to Elliot? What had she said?

“John,” came the grinding demand, again, less patient than before. “As much as I would love to leave you to freeze to death for insinuating I’m stupid, mama would hate to have to deal with a corpse on her property and I’d never hear the end of it.”

“I missed our banter,” he replied, though the jest did not quite land the same way that it would have were he not so deep in his own thoughts. By the time he’d started walking in her direction, his back to the forest, something uneasy had settled just under his skin; the feeling of being watched, eyes on the back of his neck, anticipation prickling along like his spine.

The house loomed, polished and pristine, on the horizon; as they picked their way across the snowy field, Elliot puffing out breaths occasionally from the labor of it all, John tried to shake that pervasive feeling of dread that had settled over him.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Weyfield was just Weyfield, a small town not unlike Hope County, and maybe he was just jumpy from the way the Family had conducted their business, and maybe it was the same for Elliot, who had certainly been put through a different experience than he—but regardless:

The sooner they got out, the better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Shouldn’t have agreed to let him drive me here.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?”

It was stupid. Stupid, I should have put my foot down, told him to fucking stay at the house and wait for me to come back.

“Elliot?”

She blinked, vision fuzzing and refocusing around the sterile white of the doctor’s office. Her abdomen was sticky, and the ultrasound machine had been turned off along with her shirt tugged back down. Like usual, Dr. Harding did not say anything about the gossamer-webbing of scars, but did pause upon first seeing them, as though she hadn’t seen them times before.

“Sorry?” Elliot said, the apology quirking up at the end in question. She sat up from the bed, the paper crinkling beneath her as she moved.

“I asked,” Harding reiterated, “have you been getting enough sleep?”

Elliot knew the answer. She felt the exhaustion souring in her mouth already, the way something spoiled when it went too long without attention. A sickness. She should say that she hadn’t been sleeping well at all, that she’d begun sleepwalking, that

(seeing things, I’m seeing things when I close my eyes and when I look in the dark treeline, I see faces, heads, people I don’t know but they feel familiar and their faces drop down in between the branches of trees on invisible silk threads and their terrible dark mouths open but they can’t scream)

she’d been feeling out of sorts, as of late. That seemed like a nice way to put it.

The dark images that had fluttered between the trees on her walk earlier that morning with John felt as real as any memory—and that wasn’t to say that her memories always felt real, because they didn’t. But the validity of this morning’s waking nightmare of floating heads drifting between tree-trunks, swinging loosely while John asked her how she’d been sleeping.

“Fine,” Elliot said after a moment, feeling a fresh wave of nausea come over her. “I think, um, maybe the stress about the baby is keeping me up at night.”

Harding regarded her for a moment. The severe sharpness of her dark hair pinned back did nothing to soften her expression—though the woman was hard-pressed to be cheerful, she, at the very least, never sugar-coated anything. “Have you been trying those breathing exercises before bed? And spending time at the stables, as I suggested?”

“I have,” she replied, which wasn’t entirely untrue—she was doing at least one of those things. “It’s just been a lot of—stress, is all. I’m sure it’ll get better once the holidays are over.”

“That can definitely help,” the woman agreed, nodding her head and typing a few loose notes into the computer. “If you find that you aren’t getting enough sleep—enough,” she continued, pointedly, “restful sleep, you let me know and we can figure out some next steps.”

Elliot nodded, coming to a stand; the sudden movement had her head rushing, and she for a second she thought again of the floating heads, swaying with the breeze through the pine boughs.

“I’ve been sleep-walking,” she blurted out impulsively, her doctor’s gaze turning quizzically towards her. “I mean—um, just twice.”

“Do you have a history of it?”

“No,” Elliot began, “but I’ve always been a restless sleeper.”

“It’s not uncommon for sleepwalking to increase with pregnancy, Miss Honeysett,” the doctor replied, her voice even-keel. “It sounds like you’re under quite a bit of pressure, as well. I would suggest trying something mild—an over-the-counter sleep aid would be fine. Unisom is a typical one. Try half of one first, and see how it makes you feel.”

“Okay,” she murmured, sliding her coat back on. Something that was less heavy-duty than the pills her mother had left for her might be good. “Are there any—symptoms? To sleeping pills?”

The doctor adjusted the glasses on her nose, regarding her for a long moment. “Some adverse side-effects, on occasion. Usually with stronger, prescription sleep aids, you could have worsening anxiety and depression, day-time drowsiness. That kind of thing.”

So, no hallucinations, then. No sleepwalking, no lost time, no...

“Are you having other symptoms?” Harding asked.

You’ll think I’m crazy, Elliot thought, you’ll think I’m fucking nuts if I tell you about my dream with the television, and Joey’s body, and walking out nearly to the treeline in my sleep clothes. You’ll think I’m fucking nuts and I’ll have to be committed.

So Elliot said, “No, just curious,” and Dr. Harding hummed as she scribbled the name of the sleep aid onto a sticky note for Elliot to take out with her.

“You have a healthy baby, Miss Honeysett. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” The brunette gestured for Elliot to head out the door, walking with her back up the hallway that led to the front lobby once again. “Next appointment we can find out the gender, if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Elliot said, surprised. Was it that soon already? Had it already been that long of being—like this? With child? She swallowed, pleasant little flutters in her chest. It was the first time that she’d felt something other than dread concerning the baby. Well, first time, sans John’s annoying little assertion about his claim. Why had that bothered her so much?

“You can decide to keep it a surprise,” Dr. Harding added, sound a little amused. “Think about it, and in the meantime, get some rest. Half a pill to start, remember.”

“Will do, thank you.”

She waded through the small collection of people in the lobby and out onto the street. Something strange was humming inside of her—it was sad, she realized, with a little spike of panic. She felt mournful. So fast, and so soon, she would figure out the baby’s gender, and suddenly the baby would be all the more real and she’d have to start thinking about names, she couldn’t have a baby without a name, and how was she supposed to pick a name? How was she supposed to decide something a real human being was going to be saddled with, forever?

Was the baby a Seed? Or a Honeysett?

Which one was she?

“What’re you doing, just standing out here? You’ll freeze.” John’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, shaking her back to reality again. He must have seen her standing there, glassy-eyed in the middle of the sidewalk, from where he’d been waiting—perhaps, if she was lucky, even suffering over the fact that he hadn’t been allowed into the doctor’s appointment—and come out. He’d kicked up a big enough fuss about not getting to come in that she’d said, fine, you can fucking drive me there, but that’s it, and true to his word John hadn’t pressed the matter any further than that.

Even though he wanted to. She could tell he wanted to, the second they had parked on the main street. She could tell he wanted to say, so, maybe I do come in, hm? What do you say to that? But he hadn’t. And that was...something.

Fuck, she needed to stay focused; she couldn’t keep letting her mind wander like that. Twice in less than an hour?

“I was just—thinking,” Elliot replied, feeling exhausted already. John’s brows furrowed at the center of his forehead, and she sighed. “Stop looking at me like that.”

He arched a dark brow loftily. “Like what?”

“Like you fucking care,” she snapped.

“Contrary to what you might believe concerning my feelings for you,” John quipped, his voice tart, “I do have every reason to be invested in the well-being of our baby.”

She thought to reiterate again that the baby was, in fact, hers, and not any part his, as she was doing all the work and John had done nothing to endear himself as an acceptable father-figure, but she was too tired. Something about the doctor’s office and the way she’d had to dodge the truth of how she’d been feeling left her empty, scooped out her insides like she was a Jack-O’-Lantern and left her floating, aimless.

“Ell,” he began. His voice had pitched lower, now, and his hand reached up; she saw it move in the corner of her vision and something inside her said, yes yes yes, this is what we want, we remember you, we know you. He twisted a loose curl around his finger, letting it smooth out against her shoulder, the corner of his mouth ticking upward when she absently batted his hand away. “Tell me about the appointment. Did everything go well?”

“The baby is fine,” she told him, and then sighed. “I mean—healthy. The baby is healthy. The doctor wants me to pick up an over-the-counter sleep aid, so we’ll need to stop at the store on the way home.”

“I thought you were sleeping fine?” John prompted. He sounded sly. His was a gotcha tone, the way he got when he thought he’d walked a particularly fine circle through the holes in what she chose to tell him or not. Elliot’s expression flattened. She ignored the way that he was looking at her—hungryhungryhungry, always greedy and never, never content with what he had—and fixed her eyes on the passing traffic behind him.

She said, “Just when you’re being somewhat tolerable, you have to go and ruin it.”

“If it’s intolerable for me to point out when you’re withholding information from me about your health,” he demurred, “then I’d prefer intolerable.”

“I cannot believe that I have to say this to you,” Elliot bit out, the sudden spike of irritation flaring hot and violence in her chest, “but I don’t fucking owe you anything. I don’t owe you the truth, or an explanation, and quite frankly, the fact that I allowed you to even chauffeur me to this fucking appointment is a sign that I’m being incredibly generous with you—far more generous than what you deserve.”

John’s teeth flashed in a grin. Before, back in Hope County, the venom had bothered him—he’d hated it, frowned and fought back with a little poison of his own, despised that he had to work so hard to get to the nitty-gritty underneath. But he had once, and perhaps now that he had known her, it only thrilled him.

How frustrating.

“Everything I did,” he said, lowering his voice as he closed some of the small distance between them now, “whether you believe me or not, was for us—”

“Ugh.”

“—and I might have gotten a little heated,” John continued, and this time when he reached up again Elliot’s mouth twisted into a grimace and she tilted her face away, don’t say it don’t say it don’t you fucking say it fuck you fuck you fuck you, “back at the ranch, but I meant it when I said that I l—”

“Honeysett!”

It was Via. Her greeting immediately cut off John’s words, effectively driving a wedge between their metaphorical—and physical—closeness. Snapped her out of the magic of his cologne and his voice and his hand coming up to her shoulder with its grounding weight.

“Missed you at the barn today,” the blonde chirped, cheery as she approached, hands tucked into her fluffy parka pockets. Her eyes flickered over to John, inquisitive. “Friend?”

And then Via turned her eyes back to Elliot, waiting expectantly. It struck her quite suddenly that Sylvia was checking—that despite the kindness and warmth in her voice, she was giving Elliot the opportunity to escape, to wave a red flag and ask for help. She said friend?, and what she meant was, is this man bothering you?, and it made a fuzzy warmth spread right through Elliot’s chest, uncomfortable in the softness is inspired in her.

“Hey, Via, this is...” How best to proceed? How to explain, this man is the father of my baby—which, by the way, I’m pregnant—and also technically we are legally married, oh and also he’s supposed to be in Federal custody right now but he isn’t, somehow, but it’s fine, we’re all good? “...my...John.”

Sylvia eyed her for a moment, sticking out a gloved hand. “Howdy, Elliot’s John. I’m Sylvia.”

John was clearly trying not to have the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he shook Via’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Sylvia,” he replied pleasantly, once again reminding Elliot that the man was a tried-and-true practiced liar and could slip a perfect face on at any time. The knowledge was almost enticing, to know that she’d seen him without the masquerade, more than once.

It made, in hindsight, reflecting back on that moment he’d come unraveled at the ranch—No way, baby, I’m fucking it for you—have a different light. She had done that to him.

Good.

“Y’all busy?” Sylvia asked, blissfully not prying any further for an elaboration on what the nature of their relationship was. “I was just about to meet Wyatt at the Wild Rose. It ain’t trivia night, but they do have a live band playing tonight that’s supposed to be good.”

“Oh,” Elliot said faintly, “I don’t think—”

“That sounds excellent!” John interrupted. “I’ve barely seen anything of Weyfield. What do you say, Elliot?”

I say you can eat shit, she thought, but Sylvia was watching her closely—trying to make sure everything was okay, she supposed, considering Elliot had said nothing of John since they’d become friends. She took in a little breath and looked at the blonde, giving a small smile.

“No harm in a little time out of the house,” she agreed after a moment. “I’m starving, anyway.”

She wasn’t hungry in the least. The sticky note with the doctor’s suggested sleep aid was crumple in her pocket, and a little sweaty from the way she’d been clutching it, but somehow the idea of returning back to the house only seemed to fill her with more dread.

The tv, buzzing static, dull and thrumming in the back of her head, in the roots of her molars. HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? And the heads, twisting and turning in the breeze, their silk-spun puppet threads invisible, their mouths swinging open as they try to scream.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

“Well, can’t have you starvin’,” Sylvia said amusedly, looping her arm through Elliot’s own and beginning to walk. “You’re not keeping my girl well-fed, Mister John?”

“Trying my hardest,” John replied, his gaze sly, “but she can be a bit ornery.”

“Hm, that does sound like her. Where are you visitin’ from, anyway?”

As they chattered, over her, John on one side and Sylvia on the other, Elliot got the distinct impression that her friend was quietly, politely fishing for information without putting Elliot under the stress of it.

HAVE YOU

Snow underfoot. The forest breathing, expanding, swelling because it holds some great, dark beast just waiting for her to get close enough.

BEEN HAVING

(Itwaitsforyouitwaitsforusallanditwillhaveyou)

STRANGE

“Careful,” John cautioned, reaching for the door with all of the gentlemanly nature of a man not possessed by the devil to hunt her down across states, “it’s slick.”

He opened the door into the Wild Rose, the sweep of warm air rushing over her a pleasant shock to her system that managed to draw her back to reality. Sylvia nudged her inside, effectively planting herself between Elliot and John as they moved single-file into the crowded bar.

She was tired, and having nightmares, and once she finally got some sleep she would feel a lot better about everything. All she needed was some sleep. And in the meantime, try to enjoy her time with her friends as best she could.

Get some sleep. Feel better in the morning. Burke’s old mantra popped up in her head, running through the worn grooves that were a sad, bittersweet sort of comfort to her now; the second you think you can’t anymore, you keep going anyway. Dig, dig, dig, until her fingers were dirt-packed and bloody, as deep as she fucking needed to go to keep moving, because it wasn’t just about her anymore.

Get some sleep.

Feel better in the morning.

Sylvia had drifted out from their little formation to make her way to the booth they had recently staked out as their own, where Wyatt already sat waiting and waving for them. John planted his hands on her shoulders, squeezing and lowering his mouth to her ear. “What do you want to drink?”

“You’re acting awfully domestic for someone who should be in Federal custody,” Elliot replied lowly, looking at him over her shoulder just in time to see him flash a smile that was all teeth.

“C’mon, hellcat,” and he all but purred the words at her, making her skin prickle in a type of anticipation that wasn’t purely dread. Traitorous, treacherous body. “You can at least play at liking me while your friends are around.”

“Iced tea.” She shrugged, disembarking his hands from her shoulders. “No lemon. A lot of ice. Think you can swing it without, I don’t know, lying halfway to Hell on your way there, Slick?”

“Anything,” he replied, pitching his voice even lower amidst the din of the bar, “for my lovely wife.”

Elliot’s head snapped around, ready to grab a fistful of his shirt and remind him to watch his fucking mouth, but he’d already started his journey to meander through the crowd and reach the bar on his little fetch quest.

Fucker, she thought, even when her stomach twisted with something other than vicious disdain. John had only been here for a day and was already too comfortable taking liberties; she’d have to make sure that got nipped in the bud before he got any funny ideas about his own personal redemption arc.

It would have been nice, to just be able to turn off any and all feelings whenever she wanted. But she couldn’t, and that meant she’d have to do the next best thing:

Get John the fuck away from her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Eden’s Gate did not make a good first impression. Eden’s Gate did not even make a good second or third impression; in fact, Isolde had come to the conclusion that Joseph’s little compound was incapable of making any impression that didn’t fill the observer with a sense of despair. Every time she stepped out of the little building Jacob had set her up in, she was overwhelmed with disgust—eyes followed her, but none of them held anything beyond a dull spark of interest, nearly smothered by what seemed to have been a full-body beat down by the other cult.

The other cult, she constantly had to remind herself, because that’s what Eden’s Gate was. A cult.

A few miserable days at the hands of Montana’s coldest winter by record had her in a foul mood. The snowfall seemed inevitable, like it wouldn't ever stop, and the amount of times there had been paths shoveled between buildings—all leading to the chapel—were equally endless. Isolde couldn’t imagine coming to fucking Montana for fun, let alone for work, and yet she was somehow here for the latter and not the former. Distinctly, painfully lacking in fun.

It didn’t help that Joseph was insufferable. It didn’t help that every time he fixed his eyes on her, she felt an uncomfortable heat dripping down her spine like some kind of molten IV, like they hadn’t left on the worst of terms. Like she hadn’t told him to get the fuck out of her loft, like she hadn’t thrown an engagement ring on the floor like it was poison.

That was a time of her life that she had the distinct desire to not revisit, not even once, and yet in his presence—she found it nearly impossible to ignore. Joseph seemed to take a special, muted pleasure in making her hackles raise, and at least that hadn’t changed about him.

“Sol!”

Jacob called to her from halfway down the compound’s yard, a truck idling beside him. She stopped her trek back to her little hovel and looked at him, arms crossing over her chest.

“You wanna get out for a little?” He inclined his head toward the truck. “I’ve got some errands to run.”

“What kind of errands do the Collapse dictate?” she asked.

“The important variety.”

“Hm.”

She didn’t elaborate on that any further, and Jacob waited only one heartbeat before he reached for the driver’s side door and opened it, slowly.

“Going once—”

“I am not a child, Jacob.”

“—going twice—”

Fuck, did she want to get out.

“Fine,” Isolde snapped, “but bring that truck here. I’m not hiking through a snowdrift to get to you.”

Jacob, sounding quite pleased with himself, replied, “I thought you weren’t a child?”

He seemed moved enough by the dramatic eyeroll to oblige her, and if he found it annoying, it didn’t show; enough so, at least, that Isolde was able to clamber into the passenger side of the truck once he pulled it around, tapping the snow off of her shoes before pulling herself in.

“Thank you,” she huffed, shutting the door and rubbing her fingers to circulate the blood again. “This weather’s a bit abnormal, don’t you think?”

“Not anything out of the ordinary for this time of year, no,” Jacob replied. He nudged the windshield wipers on, plowing a thin layer of snow that had already begun to accumulate off of the window before starting to pull out of the compound. “I think you’re just not suited to the snow.”

“Could have told you that myself,” Isolde snipped. “I’m a hot-blooded creature.”

Jacob made a noise, something like an mm, a place between agreement without incriminating himself by agreeing too fervently or elaborately. She glanced over at him through the corners of her eyes as they turned onto the highway. In the comfortable silence that elapsed between them, Isolde settled back against the seat of the truck and tried to appreciate being out from the stifling dread of the compound.

It did seem to her that Joseph was markedly different than he had been, before. In the few instances in the last couple of days where he hadn’t been picking a fight with her, it almost felt normal—but of course, he was doing it in his own way, this pot-stirring, this instigating. With politeness. With kindness. By remaining completely unrattled by anything she said to him, every, any critique, so self-assured in his righteousness that not even reason could make him look twice at the state of his congregation.

Then, he had always been that way. Righteous. Assured. She had found it appealing, once—she liked a man with confidence—but now she found it—

Equal parts frustrating and attractive. Objectively, of course. Not anything that she felt herself.

“Trying to account for the bodies of the Family against the ones we know we saw before,” Jacob explained, when she had been quiet long enough to let him sort out his thoughts. “Seems like they started killing themselves, in pairs, once the two leaders were done with. I sent out a couple of scouts and they radio’d back some locations, but they’ve gone quiet for a while.”

“Dedication,” Isolde murmured, digging the nail of her thumb into her lower lip. “How dreadful.”

“The dedication, or the act?”

“Both. Imagine being so bound to something or someone.”

Jacob’s mouth twisted in a wry smile, and he brought the truck to a crawl. Two bodies, swallowed by snow nearly up to their waists, sat propped against the cliff face. He fished a pad of paper and a near-worn out pencil out of the center console of the truck and held them out to her.

“Mark it down, Sol.” When she blinked at him, he continued, “What, you thought you were gonna get out and not help me?”

“Well, I was hoping.”

She sighed, taking the pad and pencil—a glorified secretary is what I am, she thought bitterly—and marked two tally marks down. From where the car was stopped, she could see that the arms of the corpses came together, and though it was buried in snow, she had to think that beneath the white frost their hands were intertwined.

They went like that for a while; Jacob would drive to a spot, have her mark down the amount of bodies, and then go on. By the time they had reached Fall’s End, Isolde had counted nearly twenty dead bodies. As they rolled into the far end of town, Isolde realized very quickly that most of the buildings were blackened, and when she rolled down her window, the stale scent of charcoal still sat in the air.

“What happened here?” she asked, grimacing and scrunching up her nose.

“Dunno,” Jacob replied tightly. “Someone with an agenda.”

Isolde’s gaze snapped to him, to try and wring any information out of his expression, but true to his nature Jacob remained completely unreadable. It wasn’t until they had gotten to what appeared to have once been a bar and tallied up the bodies there that Jacob threw the truck into park.

“What in the fuck?” he muttered, eyes fixed forward. When Sol followed his gaze, she realized that it was fixed on someone—someone running towards them, frantically, nearly falling over themselves in the snow.

“Is that one of yours?” she asked. “Jacob?”

“Shh.”

He had busied himself fishing around in the back seat, and as he did Isolde squinted, trying to get a better look at what was going on. The man running definitely had to be Eden’s Gate—he had the big red emblem on his shirt, but he wasn’t wearing any coat, and—

And there were others.

“Jacob,” Isolde said, “there are more.”

“What?”

“Bodies,” she managed out, “there are more bodies.”

The snow wasn’t so deep on the roads that she couldn’t see the width of a body, and she did—see it, that is, tousled dark locks reflecting wet and sticky in the overcast, late-afternoon light. The man running was waving his arms and yelling for help, and then he fell over one of the bodies, fell to his hands and knees over the body of someone else, and made a sound kind of like anguish.

Jacob finally managed to pull out what he’d been looking for—a pair of binoculars—and immediately lifted them to his face.

“Shit,” he said. “Fuck, they’re ours.”

“All of them?” Isolde demanded. “They’re all—”

“Yes,” he bit out, opening the driver’s door and grabbing the rifle from the back seat. “They’re all ours. Isolde, stay in—”

Jacob’s words were cut off by the violent crack of a gunshot. For a split second, Isolde saw nothing; in the space between heartbeats, sluggish from panic, she saw the arterial spray coming from the back of the running man’s body before he hit the ground, screaming.

He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead, he was still crawling, dragging himself through the snow, leaving a smear of red behind him, and that’s when Isolde saw them.

Jacob had stopped moving as well. The person at the far end of the main road leading through Fall’s End had yet to shoulder their weapon. From here, Isolde could see that she was tall—short-cropped, blonde hair, swathed in dark clothes, but beyond that the features were near impossible to make out.

“Close the door,” Isolde hissed, not moving, her instincts screaming to duck but the fear that sudden movement would draw attention prevailing. “Jacob, close the fucking door.”

The eerily satisfying click-click of what could only be the bolt-action rifle in the hunter’s hands clattered around in her head. The rifle was returned to their shoulders, brought up level, and then fired again.

Out of pure instinct, Isolde flinched—but once again, the bullet was aimed not at them, but at the man already crawling in the snow. The sound of the gunshot, and the subsequent bullet-on-bone impact, was enough to make her stomach churn; now, at least, the man lay slumped in the snow, one of the many bodies that seemed to have been the unfortunate pull-and-fire clay birds for the stranger.

“Who,” Isolde whispered furiously, as Jacob carefully put the truck into drive without letting it move forward at all first, “Jacob, who the fuck is that?”

The redhead’s expression was unforgivingly tight, pulling taut with it the scars and mottling of his skin visible outside of his beard. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather kept his eyes fixed forward, as he closed the driver’s side door.

“Fifteen men,” he ground out between his teeth, “that’s fifteen fucking men I sent out here to figure out the body count.”

The stranger finally lowered their rifle, apparently satisfied with their work. This far away, it was hard to tell, but Isolde got the distinct impression that they were being watched, looked at now, where before the attention had been elsewhere.

And then it was confirmed, because the stranger lifted one gloved hand and pressed her index and middle fingers right against the hollows of her jaw. A snakebite. A cut right to the carotid. A message.

Jacob cranked the wheel, the tires shrieking in protest against the snow as he pulled between buildings in a sudden rush of acceleration. The stranger was quickly cut out, stifled by the side of the used-to-be-bar, leaving them out of direct range of a sniper rifle. Not that her companion seemed that pleased about it, anyway.

“Fuck,” he bit out, seething as he tried to navigate the narrow space in the clumsy Eden’s Gate truck. “Fuck, did you count how many bodies were on the ground?”

“Hm, no!” Isolde snapped viciously. “I was a bit too busy trying to make sure they were going to shoot us!”

Jacob gritted out another string of swears between his teeth, turning the truck until he could take what looked to be a back alley in the opposite direction of their little hunter. He checked the rearview mirror frequently; his expression was set in a deep frown, and he only looked at her once before continuing his regular scanning of the road behind them.

“Well, aren’t you going to turn around?” she demanded.

“For what?” Jacob replied flatly. “I’ve got a hunting rifle, not my HTI.”

“I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care,” Isolde bit out.

“It means, the chances of me getting shot before I get a shot on them are significantly lower,” he told her, his knuckles whitening along the steering wheel, “and as confident as I am that I could kill them before they killed me, I’m not confident they wouldn’t take a shot at you first.”

Isolde’s stomach rolled. It wasn’t the violence that bothered her—it wasn’t the death, or the guns, or even the blood—but the message itself. The Stranger had been hunting the Eden’s Gate men and women for sport. For fun. To pass the time, while they waited. But what for? What could they be waiting for?

She stayed quiet, listening to Jacob radio back to the compound quick, short orders that flew right over her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about it—the gesture. The stranger. Who were they? The remainder of the other cult, perhaps? What were they waiting for?

You’re next, that two-fingered, snake-bite-right-to-the-carotid gesture had said.

You’re next, and I’m coming for you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sylvia did not seem that impressed with John Seed, and Elliot could not blame her.

John was exceptionally charming. So charming, in fact, that he and Wyatt seemed to get along smashingly. It was almost frustrating, how quick the blonde took to John—but then, Wyatt did strike as the type of man who got along with everybody until they gave him a reason to think otherwise. After all, he’d been kind to her, and she was...

Needless to say, Sylvia was a harder sell, which was nice. Reassuring. It made Elliot feel more grounded, to see Sylvia politely smile at John’s chatter—she’d nearly forgotten how much he liked to talk—but then decidedly turn to Elliot to ask her about something or dive into a different conversation. It was pointed, and if the way John watched them interact was any indication, the message of it was not lost on him.

By the time the evening had drawn to a close, for her and John at least, the brunette had departed to go warm-up the Jeep and left her standing by the doorway, keeping warm, with Sylvia.

“You sure you’re doin’ okay?” the blonde asked after a moment, propped up against the wall in the tiny little doorway that led out to the main street. “You look tired. Stressed out. I was worried when we didn’t hear from you this morning, about comin’ to the barn.”

Elliot felt a little pang of guilt digging in, just there below her sternum. “I’m okay,” she promised. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, I—had a doctor’s appointment this morning that I completely forgot about until my mama reminded me, and John showed up this morning too, so it’s just been...”

“A crazy day,” Via agreed, her nose crinkling cutely in amusement. “He’s a funny fella, that John of yours.”

Oh, if only you knew. “I think so, too.”

“What is he?” she asked, conversationally. “Maybe a—car salesman?”

Her friend’s playful jab was enough to elicit a laugh, billowing out of her and catching even herself by surprise. But then, she shouldn’t have been shocked to find that Sylvia had gotten a quick read on John. Given the way she’d quickly diverted from the attention on Elliot’s scar and carried on, she thought maybe Via was more perceptive than she liked to let on.

“Lawyer,” Ell replied, and Via winced comically.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I mean—Elli,” Via intoned playfully, “he might as well be sellin’ you snake oil when he’s a lawyer.”

Elliot sighed ruefully, glancing out the window to see John clambering out of the front of the jeep. Snake oil seemed a light judgment for him, all things considered.

“Hey, Via,” she began, swallowing a little, “if I tell you something, you’ve gotta promise you won’t say anything?”

Via regarded her curiously, head tilted. “Okay, sure, Freckles. What’s up?”

She shifted on her feet. “John and I are actually, um—” Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to, because saying it out loud—her, and not John—made it real. Gave it legs. Forced her to face what had happened and what she couldn’t change yet.

“You don’t have to,” Via told her gently. “I could tell there was somethin’—you know, out of sorts. You don’t get a slick-talkin’ lawyer grinnin’ like the cat what ate the canary if he hasn’t done somethin’ to piss a woman off.”

Elliot shook her head. “We’re actually, uh,” she tried again, pulling at a loose thread on her shirt, “m—married.”

Saying the word out loud didn’t feel as wretched as she thought it would, which was almost three times as concerning. She felt, instead, more dread waiting for Sylvia’s reaction—waiting to see what her one friend had to say or think about that.

The woman’s face screwed up comedically. “Oh, Freckles,” she said, her tone teasing. “Say it ain’t so.”

“I’m not kidding!” Elliot felt a nervous little laugh bubble out of her. “I mean—what, Via? You clearly have an opinion on him.”

“I don’t know the man from Jack walkin’ down the street,” Sylvia demurred. “I just think...well, I just think you’re a real peach, you know? And you didn’t seem too pleased to have this John walkin’ around, and I take that kind of thing seriously.”

Sighing, Elliot scuffed her shoe against the ground, watching John pick his way through the crowd back down the street.

“We left on—bad terms, sort of,” she explained. “He showed up to make amends.”

“Do you want to make amends?”

The question caught her off-guard. It was an obvious one—obvious in that, it should have been one of the first things anyone asked her regarding John, even John himself, and yet: no one had. Not a single person had asked her if she wanted to suffer through making amends with the man who had lied to her, violated her trust, and still somehow managed to be the one person she didn’t have to fear seeing the worst, ugliest parts of her.

“I don’t know,” Elliot said after a moment, clearing her throat. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Then I will reserve judgment,” Sylvia replied firmly, “so you can make a decision on your own.”

The door to the street opened, bringing with it not only a waft of chilly wind, but John himself and the scent of his viciously-expensive cologne. It took every ounce of Elliot’s self-control not to burst into laughter at the absurdity of it—John Seed, charisma-extraordinaire, somehow managing to make poor first impressions both on her mother and her friend.

“Car’s all warmed up,” John announced, rubbing his hands together. He glanced between the two women, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. “What’s so funny, hm?”

“Nothing,” Elliot replied. “Just talking about you.”

This piqued his interest. He said, “Good things, I hope,” and she could see it on his face—the painful reminder of the way John had craved Joseph’s approval, the way he’d lit up like a nuclear mushroom cloud the second Joseph deigned to say anything remotely kind to him.

“Jury’s still out,” Sylvia said lightly, and then flashed a pretty smile and clapped him on the shoulder. “But don’t worry bud! We’ll get you there eventually.”

John tried very hard to feign polite laughter, but the uneasiness bled through readily—and it was a little satisfying, to see John squirm, to see him out of his element, no longer surrounded by a constant chorus of Yes hitting his dopamine centers nonstop. No wonder the man had a conniption anytime someone dared to dislike him.

“Better get this lady home, she looks like she’s about to fall asleep standing,” Sylvia announced, reaching and giving Elliot a gentle hug. “Night, Freckles.”

“Goodnight.”

John and Sylvia bid each other a pleasant goodbye as Elliot stepped out onto the street, careful to avoid icier parts of the concrete as she made her way to the car. Her brain felt fuzzy—a lot of socializing, a lot of time spent trying not to let John get to her. It had been long enough since she’d had to hold her walls up for so long that she felt exhausted from doing it, even for this long.

Maybe that was his strategy. Wear her down, then swoop in, just like last time.

“Did you have fun?” John asked, and she realized that she was at the car, having climbed into the passenger seat already. He closed the driver’s side door, settling in before carefully beginning to back out of the parking spot.

“I mean, having you loom over my shoulder the entire night was a little odd.”

He made an affronted sound. “I was not looming.”

“You were,” Elliot told him, “a little.” She paused, feeling the exhaustion pulling at the edges of her vision, begging for her to close her eyes—but she couldn’t. Not in the car, not with John driving. If she did, he might just keep driving and not turn back around. “It’s funny—”

“My quote-unquote looming?”

“How much different you are,” she finished, “when you’re not around Joseph.”

John was clearly trying very hard not to look like he was stiffening at her words. Gotcha, she thought, with a little pinprick of pride. Yeah, I didn’t forget. I didn’t forget how much you hated it when I brought him up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” John replied, keeping his voice light. “I’m exactly the way I’ve always been.”

“You haven’t tried to drown me a single time.”

“That time was a miscommunication,” he insisted. “I wasn’t trying to drown you. Just—coerce you. And besides, that’s behind us now. I know you, Elliot Honeysett, intimately, which means such forms of brute persuasion aren’t required.” He paused. “It’s much better when you indulge me willingly, anyway.”

Elliot’s nose crinkled. “You sound fucking nuts when you say that. ‘That one time I thought about drowning you was just a miscommunication’. No wonder Sylvia doesn’t like you.”

“So she told you? That she doesn’t like me?”

He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering over to her, and when he saw the very subtle upturn of her mouth he exhaled out of his nose.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Not necessarily. But if I was—it would be the least you deserve.”

He was different, out from the insane pressure of the cult, out from under Joseph’s thumb. It was like, given room to breathe, he was suddenly relearning what it was like to make his own decision—to exist outside of Joseph. Back in Hope County, John had been fervent in his belief that he owed Joseph everything. Maybe the distance had done him some good.

Don’t, something inside of her insisted viciously, as she turned her attention out to the side of the road where the headlights illuminated snowdrift after snowdrift. Don’t get soft on him. That’s how he got you last time, you know. Don’t let it happen again.

But if he wanted to press the issue about Sylvia—or about her comment concerning Joseph—John seemed to exercise a remarkable amount of self-control and instead focused on driving. In the quiet, without him chattering on about doing things for them or how much he missed our banter, it was almost...Comfortable.

“Finding out the gender,” Elliot said after a moment, the exhaustion now settling like a deep chill in her bones. “Of the baby, I mean. At the next appointment.”

The brunette shifted in his seat. In an attempt at nonchalance, he said, “Oh, yeah?”

What am I doing? she thought. He plays nice for one night. He’s good at that. Short-term goodness.

“I’m nervous,” she added after a moment. “About finding out.”

“Not excited?” John tilted his head.

“No,” she admitted. “Nervous.”

Ahead of them, she saw the dark blur of a figure. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. John was saying something—something about how he’d read a number of books and it was normal to feel nervous, or some other kind of psycho babble—but she shifted forward in her seat, eyes straining to see.

“Slow down,” she said, “I think there’s a dog...?”

“What?” John asked. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

“Just up ahead. Have you not been paying attention to the road?”

He made an indignant sound—“I am the best driver between the two of us, you know,”—but before Elliot could think up a response, the dark, furred creature slowed down ahead of them, stopped in the middle of the road, and turned its head.

The headlights caught it immediately. It was a dog, four-legged and large and shaggy black fur, but when it turned its head, it was a man’s face, the mouth slung open and the gently-rounded teeth of a human’s mouth blaring white in the headlights. Something dark and slick oozed between the teeth, in that split second, she watched the dog-human-creature push off from the ground and stand on its two hind legs.

She screamed, and John swerved, and immediately threw the car into park and slammed his hand on the hazard lights button.

It was dread, pure dread and fear, sending a pulse of adrenaline straight to her brain. Bent over at the waist, Elliot closed her eyes tight, trying to will the image out of her head, out from behind her irises. John had quickly unbuckled and reached over, his hands doing the same to hers.

“Elliot,” he said urgently, fingers pushing the hair back from her face. “Ell, take a breath, come on—sit up, you have to take a breath—”

“Is—is it gone?” she asked, but the words came out closer to a wail, the fear spiking viciously in the timbre of her voice. Please, God, what the fuck, please let it be gone. God, oh fuck, what the fuck what the fuck— “The—the—”

“There’s nothing—?” John stopped. Elliot frantically scrabbled at the high neck of her parka, fingers shaking and clumsy. “Ell—”

“Can’t breathe,” she managed out. “Too hot, can’t—”

The brunette reached over the console and stilled her hands. She was still bent at the waist, but he made do, pulling the zipper of the parka down until she could pull her arms from it; once it had been deposited in the back seat, his hand went to the back of her neck.

She sat up slowly, her eyes immediately making a frantic search of the road. There was nothing. Only quiet snowfall.

“Where—” She paused, swallowing thickly. “Where did it go?”

“Ell,” John murmured, “there wasn’t anything in the road.”

“What do you mean?” she moaned. “I saw it, the—I saw the—”

“You saw...?” he prompted. His thumb swept across the back of her neck, coaxing.

“The dog,” she insisted. “It was a dog, but it had—it’s face was—it was a man’s face, and it f-fucking—it fucking stood up, John!”

He was watching her carefully, his gaze searching her face for a long moment. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t see anything,” he told her. “Just that you—you just screamed, so I pulled over.”

“I’m not crazy,” Elliot bit out, her voice wobbling.

“I know,” John replied plainly. “Maybe it was just—you know. The snow. In front of the headlights.” And then: “Have you really been getting enough sleep, Ell?”

She felt her lip tremble, the desire to cry almost overwhelming. She couldn’t stand it—couldn’t stand John being tender to her, worrying about her, questioning the validity of her saying that she had been sleeping fine because he could see that she couldn’t. He was wretched and wicked and it needed to stay that way.

“Please take me home,” she said finally, re-buckling and rolling the window down to let the cold air on her face. “Please just take me home.”

John waited for a few heartbeats before he turned the hazard lights off and put the Jeep in drive.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he told her after a moment, glancing at her a few times. “I mean it, Ell.”

“Fuck you,” she replied, exhausted and feeling furiously wound up. “Just take me home.”

Get some sleep.

Feel better in the morning.

#my writing #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #ch: helmi #ch: isolde khan #ch: jacob seed #fic: witching hour #she gets a lil face lift #as a treat : ' )#far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed x deputy #fc5 oc #john seed/deputy #normally i would be making more of a commentary in the tags but head empty !!!!#but: thank you thank you anyone and everyone who reads!!! ily!!!!!

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terreisa · 4 years

Text

Love Down the Line: Epilogue

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch. When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept. Unfortunately she isn’t really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma’s teenage fantasies, Killian Jones. With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn’t come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, AO3

~*CS*~

Los Angeles, Three Years Later

“You know, the last time I was here they only gave me those itty bitty bottles of water.”

Killian laughed to himself but kept his eyes trained to his phone. He knew if he looked up the love of his life would be scowling at the unnecessarily large bottles of expensive water lined up along the counter of the green room they were waiting in. Emma Swan was prone to many wonderful things but graciously giving up on a grudge was not one of them.

“The last time you were here you hadn’t won five Grammys in one fell swoop. When I was doing the first interviews with Realm of Jewels we were lucky to get cups of tap water. We thought a slice of lemon was the height of luxury.”

“Yeah, well that was what? Three hundred years ago?” She teased, moving across the room to flop down beside him on the couch with a huff, “They should at least have a water cooler or something. Reusable bottles are the way of the future.”

“First you complain about the water they’re providing and now you’re complaining about the one their not? Can they do nothing to please you?”

He looked over at her with a raised brow and she gave him a smirk.

“They fired Walsh so that’s a step in the right direction.”

“Thank bloody fuck,” he growled, turning back to his phone with a scowl.

Emma had eventually told him the full extent of what had happened the day of her interview with Walsh Hoakley. Not only had the wanker reported gossip as though it were truth, which caused the brief falling out between him and Emma that had made them both miserable, but the berk had hit on her not ten minutes after. When she finally had told him, only a few days after they had reconciled, it had taken an hour for him to calm down and at least a week for her to convince him not to fight her battles for her. The news of Hoakley’s firing less than a year later had been celebrated with a sparkling cider toast.

“So-” Emma peered over his shoulder and he felt some of his tension melt away, “What’s got you paying more attention to your phone than the expensive goodies they’re trying to get on our good side with?”

With a snort he tilted his phone towards her, “Just going over the contract one last time.”

“We have a fancy lawyer for that don’t we?” She asked crossing her arms as she sat back, “And Ruby wouldn’t try to scam you. I mean, look what’s happened since she decided to become my manager instead of staying in my backing band.”

“Well, aside from those five Grammys I mentioned-”

“What?!” Emma’s brows shot up and her mouth dropped open in clearly feigned shock, “I won five Grammys? I had no idea!”

“Hush, love, you deserved them and I’m honored to brag on your behalf,” he chided though he gave her a wink, “Although, I don’t rightly think we can give Ruby the credit for that.”

She scoffed and burrowed further into the couch, “If she hadn’t forced me to let you audition then we wouldn’t have met. Then we wouldn’t have had our grand romance that in turn inspired In the Middlemist and I wouldn’t have won those Grammys.”

“I believe that we would have met eventually, love. If not through our careers then we would have certainly been invited to Ruby’s wedding where I would have been immediately smitten with the blonde in the crimson bridesmaid dress,” he said lowly, pleased to see her cheeks flush.

“And I probably would have freaked out even more meeting you for the first time there than at the studio. You know how much I like seeing you in a suit-” she said huskily, leaning up to press a soft kiss under his jaw. Then she sat back and smiled wide, “Even then Ruby would still be the reason we met. That’s why I dedicated it to her and not you.”

“Is that why? I thought it was because you were still upset with me over the tiny misunderstanding over your choice in vehicle.”

He gave her a knowing look and she glared right back at him. When he raised his brow in challenge she rolled her eyes at him.

“Fine, that was part of it,” she conceded, “But I did mention you in every acceptance speech.”

“Which was wonderful aside from the camera they kept shoving in my face to capture my every proud tear in HD,” he grumbled, remembering the repeated messages from Will that were just the GIF of him crying after Emma had said she loved him onstage holding her third award of the night. He blew out a breath, “As I was saying: aside from all that I will admit that your career has flourished under Ruby’s care. She has become quite the adversary of Regina, stealing her best clients away.”

“Regina’s over it now,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand, “Ever since you reintroduced her to Robin in a non-business setting and then moved to that corner office things have been great.”

Just as he was about to make a somewhat lewd comment as to exactly why both those things would put Regina in a good mood there was a knock on the door. It was opened a moment later by the intern that had initially led them there.

“They’re ready for you, if you’d like to follow me.”

He let Emma proceed him as he stowed his phone in his pocket. She was right, of course, Ruby wouldn’t dream of sneaking in last minute changes to the contract making her his new manager. If anything she would have been fine with a verbal agreement and the promise of making her the godmother of whatever child he and Emma might have. Unfortunately all of their fancy, and expensive, lawyers required things in writing and in triplicate.

The intern led them to a broadcasting studio that looked like every other one he’d ever been interviewed in. One glaring difference, however, was the radio host who squealed when she saw them and practically skipped towards them with open arms.

“Finally, you guys! I’ve been waiting all week for this!”

Emma laughed and accepted the hug easily, “Us too, Tink. Killian’s had it marked in all of our calendars the second Ruby booked it.”

Tink pulled back from Emma and gave him a wide smile, “I’d heard she finally got you to make it official. There’s no stopping her now.”

“As though there was a chance before,” he chuckled. “Lovely to see you again, TInk.”

“If you guys lived here I’d see you more,” she chided gently before stepping forward to wrap her arms around him, “Everyone’s still on for dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Of course, Will wouldn’t let us hear the end of it if we didn’t,” he scoffed, giving her a light squeeze before letting go.

“Great! I still can’t believe he ditched Emma to be in your band,” She said with a laugh, grinning broadly at Emma’s frown. Something over his shoulder caught her eye and she nodded before focusing back on them, “Alright, my producer’s about to throw a fit if we waste any more time. Go ahead and get settled while I do my thing.”

As he and Emma moved to the seats awaiting them Tink bounced over to her chair and donned her headphones. With a bit of awe and intimidation he watched Tink easily slip into performance mode, softening her accent and dialing up her enthusiasm as she introduced herself and the start of her broadcast block. She hadn’t been a DJ for long but he could clearly see she had found her calling. When she teased their interview she gave them an overexaggerated wink that had him stifling a laugh.

After two songs and a small promo of Enchanted’s other stations Tink gave them a thumbs up as her producer let them know that their mics were live.

“That was the latest from The Killers and I don’t know about you but I’m more than ready for their new album to be released. I’m Tink and this is Rock Alt, home to all the alternative rock hits here on Enchanted XM. Today is a very exciting day because in the studio with me, right this very moment, are two people that you should be very familiar with: five time Grammy winner and indie darling Emma Swan and two time Grammy winner and alt rock god Killian Jones. Once upon a time I toured with Emma as part of her backing band and on one of those more memorable tours Killian decided to join us. Welcome, welcome!”

“I can truthfully say we’re excited to be here,” Emma chimed in brightly, her grin wide and happy.

“Yes, thanks for having us, love,” Killian said warmly. “Though I feel it’s only right to mention that those two Grammys were won with Realm of Jewels.”

“Aw, it’s only a matter of time before they’ll be joined by plenty of others, especially with this new album-” Tink waggled her eyebrows and he had a feeling she wasn’t going to go easy on them just because she was their friend. “There’s no question that you two are more than just friendly collaborators, with a couple of writing credits on each other’s albums and a duet on Killian’s acoustic cover album of Realm of Jewels’ greatest hits. We’ve also seen the red carpet photos and Instagram glimpses of your romance.”

He looked over at Emma and received an eye roll in return. When they’d first truly started dating they’d kept it hidden from anyone that wasn’t close friends or family. They had both felt that they wanted to start their relationship without the hounding from the press and scrutiny from the gossip mongers. It wasn’t until nearly a year and a half later, when Emma had clearly been his date to American Music Awards, that they’d gone public. Even then they had both agreed that they’d keep their personal lives as private as possible and continued to do so. Including the fact that they’d been married for two years.

“But now you’ve released a surprise album as a duo,” Tink continued, “going by the name Charles & Leia, which also happens to be the title of the album. It’s amazing by the way and if any of you out there haven’t listened to it yet I suggest you do so, but only after this interview is over, of course. So, how did this come about and why Charles & Leia?”

Emma gave him a shrug and a nod and he leaned closer to his mic, “As you mentioned earlier we’ve been playing together for some time now. After that tour I was a part of we were both starting on our next albums and would often work through arrangements or fine tune lyrics, using the other as a sounding board. This has, as evidenced, continued through the years until one day we thought we might try our hands at creating a whole album together.”

“We didn’t want it to be an album of my songs featuring him or vice versa though,” Emma chimed in. “Then it would have just been the same thing we’d already been doing which would have been fun but kinda boring at the same time. We wanted to challenge ourselves to create something new together from the beginning. Luckily our label was open to the idea and let us run with it.”

“And the name?” Tink prodded.

“A bit of an inside joke, really,” he said with a chuckle, reaching over to clasp Emma’s hand in his, “Whenever we made reservations or had to give a name for whatever reason I used Charles and Emma used Leia. I don’t even remember why-”

Emma snorted, “When he made the reservations for our first date and they asked for a name he panicked. We’d been watching The Crown and he blurted out the name Charles. At least he didn’t completely lose his shit and say Elizabeth.”

Emma’s eyes widened at the curse and clapped her hands over her mouth. Tink waved her hand in dismissal. Not a moment later the producer let them know through their headphones that cursing was fine but to keep it to a minimum if possible.

“Anyway,” Emma said evenly, though her cheeks were pink, “When it was my turn to make reservations I kept it going. Princess Leia was my hero when I was a kid. Still is actually.”

“As she is for us all,” Killian jumped in, “Of course we no longer use those as our aliases but when we were trying to decide how we wanted to present ourselves for this album this seemed appropriate.”

“We also figured it would give people the chance to listen to the songs without already having an idea of what they thought it should sound like because they knew it was us,” Emma explained, “I mean, it’s not like we’re trying to deceive anyone or anything but a lot of times people don’t try something out because they think they know exactly what it’s going to be. I know I’m totally guilty of it sometimes.”

“I’ve been listening to the album non-stop since it came out last week and you’re absolutely right, if I hadn’t already known that it was you two I wouldn’t have even been able to guess. Now, I’ve played alongside both of you and have been a fan of each of your music since both of your beginnings and I have to say, Charles & Leia is nothing like the music you’ve released before. What would you say were the biggest influences on how you approached the creation of this album?”

Killian took a moment to consider Tink’s question. He immediately dismissed sharing the long convoluted answer that began with innocent questions about one another’s past that led to a months long search into the mystery of Emma’s beginnings that came up empty while he nearly spiralled out of control once more over the unhealed pain of his borderline abusive and neglectful father. They were still working through some of those issues in therapy and even with the personal nature of the songs they’d written he didn’t feel it was necessary to elaborate on what the lyrics already implied.

“I can’t speak for Emma but for me it’s a look to the past and what influence it has on the present and the future. Take the title track for instance, my mother was Irish so I looked to the old Celtic folk songs and the instruments used, mimicking the flow of the music before playing around with more modern sounds. The result was entirely unique but still felt familiar, like an auditory deja vu, if you will.”

Tink was nodding furiously while Emma rolled her eyes at him, “I definitely won’t be that eloquent but yeah, we both have things in our past that sometimes takes a toll on who we are today. Our music was already pretty personal. I mean, I’ve written songs about growing up in foster care or when I was in jail but this was something else. Every day when we finished recording whatever song we were working on I felt like I’d been turned inside out and then wrung out but in a good way? It makes no sense but I’ve also never been this proud of one of my albums.”

“Well you should both be damn proud! I may be the tad bit biased but I think this may be the best album to come out this year and we’re only halfway through,�� Tink effused.

“Thank you lass,” he mumbled as he scratched behind his ear at the compliment.

He caught Emma’s eye and she gave him an indulgent smile. She was well aware that sincere praise always tended to discomfit him, as he felt he was undeserving of it, especially when it came from someone he knew well. It was something he was working on getting better at accepting, with her help of course.

“Since the album was a surprise release there hasn’t been any confirmation of a tour yet. Any chance we’ll be seeing you two taking this act on the road?”

“We’re doing a kind of a mini tour on the east coast and then a couple of dates out here,” Emma explained, her eyes sparkling, “We didn’t want to get too ahead of ourselves and book a bunch of dates and then not have anyone show up.”

“I doubt that will be a problem,” Tink dismissed with a bright laugh, “From what I’ve been told nearly every show is sold out. So if any of you listeners out there want to see Emma and Killian perform songs from this brilliant new album I’d say don’t wait to buy your tickets. I already have mine.

“Now, I know this album is only weeks old and you both have flourishing solo careers but I have to ask: can we expect even bigger things from you two in the future?”

With a smile he had no hope of quelling he gave Emma a wink, though he was reasonably sure that it was nowhere near subtle. It didn’t matter though, as no one had a clue what it could mean since she had only shown him the positive pregnancy test earlier that morning. Emma gave him a beaming grin of her own and he kept his eyes on her as he spoke into his mic.

“I think you can, Tink. In fact, I’m quite certain that this is merely the happy beginning of grand things to come.”

#captain swan #cs fan fic #cs fanfic #cs ff #captain swan ff #captain swan fan fic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fan fiction #ouat ff #my writing

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt.10/25

The flat was filled with the melodic sounds of sitar strings, or more accurately, the screeching sounds of sitar strings.

Jaskier still hadn’t gotten the hang of his new baby.

It was a truly beautiful instrument but completely different to his usual stringed instruments. The long neck of the sitar had way more pegs than he used to and he just couldn’t get it to sing like he wanted. He was struggling to play with the microtones that the sitar music was famous for. He would probably have to see if he could find a teacher to help him. That wasn’t going to be easy.

He gently put the instrument back in its case and sat down at his piano instead. His flat wasn’t really big enough to house his baby grand piano but he just hadn’t been able to leave the beautiful instrument behind in the shop. It had called out to him like a siren and he’d been helpless to resist its call.

Of course, he’d probably be able to afford a bigger flat if he managed to stop buying instruments.

He laughed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

His fingers idly pressed the keys without him putting much effort in. He closed his eyes and let the music free from his heart.

School was starting back the next day and he’d been up almost all weekend trying to finish up his lesson plans. He hadn’t meant to leave it to the last minute but time had just gotten away from him and suddenly it was Saturday and he’d not done any work. Luckily coffee and cat naps were his bestest friends in the whole wide world and he’d finally managed to get it all done. Just in time to enjoy his last evening before the kids took over his life once more. His kids were amazing but full of energy and it took a lot out of him to be so switched on all day long. He’d already drafted his email to the parents to send out on Friday evening based on his lesson plans for the week, but he still had Geralt’s left to write.

Not that Geralt received any special treatment or anything.

It was just that he needed to be mindful of Ciri’s special circumstances.

Or at least that was the lie he’d told himself all term.

But at least he still personalised each of the emails a little before sending them out!

And so what he he wrote Geralt handwritten letters more frequently than the other parents.

It wasn’t a crime.

The only crime was Geralt’s ass.

It was to die for.

He groaned and shook his head to try and clear out the thoughts of his love, his fingers slipping on the keys of the piano, but there was really nothing he could do to stop the barrage of Geralt thoughts. Since parents’ evening he’d developed a blooming friendship with Geralt and it was making him feel all sorts of things that he really shouldn’t be feeling if he wanted to keep his job.

They had managed to meet up a few of times over the last half of the school term to discuss Ciri’s progress at school, although Jaskier could count on one hand how many times Ciri’s classwork had actually come up in conversation. Jaskier could never resist flirting with the firefighter which Geralt took in his stride. Although Jaskier wasn’t entirely certain that Geralt even realised he was flirting.

Jaskier was ninety-five percent sure that Geralt was interested in men, and in him specifically. He’d never explicitly said it and there was nothing about their meetings that really screamed anything more than friendship, but every so often Geralt would seemingly flirt back and it floored Jaskier every single time. How was he supposed to handle that? This tall muscular amber-eyed God was actually paying him attention. The small smiles that Geralt gave him made his heart sing, and to the gods when Geralt laughed, he felt his insides turn to mush. Geralt was usually happy to let Jaskier hold most of the conversation, talking about his new instrumental conquests, books he was reading, the beautiful birds he’d seen on the walk to work, but the white-hair man was beginning to open up.

Jaskier had learnt more about Roach, who he’d mistaken for a large dog in Ciri’s drawing. He had, of course teased Geralt over his choice of name but that hadn’t lasted long when Geralt had turned the table on him and asked what Jaskier would call a horse and the only name he could think of was Greg. Geralt offered up a little information about his teammates but notably avoided talking about his childhood. Jaskier couldn’t blame him for that. He had avoided that topic himself.

He knew that Geralt struggled to find time to cook but always made an effort to cook something from scratch with Ciri’s help at least once a week. Their favourite thing to make was pizza, it was also their favourite take-away. He’d learnt that Geralt tended not to watch much tv unless it was with Ciri and the man could tell you far too much about Ciri’s favourite cartoons, which explained his Apple Jack lunchbox. Geralt preferred to read in his free time instead, normally fantasy books, anything with a dragon in. Geralt’s favourite colour was blue which Jaskier adored. He could pretend that the reason was because his eyes were blue. He had filed that information away to fuel several romantic daydreams which ended in a summer wedding.

His fingers began to dance over the keys in a previously unheard melody.

It was beautiful.

“Ah fuck!” He cursed and scrambled to find manuscript paper as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

It was buried in between his lute and his computer. There was barely a spare page in the notebook but he managed to find one in the middle. Once he’d got the melody captured he would copy it over into a fresher, more organised book that held his complete compositions.

He closed his eyes again as he tried to remember precisely what he’d played before but it was missing something. The chords weren’t quite right and it left the piece sounding almost empty and dead.

“Bollocks!”

The moment had passed and his muse had left him.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his recents calls until he found the number he wanted. The phone rang twice before the sweet dulcet tones of his younger cousin sounded in his ears.

“What do you want?” Essi asked wearily.

“Lovely to speak to you too.” Jaskier shot back.

Essi sighed. “I’m working, Dandelion.”

“This late?” He double checked the clock. It was almost nine in the evening but then again she was a professional singer. If she had a gig then it was likely to be later on in the day, and now that he paid more attention he could hear the sounds of a bar in the background of the call.

“Not all of us work nine til five, Dandy.” The old nickname slipped out.

“Essi!” He groaned. “I stopped calling myself Dandelion years ago”

“Says the man that realised an album last spring under the alias of Dandelion.”

“It’s a stage name.” He pouted before he remembered she couldn’t see him.

He heard someone calling her name in the background and she yelled back. He winced as the shout hurt his ears. “I gotta go, did you need something?”

He sighed as he ran his fingers over the keys of his piano without making a sound. He could still hear the notes in his head as he desperately tried to recall the tune he had played before. “I just lost another composition to the cruel winds of time.”

“Who were you thinking about?” She asked and he could picture her easily. One hand on her hip, guitar case slung around her shoulder, long blonde hair falling in front of one of her cornflour blue eyes, eyes they had both inherited from their shared grandfather.

He frowned as he considered her question. “Who said I was thinking about anyone?”

She laughed before shouting again at whoever was trying to get her attention. Jaskier held the phone away from his ear this time. Essi really did have a set of lungs on her. “Dearest cousin. Your first album was all about your failed relationship with Pris. The second album was your failed relationship with Stella, and Valdo’s betrayal by stealing away your true love.”

“Wow. Geez. Thanks Essi. You really know how to build a man up.”

“So what failed relationship is it this time?”

“There is no relationship.” He spat back through gritted teeth, wondering why he even bothered with his cousin sometimes. In many ways she was like his little sister and she never hesitated in telling him exactly what she thought of him.

“Sure, sure. That’s why it’s failed. Look I really have to go. They need me on stage. Don’t be a stranger Dandelion!”

The phone line cut off and Jaskier stared at the phone in his hands.

“Oh cock!” He cursed as he realised she was completely right.

He’d been thinking about Geralt.

He closed the lid of the piano with more force than necessary and moved to sit back down on the sofa. He hadn’t meant to think about Geralt. He’d just been thinking about the work he needed to do for school and his thoughts had drifted to his infatuation on their own accord.

As if reading his thoughts, his phone buzzed signalling he had an email.

From Geralt.

“Oh no. No no no. Can’t do this right now.” He moaned and put his head in his hands, knocking his glasses half off his face. “Can’t I have a moment in peace?!” He asked the ceiling.

It was Sunday. He didn’t have to worry about what to say to Geralt until Friday. That was the rules… unless they had a catch up about Ciri but they hadn’t organised another meeting yet. Yes he missed Geralt desperately but he was aware that that was borderline clingy and he didn’t want to scare the man off, and yet here he was emailing Jaskier out of the blue.

It was probably about the present he’d bought Geralt. It wasn’t much, just a voucher for one of the outdoor activity shops in town and a poem he’d written about Roach.

It was terrible.

He hated it.

“Oh fuck off.” Jaskier groaned at his own thoughts and clicked on the email.

Jaskier,

Sorry for bothering you. I know you’re busy.

I wanted to say thank you for my present. I read Roach the poem. She was very impressed.

Jaskier grabbed a pillow from his sofa and hugged it tightly as he continued to read, feeling very proud of himself.

I am sorry I didn’t think to get you anything from me but hopefully you liked Ciri’s gift.

He had. Ciri had bought him a brand new travel mug. It was covered in music notes just like his mug from the staffroom at school. There had also been a little photo of Roach tucked into the card because Jaskier hadn’t stopped asking Geralt about her.

I need to ask you something. It would probably be better in person or over the phone. I’m not good at emails.

- Geralt.

Jaskier re read the last paragraph twice before hitting the reply button.

He sent Geralt his number before he could change his mind and then threw his phone onto the sofa. The phone barely managed to bounce on the cushions before it started ringing and Jaskier lunged to pick it up.

He clicked to accept the call and all at once he felt lighter than he had in weeks.

“Geralt!” He cried happily. “Hi!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s gruff voice answered. Jaskier felt like he’d turned to goo. The way Geralt said his name never failed to make him feel weak at the knees.

Pull yourself together Jaskier! He chided at himself.

“So, my dear, what was it that you wanted to ask me?” He kept his voice light like his fingers on his lute strings, not betraying the way his heart thundered in his chest.

Geralt grunted on the other end of the line and Jaskier rolled his eyes and smiled. How was it that he even missed Geralt’s ineloquent grunts?

“It’s not a stupid question, Geralt.” He replied. “If you don’t know something then you should ask.”

“I’m not one of your kids, Jaskier.” Geralt huffed.

He laughed at that and put the phone on speaker. His fingers were itching to move and he was getting restless not being able to play whilst holding the phone.

“Yes yes. I know that.” He hummed as he let his fingers trail across the many different instrument cases that were stacked up against the wall. They landed on his lute, an instrument long forgotten to many but one that remained so dear to him. He’d originally started to play the lute because it was different and he liked to stand out. Every musician in the folk scene played guitar or violin or piano.

He didn’t want to be like every other musician.

He wanted to be the best.

So he’d pick up the lute and never looked back. It was an expensive and delicate instrument so he tended not to bring it into school that often but he often found himself playing it at home.

It was also a reminder as to why he’d begun teaching full time. At first he’d only taught guitar and piano whilst he was at university in Oxenfurt to help finance his music career and pay for his rent after he had had a disagreement with his parents. The lute was the first instrument he’d bought for himself after the argument, to celebrate having enough students to finally make it through the month without begging his friends for cash and managing to save for the first time.

Soon after he realised how much he really enjoyed teaching and after graduating with a degree in music, he went on to study teaching. He’d worked as a teaching assistant in Oxenfurt before moving to Upper Posada where he finally had his own class, the Buttercups.

“Have you put me on speaker?” Geralt asked.

“Don’t you have sharp ears?” Jaskier teased his friend, he was sure they were friends. “It’s just me here, I just needed my hands.”

“You needed your hands.” Geralt replied and Jaskier could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

“Not like that!” He cried. “Honestly, Geralt, is that really what you think of me?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I just wanted to grab my lute.”

Geralt laughed. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“Geralt Rivia!” Jaskier exclaimed.

Geralt just laughed in response. It was infectious and soon enough Jaskier was laughing along. Once they’d calmed down he began to strum the strings of his beloved instrument gently, fiddling with the pegs to make sure it was in tune.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject, Geralt.” Jaskier spoke softly as Geralt’s laughter faded away.

“Right.”

“Geralt!” He all but whined. “You said you needed to ask me something. Come on! The suspense is killing me.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll finally get some peace.”

“Now hang on!” Jaskier gasped in offence. “You rang me!”

“Regretting it already.”

“I’ll hang up!” Jaskier warned.

“No. You won’t.”

Jaskier sighed. “No. I won’t, but honestly Geralt. Is something wrong? Not that I’m not delighted to be talking to you, but…”

“But you’re Ciri’s teacher.” Geralt finished.

“Yes.”

It was a topic that had come up a few times. They weren’t doing anything wrong exactly. The friendship that had sparked up between them came as natural as breathing. They argued as if they’d known each other their whole lives, an easy banter that was unpracticed and yet almost flawless. Jaskier was fighting his attraction to Geralt the whole time, and he was sure the other man was doing the same with him but there was still this cloud looming over them. The line between professional and appropriate behaviour between parent and teacher.

He knew teachers and parents had hooked up before. It was scandalous and often the topic of vicious rumours in the staffroom. If it was reported to the headmaster and proven those teachers got in a lot of trouble, some of them were often asked to resign. Jaskier knew his professional relationship with Stregobor was rocky at best. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

But he was falling in love with Geralt, hard and fast.

It had moved beyond infatuation the moment he’d sat in the fire engine and they’d began to talk. The more he learnt about the man, the more he fell in love. Geralt was a complex man. He struggled to express himself and he constantly worried about being a good father to Ciri, but he was kind and loyal to his family. He had a surprisingly quick tongue that never failed to make Jaskier cackle. He wasn’t a pushover either, he was strong-willed and relentless in sticking to his own morals.

His determination to be a good man made Jaskier feel all fuzzy inside.

This strong and handsome man was just a gentle giant, one that could absolutely kill him given the chance, but there was just something about Geralt that made Jaskier trust him.

It was probably those eyes.

He adored Geralt’s eyes.

They were so unusual, like swirling pools of amber brought to life by bright beams of dazzling sunlight.

And that was why it was so important that their calls and meetings had to remain professional.

Without the guise of Ciri or work then their friendship was ruined. Jaskier would fall head over heels in love with Geralt and then…

and then…

He’d have to break it off.

He couldn’t risk it.

Even if there was a chance that Geralt fancied him back.

So he constantly reminded himself that they were friends and managed to frame every meeting or conversation they had as a work based thing. It was imperative that he didn’t forget that.

Friends only, and even then he really should be careful. Tissaia was right. Stregobor was just looking for an excuse to get rid of him and if he was shown to be favouring Geralt ,and in turn Ciri, too much then he might as well start looking for a new job.

He closed his eyes and mentally chastised himself for being a fool.

“So talk to me Geralt.” Jaskier pleaded. “What did you need? Did Ciri say something?”

Geralt just grunted again.

“I told you it’s not stupid.” Jaskier sighed. “It was obviously important to you.”

“It’s for Ciri.” Geralt stated bluntly. All traces of their easy laughter was now gone from his voice.

“Good. I am her teacher, what does she need? Did she say something?” Jaskier’s mind instantly recalled every interaction he’d had with the young ashen-haired girl over the last few days, looking for moments where he might have upset her or said something wrong. He couldn’t think of anything but he could have easily misread the situation.

“We went to Lambert’s for Solstice.” Geralt added.

Jaskier frowned trying to follow Geralt’s train of thought and failing. He stayed silent, waiting for Geralt to find the right words.

“He likes this band and Ciri just started screaming.”

Jaskier felt his heart skip a beat in his chest.

A band.

It wouldn’t be.

It couldn’t be.

Barely anyone even listened to his band. They barely had a thousand views online for their most popular song.

“She swears to the gods it’s you, Jask.” Geralt finished.

Jask.

It wasn’t the first time Geralt had called him that. He hated it. It made his heart do weird things in his chest that was not appropriate when talking to a friend.

He took a page out of Geralt’s book and hummed noncommittally. “Right.”

“And then Lambert pointed out Ciri’s Ukulele teacher is called Priscilla just like Dandelion’s bandmate. I thought it was all just a coincidence, but then I realised, Jaskier, Buttercups.” Geralt added, sounding weary. “Dandelions. All flowers.”

“Ah.”

“Jaskier?”

His fingers stilled on the lute strings. He pressed down with the palm of his hand to dampen the resonating sound. “It’s, well, it’s sort of a hobby?”

“You’re Dandelion?” Geralt stammered.

“Hello?” He tried to joke. “Nice to meet you.”

“Fuck.” Geralt swore loudly. “We all told Ciri she was wrong.”

“And now you’ll have to tell her she was right. That’s embarrassing for you.”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

Jaskier scowled. “Hey! None of that grumpy firefighter stuff. It’s not my fault you didn’t trust your daughter!”

Geralt growled and hung up the phone.

Jaskier gaped at the blank screen.

“Oh no you don’t!” He rang Geralt straight back and to his surprise, he actually picked up.

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier said before Geralt could say anything. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Hmm.”

“Well. I did mean that’s it not my fault and I don’t know why you’re cross that I have a band, but I shouldn’t have said that about Ciri.” He rambled on.

Geralt still didn’t answer. Jaskier had to check the screen to make sure he was still on the line, quickly putting it back onto speaker. “So I’m sorry. I can explain to her tomorrow at school, about the band. Although, you really should be able to admit your mistakes. I know it’s not always easy.”

“Hold on.” Geralt said and then was a thud. Jaskier assumed that was Geralt putting the phone down. He could hear footsteps and the sound of a door opening. He held his breath whilst Geralt did whatever Geralt needed to do.

He picked his lute back up again and began to play. The notes flowed easily this time, the same tune as before. He grinned and scribbled the notes down onto the coffee stained page of manuscript. He got so caught up in the music he didn’t hear Geralt enter the room on the other side of the line, and this time he wasn’t alone.

“Mr Jaskier?” Ciri sounded exhausted. Geralt had probably just woken her up given the time.

Jaskier blushed and thanked Freya that the young girl couldn’t see him.

Ciri wasn’t supposed to know they’d been talking more outside of school in case she got confused or the wrong idea. Why was Geralt involving her?

Unless the wrong idea… was the right idea?

He swallowed nervously.

“Hello Buttercup!” He put on his best teacher voice, smiling brightly even though she couldn’t see him.

“Dad said you needed to tell me something. That it couldn’t wait.” Ciri asked in a small voice. “Did I do something wrong, Mr Jaskier?”

“Of course not Ciri!” Jaskier reassured her. “Geralt just wanted to ask me about the band your Uncle Lambert likes.”

“In the middle of the night?” Ciri groaned.

“Well…” Jaskier searched for a good explanation.

“It’s not as late for adults.” Geralt suggested.

Which wasn’t entirely true. Jaskier had to be up early for work and he was exhausted from his late night the day before. Geralt would have to up early too to get Ciri to school on time. They both needed to get to bed soon but there wasn’t a better explanation.

“Hmm.” Ciri hummed starting to pick up on some of Geralt’s mannerisms.

“Your father said you thought that Dandelion sounded like me?” Jaskier asked cautiously.

Ciri gasped and squealed excitably. “It sounded exactly like you Mr Jaskier! But everyone else said it was impossible and then Dad said my guitar teacher was called Priscilla and Uncle Lambert said a naughty word and apparently you are Dandelion, which I already knew because I’d already told them it was you and then Dad said a naughty word!”

Jaskier chuckled. “I am, indeed, Dandelion.”

“Of course you are!” Ciri answered completely certain in her assessment.

“But I need you to keep that quiet. Have you told any of your friends yet?” Jaskier asked.

“You have to speak, Ciri, he can’t see you.” Geralt answered softly.

“Nope.”

Jaskier sighed in relief, his band wasn’t exactly child friendly and he didn’t want it getting out that he’d inadvertently taught his whole class how to swear like a sailor. “Can you keep it to yourself, Ciri?”

“Yes, but why?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier ran his hand through his hair as he tried to think of a good way to explain. “Umm….”

“The band is something Mr Jaskier does outside of school. It’s good to keep work and play separate, Princess.” Geralt answered for him.

“Will you still play for us?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier laughed. “Of course I will, Ciri. It wouldn’t be Buttercups without song time!”

Ciri seemed to consider that. “Good. Dara likes it. Everyone else assumes he can’t listen to music but he can. Dara said he can hear it through the vibe…vibe—”

“Vibrations?” Jaskier suggested.

“Vibrations!” Ciri agreed “and he can still understand the words. He likes that you don’t treat him differently.”

Jaskier almost sobbed. That was probably one of the sweetest things his kids had ever said to him.

“I’m tired now. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight Mr Jaskier, Goodnight Dad!” He heard Ciri’s footsteps patter away.

“Fuck me.” Jaskier sighed and Geralt chuckled. “She’s a good kid.”

“The best.” Geralt agreed. “I should go too.”

“No hanging up this time?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt hummed in response.

“Goodnight, Geralt. Sleep well.”

“Night, Jaskier.”

Jaskier hit the end call button, his hands shaking in his lap.

“Fuck me…” He repeated under his breath and rubbed his eyes, smearing his glasses.

Geralt Rivia was going to be the death of him, and he would die happy.

______

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