#I think of it every time I see one of those soap dispensers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

piko-power · 2 years ago

Text

Not Again - Act 3 - Supervision

Next chapter is up! The Wachowski household is doing pretty well, even with a totally not overprotective hedgehog keeping an eye on a certain sheriff.

THIS SONIC MOVIE FANFIC IS BASED ON A HEADCANON OF MINE. I WOULD FLIP OUT OF THIS ACTUALLY BECOMES CANON. XD

"A blue hedgehog watching his every move is exhausting, all Tom wanted was to get out of the house. But Maddie has a plan."

A twig crashed onto the grass, then was quickly carried by mouth by Ozzie. He ran up to Tom, who retrieved the stick. "Good job, buddy! Aw, feels great to finally play with ol' me after a while, huh?" Tom said, scratching the dog's ear. He sticks his tongue out, happy to see his best friend being active again.

"WHOA WHOA WHOA!" Sonic ran through the back porch to snatch the stick out of Tom's hands. "Sonic, what are you-?" "Be careful, Tom!" He said. "You could've got a splinter!" The sheriff sighed and shook his head. "Sonic, relax. I'm fine."

"Yeah, I know." Sonic examined Tom's hand, and then the stick, to make sure there are no sharp edges. "And… You're good!" The space hog gave Tom back the stick. "Uh… Thanks?" "No problem, Donut Lord!" He gave him a thumbs up and a wink. "Anything for my best friend! Now, you may now resume your fetch game thingy!"

Sonic then ran back into the house in a blink of an eye. Tom stared down at the stick, and Ozzie tilted his head and whimpered in confusion.

Tom opened the bathroom door, rubbing his hand against his T-shirt. Sonic then suddenly zipped right in front of him, stopping him right in his tracks. "Wait a second! Did you wash your hands?" He asked, pointing at said hands. "Yes, Sonic. I always wash my hands after I-" "Are you sure?" The hedgehog interrupted. "How many times did you push that soap dispenser thingy?" He then points at the bottle of soap on the sink. "…Two times?" Tom replied slowly.

Sonic then lets out an dramatic gasp. "TWO TIMES?! That's not nearly enough soap to get rid of those disgusting germs!" Sonic then grabbed the bottle and made it spit out a big pile of soap onto Tom's hands in a matter of milliseconds. The bottle is now completely empty and the soap is bubbling and dripping away from Tom's hands.

"There we go! All nice and clean! No need to thank me." Sonic beamed a grin as Tom stared as his soap covered hands in disbelief. "Maddie? Could you add soap to the shopping list? …Again?"

The sheriff, relaxed on the dining chair, read the headlines on the most recent newspaper. He was about to turn the page when- "WHOA WHOA HANG ON SLOW DOWN!" Tom jumped from his seat and looked over to see Sonic, who slammed his hands on the table. "WHAT? What is it?" Tom asked, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I don't want you to get a paper cut!" Sonic cried.

"Sonic, I'm not going to get one, at least if you didn't scare me like that!" "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm just looking out for you." Sonic patted the sheriff's hand. "Turn the page slowly." He said. Tom sighed, but followed his orders either way. He began to turn the page at a slow pace. "Slower." Sonic lectured. He then turned the page even slower. "Slower." Sonic loudly repeated himself.

It took him almost ten seconds to fully turn the page without "getting a paper cut." Then, Sonic smiled, relieved to see his friend okay. "Phew!" He wiped the sweat off his forehead. "That was a close one!" "Uh-huh…" Tom grumbled.

A pink box of a dozen donuts lay by themselves on the kitchen counter. Tom peeked his head out and scanned the room, looking for any sign of a blue speedy hedgehog. He cautiously made his way to the counter, still looking around.

The coast is clear he thought to himself as he was about to open the lid when suddenly, a white gloved hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him from opening the box. He screamed. "What do you think you're doing, Tom?" Sonic asked before grabbing the box and kicking it hard to the wall. Tom gasped, hands covering his mouth.

"From now on you're sticking with healthy foods! It'll be an adjustment but you'll get used to it." He said as he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. "Here ya go!" Tom kept staring at the box of what is now full of destroyed donuts. Then, he looked down at a hand offering him an apple. "If it makes you feel any better I'll still call you the 'Donut Lord.'" Sonic added.

Tom sighed, knowing Sonic won't take no for an answer and took the apple from him. "Thanks…" He mumbled. "You're welcome!" Sonic beamed before walking away with a smile on his face. Tom sat down and took a bite of the apple. "This is getting out of hand." "Sonic kicking a box of donuts to the wall takes it too far?" Maddie said, walking into the room crossing her arms. "You don't understand." He points at Maddie with a cold look on his face. She laughed. "Whatever you say."

"WAIT! YOU'RE NOT ALLERGIC TO APPLES ARE YOU?!" Sonic shouted from across the room. "NO, SONIC!" Tom yelled back. "I'M NOT!" "OKAY! JUST CHECKING!" The attic door then closed after Sonic's response. Maddie approached the sheriff and leaned against the counter. "You do have a point though." She added.

"Not trying to be rude, but… He's getting kind of… Overprotective on you." "You think I don't know that?" Tom said, placing down the apple. Ever since breakfast Sonic has been checking up on Tom non stop. Constantly making sure he's not hurt or in danger. Sonic has never acted like this towards him before.

It's really concerning to see him like that. Tom and Maddie just hoped that it will all blow over eventually. He looked up to the Pretzel Lady. "You think… you could keep an eye on Sonic for a little while?" "Sure. You going somewhere?" She asked. "I was thinking about heading to Wade's place and pay him a visit." He quietly said. "I haven't seen him since that night at Sweet Dream. …When I got hurt."

Wade was worried sick about him since that night, and he should really check up on him. He wasn't the only one who was worried about his friend. "I responded to his messages last night, but that's pretty much it. Plus, his mother was SUPER worried about me, so… Hopefully Sonic won't notice that I'm gone, otherwise he would go CRAZY." He said.

"Well… I can say that this won't last forever." Maddie said. "But it will take a while for him to let it go." "Yeah, yeah…" Tom sighed, poking at the apple. "I'm just so concerned whenever he checks up on me like that. Even when it comes to simply reading a newspaper, he's gotta make sure I don't cut my finger." He let out a weak chuckle. "It's really not like him. At all."

"We'll do what we can to be there for him. Even if one of us are not really here."

"Even so, that's the problem. He nearly lost me and…"

"I know…" She patted his shoulder. "Things will get better." Tom nodded slowly, looking down. "Power Bump on it?" Maddie holds out her fist to him.

A Power Bump.

A sweet little tradition that Sonic came up with from a few months back.

A sign of an unbreakable promise.

Tom smiled. For real this time.

"That's more like it." Then, both of their fists meet. Hope never felt closer to them now.

It never felt so relaxing to finally feel the nice September breeze hit his face as Tom opened the front door. It felt like forever since he was stuck in his house, with a small hedgehog keeping an eye on him.

He walked down from the porch to his truck, getting ready to visit Wade. He pulled out his keys… Except he didn't. "Wha-?" His hand contained no keys at all. Did he misplaced them? Are they in the other pocket? "Where are my-?" "Looking for these, Donut Lord?" Tom turned around to see Sonic by the door, twirling the car keys with his finger and a smirk on his face.

"Oh, my God…" He face palmed.

"Sonic! Give them back, now!" He called out. "Nope! Not gonna happen!" Sonic shook his head. He then threw the keys in the air before catching them and stuffing them in his quills. "I don't want to risk you getting involved in an accident." He continued. "It's best if you stay home."

"Sonic, please! I need those keys so I can visit Wade!"

"If you really want to talk to Wade so badly why won't you just call him?"

"I want to visit him in person."

"Then use video chat!"

"Do you even know what 'in person' means?"

Maddie watched as the boys continue to bicker. She sighed. "Time to call in the big guns…" She said to herself walking out of the living room.

"Sorry Tom, but I am not giving you the keys! You are staying here under my supervision!" Sonic cried out. "Under your supervision??" Tom said. "Sonic, I can take care of myself. Besides, my arm is feeling a lot better than last time and-" "Good! This argument is over!" Sonic walked back inside the house, leaving behind a very speechless sheriff. "For the love of…" He rubbed his face, trying to keep his cool.

"Hey, honey!" Maddie exclaimed, approaching the hedgehog. "How are you doing?" "Doin' pretty good. Saved Tom's life again, as usual." He beamed up a heroic grin. "Hey, do you wanna, oh I don't know, chat for a bit?" Maddie placed her hand on Sonic's back. "I mean, unless you're busy, then that's completely fine, but if you want to talk I'm right here!"

"Uh… Sure." He awkwardly responded. "I'm free to chat!"

"What do you wanna talk about?" She asked, as she and Sonic both walked to the living room. "I don't know." He shrugged. "Well, we can talk about anything! Like cars, or sports, or dogs… Or maybe birds?"

"I guess…?" He shrugged once more. "I think cardinals are beautiful, but what do you think?" She asked. "What do I think? Uh… Yeah, I think their pretty neat." Sonic said.

"I meant, what's your favorite bird?" Sonic blinked for a minute, thinking really hard on the question. He doesn't know a lot about birds but he's seen a lot of them before. Though, he always thought owls are majestic and wonderful.

Just like Longclaw.

"My favorite bird… I guess my favorite bird would be owls. Does that count?"

"Of course! I think owls are lovely." She added. "Yeah. Me too. They remind me of someone I once knew…" He said before looking down at his shoes. "You probably might've heard of her, maybe…" "…Longclaw?" "…Uh-huh." He nodded slowly.

"She seemed lovely as well." She softly said, sitting down on the couch next to Sonic. "She took care of me ever since I was a baby. She was basically Obi-Wan Kenobi. If Obi-Wan Kenobi had a beak and ate mice." They both chuckled.

"But seriously though, she was amazing." He continued. "She always had my back no matter what, and we sometimes like to play little games and watch the sunset together. She was like a…" For a moment, Sonic's smile faded away and his eyes lowered. "…She was like a mother to me…" He whispered, hoping Maddie didn't hear.

But she did, and he knew.

She exhaled through her nose, and stroked Sonic's back slowly. "She means a lot to you, doesn't she?" "Yeah…" He rubbed his arm. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His ears pinned back, unsure if he wanted to. He looked up to see the Pretzel Lady's sweet, lovely smile. A very motherly smile too. Nearly reminding him of Longclaw's smile. He then looked over to see her hand resting on his shoulder, gently stroking it.

He has sort of told Tom about what happened with him and Longclaw back from his childhood, but it was months ago. Maddie only knew so much about Longclaw, but if she really wants to know then he suppose he doesn't have a choice.

After all, this isn't the first time a motherly figure sat down next to him, talking to him with a gentle smile on her face. He misses this. Very much.

"If you don't want to talk about it, that is completely fine-" NO! No! It's okay! We can talk about it!" He said. "But I think it's best if we talk in private." He then points to Ozzie, who is sleeping on his little bed. Maddie chuckles. "Okay, sweetie. How about we go talk in your room?" "I don't mind!"

She rubbed Sonic's quills, causing him to laugh. Unbeknownst of him, she was checking his quills for car keys. As much as Maddie hates lying, she needed her husband to check up on his friend. At least she can hear Sonic's laughter again after a while.

She then quickly hid the keys in her pocket before Sonic can notice. They both got up from the couch. "Maddie, can you make sure Tom is doing alright?" Sonic asked. "Sure thing honey." She said. "Just head to your room and I'll meet you there."

Sonic understood and zipped straight to his bedroom. She check to make sure Sonic is not watching from upstairs and quickly ran to the front door and out on the front porch. "TOM!" She cried out his name and threw the keys to him. He caught them mid air. "Thanks Maddie! I'll be back in an hour or so." "Okay!" She said before going back inside.

She stopped herself. She sighed and turned back around to see Tom, who is now in the car, starting the engine. "Tom?" She cried out his name again. His head peeks out from the window. "Yeah?"

"...Please be careful."

Sonic may have been a little crazy over nearly losing his sheriff, but at least Maddie is handling it well. But it doesn't mean her worries will go away either. She knows that he's okay, but even she won't forget that night. Tom smiled. "I will."

His head goes back in before he backs up, preparing to drive away. Maddie's smile returned as she walked back inside the house and closed the door behind her.

Then, she locked it. "Just in case…" She said to herself before going upstairs to meet up with Sonic.

To be continued...

Looks like we're gonna get some nice mother and son fluff soon! This chapter was a little silly, thought we needed some comic relief before we continue with the angst. *Evil laughter*

-Next Chapter

#sonic wachowski #tom wachowski #maddie wachowski #sonic movie fanfiction #my fanfiction #sonic movie 2020

11 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

Text

smoke and fire (04b)

word count; 7050

summary; you wait hours for news on the young boy, and when the results are finally in, it looks like a breakthrough with thomas might be on the horizon.

notes; this is the second half of part four since it got so long, hope you guys enjoy!

warnings; reference to injury.

Trying to make yourself a little calmer, and distract yourself from how you were feeling, you peeled the gloves from your hands, dropping them in the nearest trash can and searching to find some toilets. The mirror did not offer you a reflection you were proud to see, tear-stained cheeks that cut through sweat-caked dust in tracks, messy hair and red eyes; like picturesque misery.

There was blood on the clean fabric of your button-up shirt, and your medical bag held little that would be able to help, but you were sure you could at least make a start. Holding your hand under the dispenser for soap, the soft humming made by the machine as it deposited a small pile of foam into your hand was enough to break the rigid silence, and you let out a slow breath. Logically, you knew it wasn’t your fault that he was injured, the boy was almost an adult, he was old enough to make his own decisions, and yet you’d let yourself become attached, you’d tried to offer him advice that had backfired, and so you couldn't help but feel partly responsible.

The water ran pink as your skin was cleared, before shaky fingers were coming up to undo the buttons along your top. The long-sleeve top worn underneath wasn’t the warmest of items, but it was better than sitting in a blood-soaked shirt, and so you folded the crisp white uniform up carefully, tucking it into your bag and letting out a sigh. With hands cupped under the cold water tap, you let your palms fill, before leaning over the sink and splashing your face carefully with the water, rubbing away the grime and salt present on your skin until it felt fresh and clean once again.

Your eyes were still lined with red and your throat was still raw, but both of those would begin to fade as you finally began to get a hold of yourself once again. Your head was hurting, both inside and outside, the tight ponytail your hair was pulled up into made your scalp ache as you released it, and you rubbed your fingers gently through the strands to try and soothe that pain, making a note to find some water for your oncoming headache soon.

Finally, it was enough, hair flailing loose around your shoulders once again and skin clean, at least feeling a little more comfortable than you had, and as you patted down the pockets of your bag, you found your phone again, grateful that Newt must’ve tucked it in there when he’d gone back to the van for you, because you were sure you’d left it on the dash. There was a text from Newt, just having arrived back at the station, saying that he'd spoken to Vince and everything was cleared up, while Brenda had also left a text saying she was hoping that both you and the boy were okay.

A voice cleared in front of you, snapping your attention away from where you were trying to think of how to reply, clicking your phone off and looking away to find the source of the disturbance. Allison was standing before you, a gown on her body and a scrub cap on her head, but she’d shed the mask and gloves, for now, smiling a little as she began to undo the ties behind her back and neck.

“I came to give you a little update about what’s going on.”

“Already? It’s only been, what, forty minutes?” Panic flared up inside of you once again at the speed at which she was emerging, but the soft smile and a chuckle she gave to you was reassurance enough.

“Don’t worry, the kid is doing alright. Doctor Hale is great at his job, and it’s all going smoothly.” You rubbed your hands down along your pants, clearing sweaty palms and standing up to be the same height as her. “He’ll be going into the ICU after this, so why don’t you walk with me now and I’ll take you up to that waiting room, it's a little more comfortable and private than the corridors.”

“He’s going to be alright, then?”

“He’s going to be just fine.” She confirmed, waiting a second for you to grab your bag and swing it onto a shoulder, before she was setting off through the halls again, guiding you as she made her way towards the elevator. “He lost a fair amount of blood, but we’ve got him on some bags now, and his levels are steadying again, he’s starting to get some colour back, so we’re happy with that process, and his heartbeat is stronger.”

You watched as she pressed the button to signal the machine, silver doors reflecting back at you, and you felt positively exhausted as you slumped upon hearing the good news, tensions and adrenaline finally being able to slip away. “What about his legs?”

“Well, we won’t know much about any of it until he wakes up, and we can test his response to stimulus when the drugs in his system wear off and we can replace the anaesthetic with general medication, but the shattered leg has been set and is due to be wrapped in a cast, it’s all we can do, but it isn’t looking the best on the outcome.”

You winced, knowing there was nothing more you could have done, but you still hated to know what the repercussions might be. The elevator ride was silent, as was the walk to the waiting room, and yet none of it was uncomfortable, she was simply a companion at your side who had brought you a little peace, and when you were of a more stable and clear mindset next time, you’d thank her properly for being so kind to you, and make a better effort to get to know the nurses here, but right now, you didn’t have the right headspace for anything other than taking it ten minutes at a time.

“There’s not much more we can do now, it’s all about recovery, really. You did some great work out there, we’ve cleaned and applied new stitches to his wounds, I did it myself, and I promise they won’t burst any time soon.” You nodded your head, trying to absorb all the information that you could, but your mind was spinning, only focusing on the fact that he was going to be okay. “We’ll keep him in the hospital for a while, and check on him, his head has been patched up, luckily it was a crack and it hadn't splintered, so we’re happy with that.”

“When he comes out, will I be able to see him?”

“Yes, you can.” She turned to smile at you now, holding the doors open to a much nicer, and empty waiting room, you being the only person here, nobody flying past busily, phones ringing and conversations being had, it was calm and serene, and exactly what you needed. “Doctor Hale is going to come and talk to you more comprehensively himself while they get him all set up, and it shouldn’t take too long for the anaesthetic to wear off. As soon as he wakes up, we can get him started on some real painkillers that won’t knock him out.”

“Excellent.” You sighed, brushing yourself off for invisible dirt a story anxiety took over, before looking back to her. “Thank you so much, I can’t even tell you how much it all means to me.”

“It’s no trouble, truly.” She placed a comforting hand on your arm, squeezing lightly. “You’re one of our own. Derek, uh, Doctor Hale, he feels like he really owes the fire department, so he would do pretty much anything for you all. House ‘21 was one of the firehouses involved in saving his family when there was a house fire. He has a big family, and he almost lost them a few years ago, this is the least he can do, he feels.”

You had no idea, you’d never been anywhere long enough to reap the seeds of good acts so far down the line, but you felt proud just to be able to associate yourself with the team, to be a member of Firehouse ‘21, even if you hadn't been there for that event. They were a great team, a wonderful group of people, and you were proud to be associated with them. You weren’t sure how long it would last, but for the first time in a long time, your first thought wasn’t the next immediate escape route.

“I’m going to head back in there, now. It shouldn't be much longer.”

You nodded, watching as she walked away, and leaving you alone in the peacefulness of the waiting room. There was a table, stacked up with magazines and a water machine in the corner, chilled and humming slowly, and you made your way over towards that firstly. Taking one of the flimsy little cups, you held it under the nozzle, pushing on the button of the cold water, and watching as it filled up, the temperature making your fingers cool as it moved toward the top.

Taking it back over to one row of chairs, they were much more comfortable than the others, the hard plastic being replaced for soft cushioning, warm and inviting, and you slumped down into it. Shuffling through your bag, you were grateful to find the half-used try of painkillers you'd hidden in there for personal use, thanking a past version of yourself for thinking ahead, and popping two of the small tablets out, placed on your tongue and reaching for the cup. Several swigs of the water, until the cup was empty, washing them down and enjoying the cool feeling washing along your throat and soothing the burn, and you felt a little more refreshed immediately.

This time, as you filled it up, you took a moment to observe the room you were in. A small, ornamental water fountain sat on one of the counters, soft sounds of trickling water as you neared it, and it was relaxing just to be around, stacks of little pebbles to create a water fountain, and blue lights to make the pool of water seem clearer, you lips flicking up at the sides. There was a radio, it wasn’t turned on and you didn’t intend to do so, but you admired its place here, the room filled with things all around so that there was something to calm and relax every type of person, no matter what their comfort was, and as you settled back down into the seats, you found you weren't quite so stressed anymore.

Producing your phone from your pocket once again, you sipped at your water, the headache you had finally beginning to recede, and you replied to Brenda, a thumb swiping rapidly across the screen as you thanked her for her concern, and gave her an update that he was due out of surgery any time now. You replied to Newt too, once again thanking him profusely, as yet another batch of unrelated guilt began to make itself known, surfacing as you realised you’d just abandoned your partner to do all the work.

Neither of them replied, both messages being left on ‘read’, and you simply hoped that they were having fun with the team, getting to relax and destress after a long day, and they weren’t torturing themselves in the same way that you were.

The elevator chimed, not too far away, the other end of the corridor, and you paused. Following it, there was the sound of wheels, moving along the corridor, squeaking a little as a bed rattled, before fading away, and your heart leapt in your chest as you resisted the urge to stand up and look out, staying sat where you were. Your suspicions were confirmed, however, when the doors opened up, the doctor who you’d seen only a couple of hours ago appearing once again, and you pushed yourself up to your feet as fast as you could, meeting the doctor, who looked a little frazzled and worn out, but optimistic nonetheless.

“Doctor Hale, hi.”

He smiled a little, ducking his head. “You can call me Derek. I’m not your doctor.” Your cheeks heated a little bit, mumbling his name as you grew used to the feel of it in your mouth, and he cleared his throat. “So, you ready for that update?”

“Absolutely.” You confirmed, and he turned his body, placing a hand on your lower back and guiding you back towards the doors.

“How about I tell you on the way to the coffee machine, because I’m desperate for a double espresso, three times over.” You grinned, laughing lightly as you agreed, just the thought of such a drink making your mouth water, and you grabbed at your bag, swinging it onto one arm and letting it dangle as you followed behind him. He held the door open for you, guiding you through the halls, and you followed after him, falling into a comfortable pace beside one another. “First of all, do you happen to know his name? We can’t get anything up on file, and we can’t put him on medications until we know if he has allergies.”

“All I know is that he’s called Aaron, I think. He’s been here before, though, should be on file. I brought him in a couple of weeks ago for the injuries on his stomach.”

The man beside you nodded, taking the pen from his pocket and writing down the name on the back of his hand. “Alright, well, I’m pretty optimistic about how Aaron is doing. He’s all set up in an ICU room now, and as soon as he starts to come around, we can let you in to visit him. While you’re in there, we need you to try and get some contact details, his parents, anything like that, so we can try and get him on file, if we can’t find him in the system, but we have a lot of Aarons’.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“His leg is now in a cast, we set it as best we could, but there was more damage along his spine, so I’m not overly optimistic about that. I don’t know how bad the paralysis will be, but there’s definitely going to be some loss of movement there, he won’t make a full recovery, not from a fall like that with his injuries.” It wasn’t a surprise, you had been anticipating the worst, and so far, everything beyond being told he didn’t make it was just a blessing. Stopping before the coffee machine beside a nurses desk, the screen flashed to life as he swiped his card through the holder, greeting him with his ID on screen, and he began to program a selection of shots and syrups into the blend. “What are you having?”

“Oh, I don’t have a-”

“My treat, let me buy you a coffee. I get a doctor discount on it anyway.” You couldn't resist the charming smile he gave you, shrugging a little and laughing under your breath. “Alright, Derek, surprise me. I’m not that fussy.”

“I take that as a challenge.” He confirmed, setting to work on making your brew, and as the machine hummed to life, he returned to the topic of your patient. “We pumped his stomach, we ran a few tests and flushed his system out. You might not like me too much when I tell you this, but with the contents of his stomach and the harm he got into as a minor, with nobody here to explain it, I have contacted the police and child authorities.”

“I don’t blame you, Doc. I really don’t. All I want for this kid is the best in life, I encouraged him to get out of that whole gang-lifestyle, I feel responsible for him even being here, and I-” You cut yourself off as you realised you were rambling, your lips pursing shut, and the coffee maker beside you beeped. He grinned, picking up the second coffee and handing it over to you, but only after pressing a plastic lid onto the top of the coffee cup. Bringing it up to your nose, the sweet smell of delicate spices and warm coffee filled your nose, and you hummed happily at the delicious blend. “Thank you.”

“Just so you know, you saved that kid’s life. You brought him here and he’s safe, you’ve done the best you can, and you did great.” You sighed, blowing at the steam on your coffee and taking a moment, a few deep breaths, settling yourself in the moment. “When he wakes up and starts to surface, we’ll let you know. If you give me your details, I’ll keep you updated on how he does.”

“Sounds like you’re asking me for my number there, Doctor Hale?”

“I thought I told you to call me Derek.” He beamed, both of you knowing it was only a joke, before he was holding the pen from the pocket of his coat out for you and grabbing a piece of paper from the nurses stand. Placing down your coffee, you wrote down your name and number, handing it back over to him, and he looked at it for a moment, repeating your name, before putting it into his pocket. “You can head on back to the waiting room, and I’ll come and get you in a little while when he’s awake, and we’ve got him on something to keep the pain off.”

The device on his belt beeped, calling him away to another case, and he was leaving, a wave on his fingers as he picked up his coffee, and you were left to try and navigate your way back to the waiting room alone.

There were signs up along the walls, but every turn you took felt more confusing, muted coloured walls and total silence feeling more like your new norm as you navigate the maze of pathways, letting out a relieved sigh as you finally caught sight of the same doors you’d come through earlier. There was movement behind them, your heart sinking a little as you realised the peaceful loneliness you had was broken, but you knew other people would be here to visit their families.

Your bag would still be laying on the floor, where you’d left it before leaving to find coffee, and as you made you way back along, the people behind the glass became a little clearer. Blond hair, brown hair, strawberry and jet black. Pushing the door open, your jaw dropped a little as you looked across the group, all eyes turning to face you, and your heart raced in your chest.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re pausing movie night!” Chuck was almost yelling, his enthusiasm getting the better of him, and several members of the team shushed him, while others snickered. “Sorry. We’re pausing movie night.”

“I see that, but, uh, why?”

A few looks were shared among the team, and Newt sighed, standing to his feet from where he’d been lounging in your chair. “Because we’re your team, and we care about you. You’re here for the kid, and we’re here for you.”

He took your coffee from your hands, sniffling it, and winking a little before raising it up to take a sip. His eyes widened a little, before he was gulping down another mouthful, and you snatched it back with a protesting noise.

“That’s good coffee. Where can I get one of those?”

“Doctors only.” You mumbled, a sweet smile on your lips as you took a sip, and he stared at you for a second.

“Are you telling me you made a friend other than me? You really are getting comfortable here.”

You shook your head, pressing it back into his hands after another mouthful of coffee, gifting it to him. Brenda was holding her arms out to you, a sweet smile on her face as you paused for only a second, before falling into her arms and letting her wrap you up tightly. The moment you squeezed her back, there was another body wrapping around you, making the pair of you giggle as Chuck joined the hug, and you whined at the overwhelming heat that was encasing you when Newt joined in too.

Elbowing yourself free, you wriggled out, popping free and finding the rest of the team still wearing sweet smiles, all standing around and waiting patiently. “Thanks for coming, you guys, it really means a lot to me.”

Settling down with the company of your team, Newt slumped beside you, a backpack of his own on the floor, and he picked it up, roping it down on your lap, and the weight of it winded you a little.

“What was that for?”

“I brought you the clothes from your locker.” You raised a single brow, opening the bag and finding your hoodie and leggings inside, as well as your more comfortable trainers than the ones you wore to work, a little sigh leaving you. “Figured you’d want to be comfy, and you smell a little bit musty and bloody.”

Lifting the edge of your top to your nose, you took a whiff, faint traces being picked up, nothing overwhelming, but it certainly was present. Everybody else had changed their clothes as they left their kit at work, or went home to shower, but no matter what, you appreciated it all.

“So, you gonna’ give us a little update on the kid?”

“Oh, yeah.” You wiped at your nose, feeling yourself get a little emotions, before pulling one leg up under yourself and turning to face him. “So, he’s doing alright. They’re worried about his legs, and they pumped his stomach, but they’re confident about his recovery and they’ve put a cast on his leg. He’s out of surgery now, they’re waiting for him to wake up.”

“What about his parents? They got in touch with them, right?”

“They haven’t got any information on him yet.” You sighed, rubbing at your forehead. “They want me to go in and ask him to give up his information as soon as he wakes up.”

“Well, look alive, because here comes a white coat with determination. A good looking one at that, dark hair, tall, I would be all over that if-”

“Newt!” You hissed, the door opening, and he laughed himself into silence as he brought the coffee to his lips. Standing up, you gave him the bag back, making sure to drop it into his lap with equal the force he’d dropped onto yours, and he spluttered a little, glaring at you and kicking his leg out at you as you walked to meet the doctor. “He’s awake?”

“Yes, he is.” Derek spun on his heel, the two of you walking away towards the main doors, and you turned over your shoulder to scowl at your partner for the kick, a sugary-sweet and sly grin on his lips as you scoffed. “A lot of your friends have shown up, huh?”

“They’re my team, they came to support me.”

“Hey, I think it’s sweet.” He shrugged, guiding you along the halls. “So, he’s in a little pain, nothing awful yet as he’s still waking up, so he’s a sort of woozy. Focus on asking him his last name, if we can pull up his account we can see his allergies and get him some meds, but if he doesn't want to give it up, we need to know about the medicines.”

“What do I tell him when he starts asking questions?”

“We’re going to test his reflexes as soon as we get his medicine sorted but before it kicks in, though they may not be fully comprehensive on the total movement and reflex he can get back.” He stopped outside of the door, and peering in through the glass, you could see the young boy. The hair from the top of his head was shaved away, around the sides too, black locks were gone and bandaging wrapping his head. He was clad in a gown, and the blankets were tucked up around his body, staring up at the rod as he frowned, looking entirely displaced. “Press the button on the side of his bed when you’re ready for us to come in, I’ll wait at the nurses’ station.”

“Thanks, Derek.”

He dipped his head in a nod, taking a step back, and you entered the room. He lifted his head slowly, confusion on his features for a second as you clicked the door shut, before he was huffing again.

“Hey, kiddo, how you feelin’?”

“I don’t know.” He mumbled, words a little slurred, and you took a seat beside his bed, pulling the chair over, and his head rolled from one side to the other, cheek pressing to the pillow to look at you, but his gaze was unfocused. “My arm is itchy.”

“That’s just your drip line for meds, you’ll be fine.” He made a shocked face, as though you’d reveal the secrets of the universe to him, before his face was screwing up again.

“I hurt a bit too. Everywhere.”

“I know, and we can get you some meds, alright?” He nodded his head, silence falling around you both again, and he was using one hand to scratch at the bedding, toying with the loose thread in the beige blanket, and sighed. “You gonna’ tell me your last name, so we can get you registered and checked in on the system?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll call my foster parents.” Your heart stopped for a moment in your chest, and just when you thought it couldn't get any worse for him, you found out the poor kid was in the system, no wonder he’d turned to family wherever he could get it. “I don’t want them to know.”

“Don’t you think they’re worried? You’re going to be here for a while.”

“They’ll be disappointed in me.” He whispered, and you reached out, taking the young boy’s hand in your own, and squeezing lightly. “They’ll bring my little sister, she thinks I’m brave and strong.”

“And she’ll still think that!” He huffed, rolling his eye sin denial and tuning to stare back up at the ceiling. “I get how it feels to not want to let someone down, and to feel alone. I have moved between so many firehouses to find my home, and I’m still looking. I have, like, no friends outside of work.”

“What about your blond friend?”

“He’s a work friend, that doesn't count.” You teased, and he turned to look at you again.

“Do you hang out outside of work?” You paused, thinking on the people who were filling the waiting room right now, simply to support you, and you wondered if that counted, but the boy seemed to be going on anyway; “See, outside friends.”

“Alright, smart ass, the point is that I understand how you feel, and you should let me call your parents, so that you can have people who love you here with you. What do you say?” He was quiet, the moment dragging on, and as the cogs in the clock ticked loudly, the ‘second’ hand moving around, and as the third minute of silence passed you by, you gave up on any hope, You wondered if he’d fallen asleep, his eyes having slipped shut, and you squeezed his hand a little, his hand squeezing back after a few moments, signalling he was awake.

“Edge.”

“Huh?” You perked up a little, your elbow having been resting on the bed to support your head on your fist, before you were moving to look up at him.

“My name is Aaron Edge. I’m already in the system, I had asthma as a kid.” You cheered a little, reaching around for the handle instantly and pressing the button for the nurse’s desk.

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo.” The door opened a second later, a short red-head nurse escorting Doctor Hale, his brows raising a little as they came in, and you gave him a subtle nod. “This is Aaron Edge, and he’d love some painkillers now.”

“We’ll get that sorted out. This is nurse Martin, she’ll be looking after you, Mr Edge.” She left the room a second later, heading away to get it sorted out, and the doctor took a step closer to the bed. “How are you feeling, big guy? You gave us a scare there, but you're brave, and I know you’re going to be just fine.”

“I have a headache, and I feel itchy. Is that just my nerves?”

He tried to push himself up a little in the bed, his arms giving way under the pressure, and you moved, helping him sit up so you could position his pillows behind him to help him sit up. “Well, actually, that’s the beginning of the withdrawal. It’s not going to be great, but you’re young. We can get you in a great rehab program, and whatever you were on we can get you off. You’re young, you still have prospects ahead of you. It’ll be a tough road, you think you can do it?”

His hand tightened around yours once again, and he turned, vulnerability written on his face. You gave him a nod, and he stared at you for a second longer, before returning to give those same gestures to the doctor.

“Now, I just need to run a final test, alright?” Producing the pen from his pocket, he lifted up the blanket to reveal both of the boy’s feet, and held the end to the pen, never popping the button to reveal the inked tip. “Relax your foot for me.”

He did so and he dragged the tip of the pen up along the sensitive underfoot, everything still for a second, before his toes twitched, and you let out a little cheer, the boy in the bed jumping in shock. “What?”

“You still have movement in that foot?”

“Did I not before?” He panicked, sitting up further to peer down at his legs, and it seemed that in his drowsy state, he was only just becoming aware of the cast wrapped around his leg. “What about the other one?”

The cast sealed over most of his foot, but Derek reached down with the pen, dragging it along the space under his toes, and there was no movement. He did it again, still no reaction, and you nibbled on your lower lip. “Tell me when you feel something?”

Moving the blanket from his body, his leg was exposed, the cast ending just below his knee. He poked at the knee cap, then a rough inch further up, moving in inch segments as you waited, before his leg finally flinched just after the pen pressed over his mid-thigh.

“Well, we can get you into some physical therapy, and see how the healing of your leg goes, and what happens after that.”

Tucking the pen back away, the red-headed nurse entered the room once again, a needle and a small glass jar in her hand, and she was ready to add some medicine to the bag for him. “I’ve called your family, and they’re on their way. I’ve got some medicine for you now.” You squeezed his hand again lightly, letting go as the nurse moved to start setting him up a new line for his medicine, and Derek was busy filling out details on the chart that sat at the end of his bed.

“I’m going to go back to my team now, alright?” The kid turned to look at you, nodding his head slowly. “You keep your promise this time, alright? I believe in you, do it for your little sister. Be better.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

You ran your hand over his cheek, giving him a gentle smile. As the medicine began to kick in, nurse Martin began to talk to Aaron about his family, and what had been said on the phone, and for the third time tonight, you were navigating the ICU wing halls. Stepping back into the waiting room, all eyes turned to you again, brows raising, and you nodded, shoulders slumping in relief.

“He’s going to be okay, and his family is on the way.”

A chorus of cheers took up around the room, and you nodded your head watching as they all began to get to their feet, coming over to offer their congratulations and comforts about how worried you’d been, and how much better you must be feeling, which was completely true.

Newt cupped your face, pressing a large and wet kiss to your forehead, and you scowled, wiping the mark on your skin. “I think you need a drink, love.”

“Kenny’s Bar?” Gally offered, and a series of acknowledgements and agreements going up around the room. You’d heard them talking about that bar before, it seemed to be a house favourite but you’d never been along with them before, and it felt like some kind of initiation ritual or rite of passage.

“You should go and change first. Get comfy, I’ll wait for you.”

“Actually, if you guys go on ahead, I’ll wait.” Thomas stood to the side, scratching at the back of his neck as he met your eye, shrugging a little before looking around the small group gathered around you, who seemed equally as shocked as you were. “Seriously, I mean it. We have some things to talk about.”

“We do?” You questioned dumbly, and he fixed you with a pointed look, before you nodded your head. “Right, sure, yeah, okay. I can work with that, I guess. I mean, if you don’t see me in the next twelve hours, you know who I was with last.”

“Uh-huh.” Newt eyes his friend sceptically, the two seeming to have a silent conversation all with that eye contact, before Newt was rounding everyone up. “Go get changed, don’t take too long, we’ll see you soon.”

He hugged you gently, before guiding the rest of the team out of the building, pats on your arm and squeezes of your hand as they all passed by and discussed who would be designated drivers and drop everyone else at home, each discussing driving their cars home and coming along to collect them as they went. You waved Newt’s bag at Thomas a little, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder, and he nodded his head, tension forming between you both as you slipped away to find the bathrooms.

You were already learning your way around the halls of this building well, locating them easily enough, and stepping inside. Pulling out the contents of the beg, you sealed yourself inside one of the cubicles, putting the lid down and taking a seat on top of it. Toeing off your shoes and leaving them on the floor, you were wiggling out of your crisp uniform trousers, slipping into your leggings, bouncing as you tugged them up your legs and wiggling as you got comfortable. With some simple sneakers and your hoodie on, you were feeling much more relaxed and comfortable.

Stuffing everything else inside of the bag, you zipped it up, heading back to the waiting room, and finding Thomas with his hands shoved into his pockets, your bag on his shoulder, and he offered you what looked only mildly like a forced smile as you made your presence known.

“Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He nodded his head, letting you go through the door first as you stepped into the halls and back towards the elevator, total silence sitting in the space between you both. As he pressed the button, it was almost immediately ready for you, and you stood on opposite sides of the box as you waited for the doors to close again and sink back to the lobby. “So is this the part where you decide the hatred is too much, and actually kill me?”

He laughed, a lightweight and short, but genuine, laugh. Looking up to you, he shook his head a little, amusement still sparking in his eyes. “I don’t hate you. I mean, I don’t necessarily like you, but that's because I don’t know you, and I didn’t really give myself the chance. We got off on the wrong foot, and that's partially my fault.”

“It’s mostly your fault.”

“It’s, like, fifty percent my fault!” He argued, and you clicked your tongue, shaking your head.

“Ninety.”

“Seventy-five.”

“Fine.” You huffed, surrendering to the deal again, and he gave a toothy grin. “Go on with what you were saying.”

The doors chimed as they opened up, and you fell into step beside him as the two of you began to head towards the doors to the building, letting him guide you as he headed towards his car, trying to form his words, and you waited patiently. “Look, the point is, I know you’ve been a good partner to Newt. Especially today. You went down there to look after that kid because you knew Newt couldn't take it, and while he’d never admit that to either of us, we both know it’s true.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We flipped a coin, and I lost.”

“Do you always flip winning sides over to take a loss?” He questioned, clicking his keys as the sleek black car came into view, and your face flushed with warmth, not having known anyone else had seen that. “Exactly my point. I know I’ve given you a hard time. I have my reasons, okay? It fucking sucks, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe you understand, maybe you don’t, but I’m trying to apologise, okay?”

He held the door open for you, the passenger seat readily available, and you dropped your bag into the footwell, standing in the way but not taking a seat as you stared up at him. “Okay. I forgive you. I probably shouldn't have been so uptight, but I was hurt too, and I didn’t take that well, so I guess this is me apologising as well.”

“So, we’re cool, now?”

“Sure.”

He nodded, the two of you staring at each other for a moment longer, and that same dreadfully awkward tension settled over the part of you as neither of you knew quite what to say. Just because you’d called a ceasefire, didn’t mean that there was a sudden connection, it didn't mean that pain and resentment were gone immediately, it just meant that you had agreed to process and move on from it together, instead of dwelling and letting it fester. “Her name was Teresa.”

“What?”

Your eyes snapped back up to his face, but he was staring at the ground, arms resting on top of the door, and he was picking at his nails. “The last paramedic, the reason I was so mad.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?”

“I owe you an explanation, so I guess I’m forcing myself to.” He sighed, running a hand through already messy hair. “She was.. a wildcard. Passionate and funny and just this real source of energy, you know? Kinda’ like you. She skipped out on us all of a sudden before shift one day, a better offer somewhere else, she didn’t tell us, but she just up and left. I was hurt, I thought I meant something to her.”

“I’m sorry, Thomas..”

“No, I am. Because all my suffering was emotional. She was Newt’s partner, he had to try and handle a case on his own because we couldn't get a replacement in before a call came, and that's the day he injured his leg. He fell through a couple of burning floors, top to bottom of the building, shattered his leg like that kid. Nobody knew where he was, he had no partner to call it in. Minho found him, unconscious from smoke inhalation and carried him out.” He let out a shaky breath, and you dared to reach out, placing a hand over his as they sat joined, and squeezing lightly. “I don’t blame myself for the accident, it had nothing to do with me. But, for whatever your own reasons are, I know you’ve jumped between houses a lot, and I was worried about Newt again. He’s my best friend.”

“I promise you, I won’t ever do that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think Teresa would either, but then a better offer came along.” He sighed, lifting a thumb to rest over one of your fingers and stroke lightly as he sought his one comfort from your touch, and you squeezed his hands once again. “I shouldn't have compared you to her, and I’m sorry. It was unfair, I don’t even know you.”

Quit consumed you both once again, and there was nothing else to be said, only the weight of his confession hanging in the air, before you were perking up a little, realising how to gently move on and bring his mood back up. “You any good at pool?”

“Uh, what?”

“You know, pool. In bars. Does this bar have one?” You encouraged, his eyes meeting yours again and brows furrowing with confusion.

“Yeah, it does.”

“Well, you said you didn’t know anything about me. First thing to learn is that I’m amazing at pool.” He stood up a little more, smiling softly as he took your bait to move on from the conversation, and there was a slight twinkle of mischief in those honey-brown eyes. “Winner buys drinks?”

“Alright, I’ll take that deal, but only if we play darts afterwards. At which I will kick your ass, because I am fucking great at it.”

“You’re on, Thomas.” He chuckled, letting you step into the car and shutting the door behind you, the conversation being stored away for now, to think about when you were alone and process the details, but for now, you had bonding to do, with your teammates; for the first time yet, you genuinely considered the possibility of setting up roots somewhere, and making real friends that would last.

#thomas #firefighter!tommy #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #tommy month #tomuary #tom-uary #thomas the maze runner #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner

167 notes · View notes

evvrythingisawesome · 1 year ago

Text

I use a Quip electric toothbrush, which will run for the recommended 2 minutes, with midway buzzes every 30 seconds to remind you to switch the area of your mouth you're brushing, so you get your teeth clean much more evenly. Probably most electric toothbrushes have similar features, so doesn't have to be Quip. They do have fun colors and easy&inexpensive brush head replacement subscriptions, though, so that also helps.

I'm not fond of the texture of most toothpastes, but there are alternatives. Look into powdered or bite-able pill toothpastes, if texture is an issue for you. I use powdered toothpaste from The Dirt.

Very strong mint flavors can be overwhelming (or even painful) for me. Don't be afraid to try kids' flavors or other non-mint flavors.

Brushing your teeth without any toothpaste is better than not brushing at all, so if you still can't find a toothpaste you don't hate, go ahead and brush without it. Also, always wet your toothbrush before brushing, I guarantee it'll feel better than brushing with a dry brush, with or without toothpaste.

Scraping your tongue will do more to combat bad breath than mouthwash or toothpaste alone. Use a spoon if you don't have/can't get a tongue scraper. Reach as far back on your tongue as you can without triggering your gag reflex and scrape fully to the front. Rinse the gunk off your scraper after each swipe.

If possible, figure out which parts of the shower are the most unpleasant to you. Too loud? Maybe earplugs or background music could help. Temperature shock? Making the room warmer might reduce that, or adjusting water temperatures partway through. Smells are overwhelming? Switching to milder scents or unscented products might help. Too many steps involved? Try reducing your routine to only the most essential parts of the task (maybe just soap wash armpits, pelvic area, and feet, and quick rinse the rest) for a few showers, and see how that feels, then adjust as necessary to add back only the things that make you feel good.

Think about what a hygiene routine can give you that you love. Don't force yourself to take a shower just because you have to. Choose to take the shower because you love the way your hair curls when it's freshly washed, or because your partner gives you so many more hugs when you're clean, or because a clean body might mean doing less laundry, or whatever it is that can make you say an enthusiastic yes to the task.

I plan my outfits the night before, and shower in the morning. So I don't have to use up my brainpower early in the morning with decision-making and be exhausted for the rest of the day. Keep wardrobe options simple when possible to further reduce decision fatigue. (This doesn't have to mean keeping a minimalist wardrobe, though. Maybe certain outfits have a "recipe" of items that work well together. Write those down if it helps.)

Label everything. I almost always open the wrong drawer first, even when I know what's in each drawer and it hasn't changed for the past 30+ years, unless the drawers are labeled.

I don't always remember to floss, but I'm much more likely to when I have floss dispensers in all of the places where I might use one. I keep one by my seat on the couch, one in the bathroom, one in my purse, one in my travel bag... you get the idea. Put them everywhere, so you don't have to search for one, and don't always have to go to only one spot to get it done. Having one in arm's reach at all times means you can floss whenever you remember you should. And don't beat yourself up for forgetting sometimes. Flossing once a week is still better than never flossing.

Build a new routine into an existing routine. Let's say you use the toilet very first thing every time you get out of bed. Great! You're already in the bathroom! Add brushing your teeth to your routine before you leave the room. Add one small thing at a time, don't try to change everything at once. Let yourself get used to it before changing it again. And don't let aiming for perfection stop you from trying. If you forget today, that's fine! Start again tomorrow.

Stop putting everything in cabinets. If my toothbrush didn't live out in the open on my bathroom counter, I guarantee I would never remember to consistently use it. Let things live where you can see them, and don't put barriers between you and your things if you don't have to. You don't live in a magazine, you don't exist to be Instagram Perfect 24/7. You're a real person. Stop hiding your stuff, especially the stuff you want to remember to use.

Tumblr folks,

I'm looking for neurodivergent people who are willing to share their life hacks on personal hygiene with me. How do you get yourself to frequently take a shower or brush your teeth in the morning? Stuff like that.

I'm looking for anything that can help; tips/tricks, apps, life hacks. Give it to me, pretty pretty please with a cherry on the top :)

391 notes · View notes

aliteama · 4 years ago

Note

Pranking Hc's with Gojo, Nobara & Itadori? BTW congrats on 100 followers! :D

♡Headcanons♡

S/O pulling pranks with them

♡ A/N: Hello Anony!! For this one I wanted to make it longer than the event stuff so I just tagged it differently and switched up the layout ٩(•ᵕ•)

Gojo Satoru

♡ His number one victim is Nanami and throwing you into the mix makes the poor man never want to step on campus again, you guys would do things like switch out all the drinks in the vending machine to something he doesn’t like or sneak into his office and trap all his supplies in jell-o.

♡ The worst thing the two of you have done is flip Yagas office upside down when you guys were students, you both got detention for months but it was worth it to see his desk hanging from the ceiling.

♡ Gojo probably did little things like swapping out Geto and Shokos cigarettes for those realistic candy ones while you distracted them.

♡ Just because your his accomplice it doesn’t mean you get a pass, his favorite thing to do is wrap the doorway in plastic wrap at the crack of dawn so when your morning mind is all foggy you run into the blocked off entrance and get stuck.

♡ You once tried to retaliate and move his bed onto a lake while he was sleeping but he just ended up floating around for a bit and used it as an excuse to get out off work.

♡ Warm water heated your shaking bones, soap lathering your body in a mess of suds and bubbles to clean the grime that stuck to your skin from training. Reaching over to pick up the labeled bottle of shampoo you let a generous glob fall into your palms and that ran through your hair. With closed eyes you rinsed off tangled strands, red water pooling around your feet and dripping down your body. Eyes snapped open to crimson stained hands, mouth dropping as a scream escaped your lips.

“Are you ok?!” slamming the door open Gojo peeled the curtain back and let out a loud obnoxious laugh at your fearful expression, “Oops.. that was meant for Shoko”

Smacking a wet hand to his chest the water seeped through his uniform and a red hand print was left behind. Reaching back to grab the shampoo bottle you tugged at his damp uniform collar and let the soap stain his white hair that now bled red.

“Warn me next time period head!”

Nobara Kugisaki

♡ Never thinks her pranks through, she picks someone who looks like they could use a joke pulled on them then goes with the funniest thing she can come with, just silly things like tying together all the laces of their shoes or putting an airhorn under their seat.

♡ Loves to do that thing where you flip a cup filled with water over so the next person to walk by has to try to lift it without making a mess, her favorite person to do this to is Itadori because he always struggles to move the cup.

♡ Likes to take the gum out of the wrapper and put wasabi instead and she’ll just sit there and watch you chew on it until the burn kicks in but if you ever try to do it to her she just feels so betrayed.

♡ The worst prank she's done is freeze mentos in an ice tray and forget about it so when you decided to put ice in your soda her warning was too late, not allowed to go into the freezer without supervision anymore.

♡ Swinging a key around her finger you watched Nobara grip the doors handle before turning to you with a grimace, “Ok so here’s the thing. I don’t really know how to drive so this is a first time experience” with a nervous hand she swung the door open and seated herself in the drivers seat.

Making your way around to the passengers side you watched her grip the wheel and put the key in the ignition before bringing the engine to life, “If you crash I’m out of here” throwing a glare your way Nobara inched the car forwards, your head jerking every time her foot came off the gas.

Insisting she pull a prank on her childish teacher Nobara roped you along with her antics, driving his beloved car away from the school lot and taking it to a complex lot down the way. You knew it was a bad idea and the two of you would get in trouble but the excited gleam in her eyes when she had successfully snatched his car key had you rushing down the halls with her. Slowly but surely she had managed to move the car unscathed into a deserted lot with a proud smile on her face.

Too bad the two of you hadn’t realized that your dear Sensei had been holding onto Iijichi’s keys the whole time.

Itadori Yuji

♡ Every three weeks he declares prank wars on everyone and goes full out, says no teaming yet he’s always outside your door with puppy eyes and toilet paper rolls in his hands.

♡ Bought one of those fake spill plastics and puts it on Fushiguros papers whenever he leaves the room and Fushiguro does not find it amusing in the slightest, he’s so used to it by now that when water actually does spill he’s shocked to see its real.

♡ He has no limit, replaces toothpaste with mayonnaise, switches salt with sugar, makes the onions look like apples, puts poppers under the toilet seat, Itadoris a menace.

♡ Adding onto the salt and sugar thing he actually thinks its the funniest thing in the world when the lid is loose and salt spills all over your food, but when he sees your not laughing he feels bad and offers to replace your food.

♡ Likes to do cute little pranks too though like he’ll put confetti filled balloons in your room and cover the walls in sticky notes that have positive affirmations on them.

♡ Stepping into the bathroom to wash away the paint on your arms from Itadoris suprise color bombs you scrubbed furiously with the bar of soap that would not lather up, groaning in frustration you realized he had covered all the soap bars with nail polish. Settling for the soap dispenser which was luckily untouched you dried your hands before stepping out into the hallway, looking down the corridors to make sure you were out of your boyfriends vision.

Rushing into your room to avoid this weeks prank wars you were shocked to see he had attacked your room already, googly eyes placed on all your belongings and pillows arranged on your bed to make it look like someone was under the blanket.

“Yuji I swear if you jump scare me” quickly ripping the sheet off the bed you let out an anxious breath to see it really was just pillows.

A loud shriek sounded as Itadori grabbed onto your ankles from under the bed, a teasing grin on his face as he shimmied out and stood at full height, his clothes colored in paint and hair decorated with globs of glitter.

“I technically didn’t jump scare you” sticking his tongue out Itadori smashed an egg against your head, ribbons and sparkles making a mess all over your head and falling onto the floor.

But at least it wasn’t an actual egg like last time.

174 notes · View notes

twomanyideas · 4 years ago

Text

Through the Spyglass

A collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404

Gratsu Weekend 2021 Prompt: Secret Pairing(s): Gray x Natsu, Sting x Rogue For @walkinginfiction

AO3 | Next: Ch 2 Summary:

“You little pervert!” Sting teased, “You’ve been watching him, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t!”

“Bullshit! How else would you have known that?”

“I -,” Natsu tried to think of any other way he could have discovered that little fact, but came up empty. “It’s only been a few times, I swear! I was just trying to find an excuse to approach him.” He hid his face in his hands, embarrassed at being found out.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got just the thing!

Chapter 1

“Nghh, that’s soooo good!”

It mattered little to Natsu whether his housemate Sting was fucking his new boyfriend Rogue or just eating. He’d already discovered the hard way that it was impossible to tell the difference from their sounds. Each one a reminder that while Sting was feasting, Natsu was very much in the middle of a famine.

“You like that?”

Natsu scowled in response. Did they have to be so fucking loud? He turned his stereo on, determined to drown out the noises that were coming from the room next door. It helped a little, but not enough to distract him from what may or may not be happening. And it was late enough there’d be nowhere for him to go.

Where were those comic books he’d been meaning to catch up on? A quick glance around his room was enough to let him know there was no way in hell he was finding anything. Clothes, both clean and dirty, littered the floor and just about every other available surface except his closet. Sealed boxes lined up the walls, waiting for him to get his shit together and finally unpack.

Fiine.

He grabbed as many clothes as he could carry and made his way to their laundry room, also known as the bathroom.

Lalala I can’t hear you, he thought as he walked past Sting’s closed door, although of course he could, and now Rogue was joining in, expressing his approval at what must arguably be the most delicious ice cream sundae ever fucking made.

Why had he agreed to room with Sting again?

Open the washer door, chuck clothes inside, pour detergent in the dispenser and hit start. Great, ten points for adulting. Covering his ears with his hands, he hurried back to his room, grabbed the nearest box and sat down, using his pocketknife to open it up. Might as well get started on some of those now that he could walk around his room again.

That was his intent, but in the end he couldn’t help but examine the items one by one, fascinated by what he found among them. To be fair, even he would admit most of it was junk. He had no recollection of how he’d ended up with most of it, but that’s what made them so fascinating.

Score!

Finding a container of spicy jalapeño cotton candy, age unknown, he shoved some into his mouth. It was a little stale, but perfectly edible.

He placed the textbooks on the floor without a second look, having already seen more of them than he ever wanted to. There were some more clothes, the exercise ones he’d been searching for, for quite some time.

He scratched his head, wondering who the hell had packed this box. A set of three sex dice, a gag gift from Loke, were next. Maybe he should give them to Sting. He’d certainly get more use out of them.

Knit Your Own Boyfriend, another gag gift from Sting this time, joined the textbooks on the floor. Porn for Women, a book which had pictures of guys doing household chores and shit, almost joined it until Natsu realized some models in it were pretty hot. He’d keep that one.

101 Ways to Annoy Your Roommate

He glared at the wall between their rooms. Yep, keeping that one too.

Next came decision dice with messages like Fuck it, Fuck that and Fuck If I Know, followed by a nose flute, a bottle of Maybe You Touched Your Genitals hand sanitizer, a tube of bacon lip balm, and a bar of Uranus soap. Every item he pulled out was more entertaining than the last.

He positioned the flute over his nose and mouth and breathed out, having a great time attempting to play along to the music while he continued unpacking, bursting into giggles and some rather interesting sounds when he realized how terrible he sounded.

It was only when he took out the last item, a pair of binoculars Igneel had gifted him when he’d been a boy scout many, many years ago, that he realized all he’d done was clutter the floor again by spreading out the box's contents.

In no mood to do even more cleaning up, he examined the binoculars carefully, worried they might have broken in the move. He should probably test them out.

Picking a random subject- the dragon poster hanging above his bed, he aimed the binoculars on it and looked through them. They seemed in great condition, outside of some smudges and dust on the lenses. He grabbed a microfiber cloth off his desk and used it to wipe the lenses clean.

With nothing better to do, he pulled his curtains back and held the binoculars up to his eyes, searching for anything that might hold his interest for a few minutes. He’d settle for a trash-digging raccoon at this point.

What he found, however, was much more interesting. The house across from theirs, which had sported a For Rent sign for as long as he could remember, had a moving van in front of it, and the lights inside the house were on. He was a little curious why someone would move in this late at night, but that thought ceased to have any importance as soon as he got a good look at his future husband- uhm, new neighbor.

The guy had dark hair that stood up in unruly spikes. His skin gleamed in the moonlight, so much so Natsu wondered if he might be glittering like a certain gay vampire. He can absolutely bite me! Yum! And if that wasn't the sexiest fucking glower he’d ever seen in his life, Natsu didn't know what was.

He couldn’t make out the guy’s eyes, but he was almost willing to bet they were blue. This was all great, but it was his chest that Natsu kept staring at because for once in his life God had been merciful and the guy was shirtless, giving him the opportunity to ogle every one of his taut muscles.

“What are you doing?”

Natsu jumped at the sound of Sting yelling behind him, almost losing his grip on the binoculars. His hand moved to his heart as the nose flute squeaked loudly from his rapid breaths. He removed it, tossing it on his bed, and glaring at his roommate who stood laughing at him. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Sting!”

“What? I tried calling out to you, but your music was too loud.” Sting tiptoed his way around the mess on the floor to get to the stereo, lowering the volume so they could speak without having to shout at each other.

“Well, if you and Rogue hadn’t been having a food orgy next door, I wouldn’t have had to play it so loud.”

“Yeah, nice deflect. Wait, are those your scout binoculars? What were you looking at?”

“N-nothing, yep nothing at all.” “Ah, so you like listening in and spying on people, huh?” Rogue stood in the doorway, still licking what Natsu only hoped would be sundae off his fingers.

“I do not!” Natsu spluttered, “You guys are loud enough the new neighbor probably heard you!”

Fuck.

“There’s a new neighbor?!” Sting jumped over the box, grabbing the binoculars, which were still hanging around Natsu’s neck, and pulling them up to his eyes. “Oh, I see what you were looking at, alright,” he snorted.

“You’re cho-king me,” Natsu gasped out. “Whoops, sorry about that-” Sting pulled the string over Natsu’s head and continued to observe the scene across the street. “You should go over there and offer to help him out.”

“Hell no.” “Why not? He’s cute.”

“Because it’s like 11 o’clock and he’ll think I’m a weirdo.”

“It’s not that late. If we were still at the dorm, you wouldn’t think twice about it,” Sting pointed out. “You could take your shirt off too.”

“Yeah, cause that’s normal,” Natsu didn’t like the way Sting’s eyes seemed to twinkle. Not one bit.

“Man up, Dragneel,” Rogue dared, joining them at the window to get a look at the guy they were talking about.

“Look, I get you guys would like nothing more than to get me out of the house, but I’m broke and I’m not about to go make a fool of myself just so you can get it on. Besides, newsflash, not everyone is gay.” “Your point? Not everyone’s straight, either,” Rogue countered, crossing his arms. “Yeah, and I hate to break it to you, but we’re gonna get it on regardless,” Sting snickered, earning himself an eye roll from Rogue when he used the binoculars to zoom in on him.

“Right, well, don’t let me keep you,” Natsu said, grabbing the binoculars from Sting before he shoved both of them away from the window and closed the curtain.

“Ooh, sex dice!”

“You want them? Here, take them,” Natsu said, offering the dice to Sting and then throwing them out the door as hard as he could.

“Hey!”

“You don’t really expect him to chase after them, do you?” Rogue chuckled, unconvinced, but his laughter died abruptly when Sting hurdled over all the crap on the floor like some kind of Olympic athlete. “Suck, toes, 50 seconds!” “You were saying?” Natsu’s grin was smug as he shooed Rogue out of his room, locking the door behind him and collapsing in a tired heap on the floor. Those two were fucking exhausting.

A few moments later he realized he was wasting precious time and dragged himself back to the window, hoping to find his new neighbor still out there lifting boxes out of the van. Sadly for him, he was not. Although the lights were still on, the doors to the moving van were closed and despite his best efforts, Natsu wasn’t able to see him anywhere inside the house either.

He had to admit that Rogue was right. It was stupid not to even try just because he was afraid of a negative outcome. That had never exactly been the Dragneel way of doing things, although of course that might also be why he crashed and burned much more than he scored.

His cheering squad, however, was about as dangerous as a firing one, so if he was going to make a move he’d have to keep it a secret from them for as long as he could manage it.

He’d just have to watch a little longer, at least until he found an opportunity to introduce himself. Satisfied with this plan, he set his music on a timer and climbed into bed, already looking forward to learning more about his neighbor in the coming days.

0-0

“He’s so not straight,” Rogue called from the bottom of the stairs, closing the front door behind him and announcing his arrival a moment before coming up.

“Yay, you’re back,” Natsu muttered, not even bothering to look up from the magazine he’d been reading.

“Who’s not straight?” Sting came out from the kitchen, holding a bowl of chips and plopping on their living room couch.

“Your new neighbor,” Rogue said, looking incredibly pleased with himself as he took off his shoes and jacket.

Natsu flipped the page, refusing to take the bait even though he was itching to know more. “Fascinating, and how would you know that exactly? Did he show you his membership card?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Well, that caught his interest. Natsu waited for him to say more but the sonofabitch knew he had him and now he was going to force him to ask. Sadistic asshole.

He stayed strong, willing Sting to ask for him, but the bastard just kept shoving chips into his mouth and watching the two of them with interest.

Natsu turned the page of his magazine slowly, attempting to wait Rogue out.

“I saw him arrive when I got here, so I thought I should introduce myself,” Rogue explained, keeping Natsu waiting while he joined Sting on the couch, greeting him with a kiss.

“You talked to him?!” Natsu threw his magazine on their coffee table, dropping all pretense of disinterest. “What did he say?!”

“He said his name’s Gray Fullbuster, and that he moved in a few days ago. So then I said, yeah, I know, we watched you through a pair of binoculars.” Natsu could feel all color vanishing from his face, while Sting almost choked on his chips. “Kidding,” Rogue snorted, smacking his boyfriend on the back a few times. “I asked him where he’s from since he has a bit of an accent. Turns out he’s from Isvan.” “He’s got an accent?” Natsu groaned. He was so screwed.

“What’s the matter with him?”

“Natsu has a thing for accents, always has.” “And you have a thing for assholes!” Natsu retorted, tossing a pillow at Sting’s face, hoping he’d stop laughing. “I mean, don’t we all?” Sting caught the pillow and put it behind his head. “Oh, speaking of which, how do you know he isn’t straight?” “It wasn’t hard,” Rogue shrugged, shoving his hair back away from his face, “His backpack had a bi flag pin on it. Oh, and he asked me if there was an art supplies store downtown, so I figure he’s an artist.”

“Yeah, he is.” Natsu blurted out, recalling the night he’d spent an hour watching Gray sketching a cat, fascinated by how lifelike he’d made it seem. The sudden look that passed between his friends made him realize his mistake.

“You little pervert!” Sting teased, “You’ve been watching him, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t!”

“Bullshit! How else would you have known that?”

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got just the thing!”

Natsu peered at Rogue from between his fingers, not sure he liked the way he’d said that, especially when he looked like a cat who had just swallowed a canary whole.

“What did you do?”

Almost as if by magic, several envelopes materialized in Rogue’s hand.

“I may have liberated some of his mail.”

“Are you out of your mind?! You can’t just take someone’s mail, Rogue. That’s illegal!” “Says the stalker. Besides, it’s only illegal if you get caught,” Rogue smirked, examining the envelopes in his hand before setting them on the coffee table. “These were just delivered to the wrong mailbox, that’s all. They look important, though. You should make sure he gets them back. We wouldn’t want him to get in trouble.”

Sting had the decency to look shocked, but that only lasted for about a minute, replaced by what Natsu could only interpret as admiration. “That’s perfect!” And next thing he knew, they were in full scheming mode, mumbling to each other as if he wasn’t even there. “He should open up a few buttons, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Maybe fluff up his hair?”

"On it!"

“Oh, no. I want no part of whatever it is you two are thinking!” Natsu made a show of grabbing his magazine and opening it back up, but Sting had already gone off to his bedroom. The ominous sounds of him rummaging through closets and drawers traveled through the walls, and soon he returned holding a bunch of items. A comb, a tube of hair gel, some fancy-looking body spray, one of his infamous crop tops, and… was that Natsu's bacon lip balm?

"Did you just steal that lip balm from my room?"

"It's not stealing if I'm using it on you, dumbass. Now be still."

“Get away from me with that crap!” Natsu stood up from his chair, ready to bolt and lock himself in his bedroom.

“You wound me,” Sting sighed. "I even grabbed you my best one-" he held up the top and pouted at it.

“I am not putting on one of your stupid shirts.”

"His shirt's fine," Rogue sided with Natsu for once, “it just needs some re-adjustments.” He straightened the collar of Natsu’s button-up, pulled down the sleeves so he could roll them up neatly again, and opened up the two top buttons.

“Pucker up!” Sting made kissy faces as he approached him with the lip balm, and although Natsu refused to purse his lips, that did nothing to dissuade him. He still managed to apply a generous amount of it on the general area of his mouth.

“Ugh, that tastes awful!” Natsu complained, wiping the excess off with his hand.

“It’s bacon, man. All dudes love bacon, am I right?” “On my plate, yes. But on your face?” Rogue looked like someone spit in his socks.

Sting didn’t let Rogue’s response get him down, cheerfully moving on to the next item in his arsenal. A bottle of body spray that had little bits of something floating in it. Was that-

“Glitter?! No way, no how. I’m going to look ridiculous.”

“You’re going to look and smell awesome.”

“It’s glitter.”

“Which of us has a boyfriend?”

Okay, Sting had him there, but did he really need to be primped up like some schoolgirl about to go to Prom just to say hi to the guy? It was humiliating. If he went through with this ridiculous ploy, and that was still a big if, he wanted to at least make a good impression.

“It smells nice, and Gray’s an artist. Maybe he’d appreciate the glitter,” Rogue said, grabbing some chips from the bowl and moving over by Sting.

“He doesn’t make kids art projects. He draws beautiful, realistic looking pictures.”

“Oh, sorry,” Rogue fake apologized, holding up one hand next to his head while feeding Sting chips with the other.

Sting took advantage of Natsu’s distraction, spraying him before he could protest further.

“Hey, watch the face!”

Natsu had to admit the spray smelled nice, but in his rush to do a sneak attack, Sting had sprayed very liberally, covering not only Natsu but the coffee table, which had Gray’s mail on it.

“Oh, great. How am I supposed to explain that?”

“Will you chill? By the time I’m done with you, Gray won’t care about some stupid glitter on his mail,” Sting promised as he set the spray down and opened the tube of hair gel, squeezing some into his hand and moving to pluck at Natsu's hair.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Natsu grumbled.

“Oh, come on, have I ever steered you wrong before?” Sting grinned, brimming with confidence, only to wince as he paused to think. “Okay, maybe don’t answer that.”

Natsu chuckled, thinking back to some of Sting’s more hare-brained suggestions over the years. He had this habit of getting carried away, but Natsu had never regretted going along. Even when things went sideways, they always had fun, and he knew his friend’s affection for him was genuine. So why was he fighting him so much now, when he was only trying to help?

“Fine, fine, do your worst.”

"Pftt, please. I perform nothing but miracles."

Rogue grabbed a stool from their kitchen island and brought it into the living room, gesturing for Natsu to sit so Sting could get started.

He let Sting fuss over his hair for the next ten minutes, his fingers sculpting it into well-defined spikes away from his face.

“Done!”

“Not bad,” Rogue said after giving him a once over. He grabbed the mail from the table and handed it over. “Now get going.”

“What, now?”

“No, next week. Yes, now!”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Natsu hedged.

“On that note,” Sting stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out an object that he placed on the coffee table. “Roll.”

Natsu recognized the decision dice he’d left on his desk. "Seriously?! What are you two, kleptos?"

“Just roll.”

“Okay, but if it says no, we’re done here, right?”

Natsu picked up the dice and studied them, unsure of what he wanted the outcome to be. He shook them lightly in his hands and tossed them on the coffee table.

“Fuck in’ a?” “Fuckin’ A!” Sting cheered and raced to his room again for more digging through drawers, and this time he returned with only two foil packaged items that fitted between his fingers. Both things Natsu easily recognized but had no intention of using during his first meeting with Gray. “Oh my God!” he backed away, “I’m just gonna go return his mail and introduce myself!”

“You were a Scout, weren’t you?” Sting grinned, extending his hand to offer the packets. “Didn’t they teach you to always be prepared?”

“I’m just gonna go drop these off,” Natsu rushed out of the room and down the stairs, hearing Sting and Rogue’s laughter and a warning to not be back soon.

@fuckyeahgratsu

#gratsu #gratsuweekend2021 #stingue #fairy tail #Gratsu Weekend 2021 #media #gray x natsu #sting x rogue #prompt: secret #other #fics

61 notes · View notes

blu-joons · 4 years ago

Text

Secret Santa ~ Kim Seokjin

Every year the company Secret Santa was one of the things everyone looked forward to the most, everyone gathered around in the main office on the last day before the Christmas break and exchanged presents, Christmas was never the same without it.

You took your seat around the table, placing your present into the black sack that Namjoon walked around with, grabbing yourself a drink from the middle of the table that had been prepared. Spirits were high as the holidays came closer, and best of all; you all got a few days off work!

The last people to enter were Jin and Yoongi, not that anyone was surprised. Your eyes watched the present Jin put in the bag especially, it was much bigger than all the others that had been put in, making it easy to guess who’s his was.

One by one once everyone was in, Namjoon called out the names on the presents for people to pick up to get on with unwrapping.

“Jin!” Namjoon yelled, as your hand came up to cover your mouth trying to hide your smile as you watched the present you bought be handed to him.

He was tentative as he took the present and went back to his seat, whilst you sat back, Jin was clueless as to who could have bought for him. You continued to watch on as he unwrapped the present, seeing his eyes light up.

“This is amazing!”

“Let the rest of us see then!” Jimin yelled, earning himself a glare.

Jin proudly lifted up the gift you’d bought for him, it wasn’t much, just an old remake of one of the games you remembered him mentioning that he played when he was younger. As soon as you saw it, you knew that Jin would love it as such an avid gamer.

A few more passed by before finally your name was called. As you stood up, you watched Namjoon pull out the huge present you’d seen Jin add to the bag, barely able to hold it for the sheer weight of it.

“Someone must really love you,” you overheard Soobin exclaim.

“I must have been really good to Santa this year,” you teased, placing the present on the table.

All eyes were on you as you untied the bow that was wrapped around it before tearing the wrapping down either side of it. Your breath was taken as you unwrapped the present to find a huge hamper of things that would fit inside your home.

You had mentioned to Jin just a few weeks prior that you’d recently moved into a new place, and that your job for the start of the New Year was to begin getting decorations for it, but now you had plenty to choose from.

As you glanced around the room, Jin was sure to keep his eyes away from yours, yet he failed to hide the bright red glow on his cheeks.

“Thank you to whoever bought this, it’s amazing,” you smiled, carefully looking through each item that was placed inside.

One thing you couldn’t knock Jin for was his choice of décor, everything he picked was beautiful, from a soap dispenser to a photo frame, to most it didn’t seem that Christmassy, but for you, it was exactly what you wanted.

It showed how much he cared and listened, when at times you wondered if he was ever really listening to you or if he just liked to pretend.

You sat back down as the rest of the presents were handed around, glancing over at Jin every so often, but still he tried hard to avoid your gaze.

His heart was pounding in his chest with relief as he watched you open his present, glad that he’d picked out things that you liked. It was a risk for him, but he wanted to make sure your present was perfect for what you would’ve wanted.

Once the presents were exchanged, the room began to split off into smaller groups to catch up and talk about what everyone had planned for the holidays.

You watched carefully as Jin walked out of the room, excusing yourself from those who tried to start a conversation with you to follow him outside. You paused for a moment as he pulled out his phone before walking across to stand right by his side.

Your presence made him jump as he turned to face you, this time he had nowhere else to look but at you.

“I know it was you Jin.”

His body tensed up as you spoke, slowly his smile grew as he saw how happy you were to have received his gift. “I didn’t really make it subtle, did I?” He asked, to which your head shook. “I just thought I’d get something I knew you’d like.”

“I love it, thank you so much.”

“My present was pretty cool too,” he teased, nudging his hip against your own, “don’t even try and tell me that it wasn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But he knew just as well as you did, that you knew exactly what he was going on about. As soon as he opened the present, he remembered the conversation he’d had with you about games, and after putting two and two together, he knew who was responsible.

“Don’t be like that, I really loved the present. I can’t wait to go home and play on it; it’s been years since I played something as old as that. It must have cost you a lot of money though.”

Your shoulders shrugged, the cost of it all simply didn’t matter, Christmas was a time for giving, and nothing would have ever have been as perfect as that game to give Jin for Christmas, and seeing his reaction made it all worth it.

“I wanted to get you something special to say thank you for all the help you’ve given us this year,” Jin softly whispered, “you’ve been really good to me, I was so happy when I saw you were my Secret Santa.”

You smiled back at him, “if I told you that you were my favourite artist to manage, then I think that makes us even. I was pretty relieved to get you too, at least I knew things that you liked.”

“I’m surprised you even listened, not many people do,” he scoffed, “I guess that’s what makes you such a good manager, you genuinely care for everyone that you work for. There aren’t many managers as good as you are Y/N.”

As your eyes met his you felt the butterflies in your tummy, feeling his hand rest against your arm. You shyly looked away as he let go of a giggle, feeling his hand pinch lightly against you to try and bring your eyes back to him.

“What are you doing to me Jin?” You blushed.

“I think this is my really roundabout way of trying to tell you I like you,” he admitted, “I hoped maybe the present would tell you everything, because I really do care about you. To everyone else you’re just a manager, but to me you’re someone who listens and supports me, and I’ll always be really grateful to you for that.”

“I’m happy I know how you feel now,” you mumbled, bringing your hand up to the side of his face, closing the distance between you both, resting your forehead against his. “Because I think I’m falling for you too Jin.”

“Are you really?”

You chuckled, feeling his hand rest over yours, “no one else makes me smile like you do, I look forward to coming into work every morning because I get to see you. You say that I listen, but you listen to me too, and no one ever really bothers listening to me.”

“Seeing you in the mornings makes the early starts worth it,” he complimented, moving closer towards you so his nose brushed against yours.

“Someone might see us,” you whispered, trying to look away.

Jin’s shoulders shrugged, making sure he kept you in position. “I don’t care if anyone sees us, no one understands me like you do, so I don’t care what they have to say. I’m not going to pretend, especially when I know that you like me too Y/N.”

Before you had the chance to speak, you felt his soft lips press to your own, your eyes fluttered shut as Jin held you closely into him. You could feel the blush flow on your cheeks, but none of that mattered as you savoured the taste of Jin’s lips.

“That was a pretty good present,” you teased as you pulled away.

“I know exactly what I want for Christmas now,” he responded, pecking your lips once more.

“What’s that?” You asked, moving your hands down to wrap against his waist, as his own rested against your hips.

“You.”

---

Masterlist

100 notes · View notes

anonniemousefics · 4 years ago

Text

The Nine Terrifying Moons | Masterlist

Based on the response to this post. :) Oh, yes, we’re doing the thing.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Fandom: The Folk of the Air | Jude + Cardan

Chapter One: The First

I am trying to keep my hands from shaking while I’m holding the test strip. There’s one pink line, and I’m waiting to see if there will be two. I think I already know the answer, but I’m holding my breath like it’ll make time go faster anyway.

If I ever imagined this moment, which I don’t remember ever doing, but if I did, I would have imagined it like the commercials that would run in the background when my mom would watch tv while she cooked dinner. If those were to be believed, I was supposed to be in an all-white, pristine, upper-middle-class bathroom, gasping with tears of joy while I hid my pearly white smile behind trembling fingers. My partner would be hugging me from behind, elated and definitely not about to make any crude jokes about the virulence of his sperm.

None of this is happening.

I am in a Target bathroom stall, surrounded by Target-red walls. Cardan, my husband and the High King of Elfhame, is on the other side of the red walls, trying to distract himself with the automatic paper towel dispensers. He’s waving his hand in front of it every couple of seconds; I can hear it each time the motor dispenses paper. I wonder how long of a trail he’s created at this point, but it’s the least of my worries.

“Cardan, you’re wasting paper,” I tell him anyway. He does it again once more; I can practically feel his petulant glare through the wall.

“How long is this meant to take?” he asks.

“It’s only been thirty seconds,” I tell him. “It takes two minutes.”

“I will die of old age by then,” Cardan mutters to himself, which I know he finds funny, because he’s immortal, and he waves his hand by the paper towel dispenser again.

I think I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.

Cardan had not been keen on this particular trip to Target, which is saying a lot, because he’s usually so fond of it. He had wanted to cut our trip to the mortal world short, head back to Elfhame and its royal healers and midwives and have me submit to their inquiries and tests, as all queens and lovers of the High Kings of Elfhame have before me.

But I just needed a minute to think. I needed to process this, with Cardan alone, and face the impossibly difficult questions we’ve been avoiding since this became a question. And if this is true, if I really am with child, with Cardan’s child, I don’t want the first people to know to be a bunch of faerie midwives. I want to tell Vivi and Heather. I want Taryn to know first. And I am filled with loathing when I think about how protected and insulated I’m about to become when the healers and midwives know. How the people will cease to see me as their High Queen and rather as the incubator for their Prince.

I want to eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s. This is all happening so fast.

I glance back at the test strip. Stand and flush the toilet. Step out of the red walls.

Cardan’s raised his dark eyebrows, his hand arrested halfway to the paper towel dispenser again.

“Well?” He looks guarded, unsure of how he’s supposed to be reacting. I hand him the test and step up to the sink, turning on the water to wash my hands. I can see him in the mirror behind me, in his tight pants and boots, The Ramones T-shirt he’s borrowed from Vivi. He’s turning the test over and over in his hands, like he can’t tell which way is up. Same, honestly. My head feels like it’s detached from my body.

“It’s yes,” is the only dumb thing I manage to mutter as I soap up my fingers. Just like the commercials.

“How can you tell?” Cardan’s only looking more confused.

“The two lines.” I turn off the water and tear off part of Cardan’s paper towel train. “The two pink lines mean yes.”

Cardan looks up at me. His chest is hitching in shallow breaths.

“We should be celebrating,” he says, but it comes out like he’s trying to convince himself. So he tries again, squaring up his shoulders with a bit more enthusiasm. “We should be celebrating.”

“Mhmm,” I try to agree with a tight nod. I think I’m going to be sick. Again. Cardan searches my face, his gold-rimmed eyes flitting over the lip I’m worrying away at.

“You do not appear to be particularly celebratory,” he points out, but, then, neither does he. His cheekbones are tingeing red.

“It happened so fast, don’t you think?” My voice sounds almost breathless. It feels like a relief to point out, and that relief is contagious. Cardan’s shoulders sag a little bit as he lets out a breath.

“Lightning fast,” he agrees. He’s white-knuckling the pregnancy test.

“Careful -- I peed on that,” I point out, and, as if I’ve instead told him it’s on fire, Cardan hurls it into the trash with a disgusted huff.

I think for a moment about fishing it back out again, the only bit of evidence that I have that what’s going on inside of me is real. That the legacy we wished first wished for together in the dark, in each other’s arms, not even a month ago, is happening now and fast and there’s no going back. The time for second-guessing was over.

But a disconcerting combination of nausea and hunger hit me in the gut all at once, and I’m reminded that I have plenty of evidence and I’m only going to get more. If I really want to, I’ll just pee on another stick later.

“I need Starbucks,” I spout at the same moment Cardan sighs, “I need a drink.” And we share a quick smile.

At there’s still this. This has not changed.

And I should be enjoying that as we leave the bathroom and Cardan lifts the glamour he’d left at the door to give us some privacy. The “Out of Order” sign vanishes. But instead, I’m thinking of everything that is going to change. Of everything that ought to change, immediately, if at all possible.

I find myself unconsciously reaching for Cardan’s hand, and when I grab his palm and entwine our fingers, he’s squeezing mine back, hard. He knows. The worries and arguments past are resurfacing in his mind, too, and, for a moment, he wordlessly anchors himself to me.

We’re walking past customer service, following the alluring scent trail of coffee and baked goods, as I began to look at the other moms shopping. Their cute messy buns and their athleisure, pushing expensive strollers while their kids gnaw on the season’s latest teethers. And I’m struck, once again, by how much I don’t know.

Really, what are we doing here? Of all the people in all the realms, I think we are the last two people who ought to be becoming parents.

For one, I am an unrepentant murderer. Raised by an unrepentant murderer. Who murdered my own mother in front of me. This is not a person who ought to be cradling newborns.

And Cardan? The twice-cursed High King of Elfhame? Raised by house cats, beaten nightly by his own brother. Simultaneously spoiled and neglected. Is such a person even capable of cradling newborns?

And we’re about to be parents. I need to be reading more, I think. I need to have a plan. We never made a plan. We hadn’t had time to make a plan.

I pause a moment near the checkout lines, pulling Cardan to a stop beside me.

“I’m going to buy a few things first,” I decide in that moment. “Vitamins. Maybe some parenting books.”

“I don’t see the point,” Cardan retorts, straight-faced. “We have plenty of house cats.”

I narrow my eyes up at him as he smirks.

“That joke will be hilarious in a few weeks,” he tells me. “Just you wait.”

“I really doubt it,” I frown, and he’s still smirking when he drops my hand, stepping in front of me.

“My darling Jude,” he cups my face in his hands, and for a moment, his face is all I’m seeing. His expression is soft and tender across his beautiful features, and if our child is even half as good as looking, I am going to struggle to not let it have its way in all things. Or I’m going to want to strangle it. Some days, it’s a coin toss.

“You are the most fearsome and glorious creature I have ever had the privilege to behold,” Cardan is telling me. I’m struck once again by the marvel that he can’t lie and what he is saying must be true. In our five years of marriage, it is still sometimes hard to believe.

“And you will be the most fearsome and glorious mother,” he goes on. “I could not conjure up a more perfect mother for my offspring if I tried.”

“I think that says more about your lack of imagination than anything else,” I quip, but my cheeks are smiling in his hands regardless. He smirks back and quickly kisses me on the lips, once, twice.

“I am happy at this news,” he reassures me, as if he has sensed this whole time how overcome I am.

“I am, too,” I say, and I mean it. Truly. I’m a mixing bowl of emotions. My gaze drifts toward the store. “But we do need parenting books…”

Cardan kisses me quick one last time before releasing my face.

“I will procure your coffee,” he says, taking a step back, and it’s impossible not to look him over, his long, lean body in tight, black pants and worn t-shirt, his messy, black curls around the points of his ears. I have modern science to thank for keeping my womb empty these last five years. Chastity certainly had nothing to do with it.

“And Cardan?” I call after him. He turns. “A cake pop, too?” I ask, already in the clutches of a craving.

He looks intrigued.

“Is that what it sounds like?” he asks.

“Ball of cake on a stick,” I explain, kind of gesturing with my hands as if it will help. Cardan nods, determined.

“Then we will be needing several,” he declares before heading off toward the smell of coffee.

I shoulder the bag I borrowed from Heather and then stuff my hands into the pockets of the yellow sundress I’m wearing, one of a few mortal things of my own I keep at Vivi and Heather’s for visits. I’m on my way to the books section when I start to slow down near a display of newborn onesies.

It isn’t as though I never wanted to be a mother. I supposed there would come a day when I would have acquired all the knowledge one needed to be a mother, and then I would, I don’t know, award myself a medal or a pin and be declared Ready.

Taryn hadn’t been Ready. She would be the first to admit that. Not that I don’t love my niece with my entire heart. But Taryn’s daughter was a handful. Little Eva had been colicky and prone to getting her days and nights confused. For that entire first year, every time we saw Taryn, it seemed she faded a little more: the bags under her eyes greying, her auburn hair growing longer and frayed, everything but her breasts shrinking in size. Of course, it wasn’t permanent. Eva learned to sleep eventually, and to walk and eat and use a toilet, and, now that she was a robust and energetic five-year-old, Taryn was more like herself than she’d been in years.

Still. That first year, though.

Time and time again, Cardan and I would exchange glances while Eva squealed and squalled. It was always a silent No, thank you, please passing between us. We’re just fine without, thank you. Between the battle for the crown and undoing a curse, we’d had quite enough excitement, and so I eagerly welcomed Vivi regularly smuggling me little moon-shaped packets of pink pills from the mortal world. I took them each morning, like clockwork, with relish – it meant I could enjoy my freedom, our freedom as long as I wanted.

I’m not sure what happened in me. One day, I was calling it freedom. The next, it felt like an empty vessel.

We’d gone to visit Taryn and Eva at their estate for a summer solstice brunch. Vivi and Heather had come, and The Ghost was there, too, swapping stories and laughing with Vivi. I’d stepped out onto the terrace to call in Eva for food when I’d spotted Cardan. He was helping Eva climb up a tree, holding her hand while she balanced on a branch. Her wild fox hair was blowing in the late morning breeze that carried her giggle up to the house. Then she leapt at him with a delighted squeal, and he caught her and spun her around so that she squealed some more. And that look of sheer joy on his face when she did. His unguarded laugh echoed up through the grassy hills. I felt my heart crack open.

No, thank you, please suddenly felt very unadvised.

“What have I done to deserve such a face?” Cardan asked me, leaving a lingering kiss close to my ear. I guess I was looking a little amorous when he and Eva came inside. Little Eva was trotting off to the kitchens as I wound my fingers against the buttons of Cardan’s doublet, keeping him close for a moment longer.

“You looked happy,” I said as his hands slid around my waist. I looked up into his dark eyes, warm only for me, and saw he was smiling. “You looked like you liked doing fatherly things.”

He pulled me a little closer, a little tighter.

“I think I did,” he admitted, perhaps hardly believing it himself.

And then it happened. The unspoken shift, the change in the air. It seemed to crackle in the space between our gaze, and it took a fair bit of restraint to not pull him into the nearest coat closet and tear off his clothes. Taryn was calling us anyway. The servants had set the table, and no one would be seated until we had taken our chairs, even in this little family arrangement. Taryn was set on Eva learning courtly manners by example.

Courtly manners. By example. Taryn had the best intentions for Eva, but the phrases make me snort even now while I peruse baby clothes in Target. What example did we set in Faerie? One of murder and deceit and betrayal and lewd behavior.

The same day that I’d watched Cardan play with Eva, he abruptly ended dinner in the palace’s great hall to hoist me into his arms and carry me out, away from every one’s gaze, away from even the guards.

“What has gotten into you?” I kicked my feet and pounded at his shoulders – not particularly hard. Look, I’m not going to pretend this isn’t a game now. I could cause damage if I wanted to. I don’t.

Cardan set me on my feet, only to seize my waist in one arm. We stumbled into an alcove in the wall as his head dipped to my neck, his other hand catching us against the wall. Delighted shivers danced down my arms as his lips brushed the spot below my ear, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp.

“You couldn’t lie to me now even if you wanted to, wife,” Cardan murmured, kissing my ear. He wasn’t wrong. I ran my hands up his deep blue velvet doublet to his shoulders, and bent into his embrace. His hands began to roam my waist, my hips, pulling at my skirts.

“I’ll tell you whatever you like if you’ll keep doing this,” I whispered back, flushing. When he pulled back from my throat, there was a wicked, sneaking smile on his reddening lips.

“You don’t despise the thought of bearing my children,” he said, like it’s a revelation. I blinked. Had he been thinking about our previous exchange all day?

“I despise the thought of bearing any children,” I clarified. “It’s not some honor unique to you.”

Cardan gasped as if he was wounded.

“You could not have cut me deeper,” he teased, as I wound my fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “I thought I was special.”

“You are,” I said, tugging at his hair. “Because if I’m to bear any children at all, I would like them to be yours.”

The smile that spread over his face then was far from wicked. Cardan was flushed and delighted in a way few got to see, and his arms squeezed around me, lifting me to him as he crushed his lips to mine.

“Cardan,” I laughed against his fevered kisses, my cheeks hurting. “I didn’t mean right this second.”

His lips were swollen when he pulled back, the pupils of his gold-rimmed eyes blown wide.

“Then practice with me,” he said, his breathing ragged. “Like swordplay. You’re always saying I’m rubbish at practicing.”

“You really are,” I gasped against his mouth.

In the last five years, I’ve grown no better at resisting the pull of his desire. If anything, I’m only worse. I couldn’t think straight there in his arms. I wanted to drown in his contagious idealism. I wanted to be set aflame by his soft lips and his body against mine.

With my arms thrown over his shoulders, his lips slid against mine, over and over, our hearts pounding in time together. And then he lifted me off my toes so that he could push us both through our bedchamber door.

A shoe slipped from my foot, and he stumbled over it, kicked it to the side, without releasing my waist. Only when the back of my legs pressed against the bedframe did he pull back from my mouth, breathless. And then he pushed me back onto the bed.

I stretched out on the lush duvet, my whole body thrumming as my heart battered my ribcage. But when I looked up at his face there at the foot of the bed, his expression had darkened in the candlelight.

“What is it?” I pushed myself up to my elbows. “Why are you stopping?”

Cardan suddenly looked as if he was at war with himself. Even though his chest still heaved, he inched to the bed and stepped back again, his dark brows furrowing together.

“Cardan…?” I sat up, alarmed at his hesitation.

“Do you think I would be any good at it?” he blurted out. “At being a father,” he clarified, and winced as if he already knew and hated the answer.

I slid to the edge of the bed and reached for his belt. Pulled him closer.

“You are as equipped for the task as I am,” I said, looking up at him with what I hoped was a provocative smile. He slid his long fingers into my hair, and I needed him closer. “If you’re terrible at it, then I will probably be worse.”

I meant it in jest. He’d always liked this side of me before, my dark, warped cruelty. But this time, his fingers tightened suddenly in my hair.

“Shit.” The word slid out of him like it was being dragged. His hands dropped from my hair, and he stepped back to look at me. He drew in a sharp breath.

“You think I would be a terrible father,” he said, which was hardly fair. That wasn’t what I said at all. I sighed hard, ruing the direction this was going – further from the bed.

“I think neither one of us knows what a good father looks like,” I said. Cardan only gave a painful chuckle.

“We are both quite familiar with terrible fathers,” he said. “I think you, of anyone, would be able to recognize a terrible father when you saw one.”

“And that is the last time you will compare yourself to Madoc,” I said, in horror. “If that is the standard for terrible fathers, then you’re angelic.”

But Cardan gave me a look of slit-eyed skepticism, so I stood from the bed and stepped to him.

“And, really, what does it matter right now?” I asked, lowly, holding a hand to his face. He leaned against it. I was almost ready to start begging. “I am not falling pregnant tonight. We have time to learn these things, if we want to learn them at all.” I lifted onto my tip toes, brushing my lips to the hollow of his cheek.

“Just come to bed,” I whispered there, and I saw his eyes fall shut, his dark lashes against his sharp cheekbones, as he turned to meet the slant of my lips.

“I want to be good at it,” he murmured against my mouth, as I dragged him toward the bed.

“Then you will be,” I insisted just before he cradled the back of my neck, sinking into our kiss as we tipped toward the mattress.

We have time. It’s an easy lie to tell when you’re in Faerie. Time stretches on, limitless and unending. There shouldbe time, endless amounts of time, to learn all you need to know – about anything. There should be time to become the person you’d always wanted to be.

I had had two months since that first conversation. Even less time since the others. In Faerie, that’s hardly a lunch hour.

I am reeling. I’m in Target with a red basket full of prenatal vitamins and snacks and pregnancy books, and I am absolutely reeling.

After I check out, I find Cardan sitting on the curb with a Starbucks bag that’s the size of a large gift bag and two venti Frappuccinos. The one he’s nursing is strawberry-pink and looks full of cream.

“They didn’t have wine,” he tells me, handing me mine. It’s drizzled in caramel, and I’m not sure it’s what I would have ordinarily chosen, but right now, it smells perfect.

“Probably for the best,” I say, and hazard a glance at his expression. It’s dark and troubled again as he squints against the sunlight. His legs are drawn up, and he’s resting his elbows on his knees, like he’s hunched under a weight. Reality’s given him a hard jolt since he kissed me in front of the newborn onesies.

I take a long sip of the Frappuccino through the green straw.

“Cardan, if you don’t want to do this--” I start, and his head jerks up.

“I have always wanted this,” he snaps, looking defensive, and then he’s looking at his boots again.

“Okay.” I sit back, extending my legs.

How do I do this? I have no blueprint for this. Floundering, there’s only one rope I know to pull, the one that’s always saved us: honesty.

So, I go on.

“I’m terrified, too,” I say. I spread the yellow fabric of my sundress over my knees. “If that’s any consolation. I think I’ll be happy eventually, but right now, I’m completely freaking out. I can hardly form a coherent thought. How many cake pops did you get?” I cock my head at the large Starbucks bag.

Cardan shifts it in my direction.

“All of them,” he says, glumly.

I raise my eyebrows as I peer in the bag. Oak will be excited, at least.

“I hate myself for being so terrified of a thing I desperately want.” I look up at Cardan’s confession to see his face twisted in loathing, and my heart twists right along with it. I know this pain, the agony of fearing what you love.

I could lie to him; I probably should. I should tell him right now that I know without a shadow of a doubt he will be a perfect father, that he’s beyond everything that had been done to him, that none of it had ever touched me either. But I don’t lie to him anymore.

Instead, I hand him a cake pop.

“That strikes me as a waste of energy,” I say, and nudge him with a coy smile. “There are so many other things you could hate yourself for.”

He gives me a wicked smirk and, instead of taking the cake pop I’ve offered, he seizes my other wrist and takes a large bite out of the one I’d claimed for myself. Feigning exasperation, I stab at him with the leftover stick.

“Does this not strike you as problematic?” he asks a moment later, his cheek still full of cake.

“Yes.” I reply with a stoic nod. “The fact that you just ate a pregnant lady’s cake pop is both striking andproblematic.”

“I mean this repartee you and I enjoy.” He wipes at a bit of icing at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “A child ought to know his father loves his mother and vice versa, should he not? I would think that sort of thing helps.”

I feel the heartbreak behind his words as if it were my own. In his mind, he’s now on an endless search for every moment in his childhood that went wrong, every little action he ought to do the opposite of. I know. My mind’s been doing it, too.

I scoot a little closer, nearing his warmth, so that I can lean against him. He rests his head on top of mine.

“But you’re my nemesis,” I say, softly.

“Jude,” he says it like he’s scolding. “Not in front of the children.”

“Do not say ‘children’.” I jab him again as he presses his lips to the top of my head. “Your wishes are too powerful, and there is room in here for only one.”

Cardan’s slipped an arm around me, and I tilt my head back to look at him. The corner of his mouth is tugging upwards, slyly.

“Tell me I’m too powerful again,” he murmurs as he kisses my cheek.

“Later,” I promise, and I reach for another cake pop.

There will be time for all that later.

It’s a lie I get used to telling.

------------------------------------

Tags. Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.: @yellowavocadopit

#jurdan #jude x cardan #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #post-qon #fanfic #fanfiction #jurdan fanfic #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jude x cardan fanfic

219 notes · View notes

miserye · 3 years ago

Note

😩😩😩

This was the last thing I was expecting when I went into my inboxAHDJJSJD but every time I see one of those soap dispensers I think of this one tiktok where the soap was white and the person kept pumping soap repeatedly

#zap (17) old man simp who cannot be stopped #the words were chosen very carefully and with intent HAHAHAHAHA #pumping >> getting #because it was not just #HAHAHAHAHAH #I’ll send it to you if I find it HAHAHAH

1 note · View note

iristhemessenger · 4 years ago

Text

Just for a moment, dance with me?

My very first Wayhaven fic, in the spirit of sharing more F content! <3

Pairing: Felix Hauville/f.Detective (Eris Evergreen)

Summary: Eris' life has been anything but simple these days, her thoughts heavy with the safety of her town and the bloodthirsty monster who threatens them all. She just needs a moment, one blissful moment to take her mind off of it all and Felix may be just the person to help her out. After all, how can she say 'no' to that charming smile?

The song "Cheerleader" of course belongs to Omi, and is a personal favorite for those days when you just feel like dancing to something with a little bop. ^-^

~ * ~

“When I need motivation

My one solution is my queen

'Cause she stay strong (yeah yeah)

She is always in my corner

Right there when I want her

All these other girls are tempting

But I'm empty when you're gone

And they say

Do you need me?

Do you think I'm pretty?

Do I make you feel like cheating?

And I'm like no, not really 'cause

Oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader

She is always right there when I need her”

For such a small town where barely anything happens, Eris will never understand how she still manages to find a towering stack of paperwork and reports on her desk nearly every morning, demanding her attention as she eyes the pile wearily. It has been a quiet day, all things considered, giving her more than ample time to make a good dent in said paperwork.

Most of them are small things, little complaints lodged by bickering neighbors or elder members of the community expressing their displeasure with the local youth who wander the streets, playing their music too loud or generally just standing around and being a nuisance.

She is not sure how many times she’s had to explain to Mrs. Henderson, one of Wayhaven’s regular complainants, that young Micky Roads and his small group of friends were not part of some drug-peddling gang, merely enthusiastic beat-boxers who preferred to share their music with the rest of the town than in the confines of his mother's basement.

Still, she should be thankful that such petty grievances are her only worries these days. What with Murphy running around still free, a part of her had been anxiously waiting for the phone at the station to ring yet again, signalling another death at the crazed vampire’s hands. Yet another life she had failed to protect, just like Garret Hayes.

She knows there's nothing she could have done in the grand scheme of things, but that only alleviated her guilt by a small margin. She was supposed to protect the innocent, supposed to be someone they could turn to in their time of fear and need but this...with Murphy, her blood, her mother, Unit Bravo and the Agency. It was all too much, and so out of her realm of control and understanding.

How was she supposed to prepare her town, her people, for such chaos without causing wide-spread panic among the residents of Wayhaven. If they even believed her at all, that was.

She wouldn’t blame them if they called her batty, no pun intended, this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing she expected to be dealing with when she took on the title of detective for the town. The police academy didn’t exactly train one for handling bloodthirsty, serial killing supernaturals.

She was tempted to write them a letter, to correct that particular oversight.

Not that it would do much good, she knew her mother would only destroy any such evidence against the Agency through her, she was guessing at this point, numerous contacts in order to maintain the secrecy of their shadow agency and dealings with the supernatural.

“Good morning, detective!” A familiar, jovial voice calls out, breaking the silence and her own morose thoughts.

Looking up from her desk, Eris can't help the smile that almost involuntary spreads across her face upon seeing her guest. It’s nothing compared to the dazzling smile that greets her in return as Felix saunters into her office. Eyes so intent on her she fidgets in her chair a little, unused to such undivided attention.

“It’s my turn to escort you home this fine evening.” He explains, giving her a once over that has goosebumps prickling over her skin under his appreciative gaze. “Though, admittedly, you are much finer.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, confused. “Not that I am complaining, but I thought it was Mason’s turn to take me home tonight?”

It had become the new norm at this point, the members of Unit Bravo taking turns escorting or babysitting her throughout the day while the others patrolled the town and surrounding area for Murphy.

She had already spent a delightful morning with Adam.

Sarcasm heavy on the 'delightful' as the leader of the vampiric agents had made no attempt to hide his annoyance when she'd insisted on a small outing from the station to Haley's bakery, for her regular morning caramel macchiato and blueberry scone. Citing the venture as 'inadvisable' and 'ridiculously foolhardy' when the station already had a (semi) working coffee machine in the break room.

The fact that it made coffee that looked and tasted like tar was, of course, of no concern to him.

Seeing Felix after an entire morning of that, and a few more mysteriously dented filing cabinets and a now unusable soap dispenser in the men's room, was honestly a breath of fresh air.

Nothing against Mason, who she suspected was finally beginning to warm up to her (he’d even begun to put out his cigarettes during their car rides back to her home, knowing how much she disliked the smell) but she found that she enjoyed spending time with Felix.

The younger vampire’s mere presence seemed to set her at ease, in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Whether it was his constant string of jokes, as strange as they could be sometimes, or his boundless optimism, whatever it was she sorely needed that right now.

“Ah, well…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, unwilling to admit that Mason had only agreed to switch their shifts because he had all but begged the older vampire until he’d grown fed up with his nagging. “Adam decided to take him out to patrol the warehouse district again for signs of Murphy or a potential hideout. So, you get me for the afternoon instead, if that's ok by you?”

There's a slight hint of uncertainty at the end of his usually confident southern drawl, one he hopes she doesn't catch into.

"Of course it is!" She nods, and he is happy to see her smile, genuine and honest, still in place. Not to mention he'd noted the slight jump in her pulse and heartbeat when he’d announced himself earlier, making his own grin widen. "I always enjoy your company."

"Careful detective, keep buttering me up with sweet words and I'll never want to leave you alone." He teases, with a wink for good measure.

"Oh, heavens forbid." She teases back without missing a beat, shuffling some papers on her desk. "How would I ever manage?"

Felix is practically beaming now down at her, basking in their easy banter. He enjoys these stolen moments with the detective, who was infinitely more fun than patrol duty. Even if at some point he knew they would eventually have to part ways, he would take what he could get. He wanted to savor the time with Eris while he could, and if she were amenable to his flirting and interest, even after discovering their true nature, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to turn her away.

“I’m almost done with these reports” She sighs, “just waiting on some paperwork from Tina and we’ll be good to go if that sounds ok?”

He watches her as she stretches her arms high above her head, in an attempt to ease the stiffness that has made its way through her body. Her back arches in the chair, chest lifting forward, revealing every soft, and ample curve beneath her light blue t-shirt. The young vampire licks his top lip.

“More than ok, excellent even.”

His voice is smoother than silk when he answers, and she swears something breaks within her at the sound of it, leaving her flustered as she catches his eye. She clears her throat, sinking back into her chair.

"Alright then, good...that's...good."

Without another word, but his usual, cocky grin now firmly plastered on his face at a job well done, the agent makes himself comfortable. Draping his body across what has now become his usual chair in her office, feet in the air he crosses his arms across his chest and settles in.

As uncomfortable as the chair itself was, as he often complained, for some reason he continued to stake his claim, flopping into that particular chair every chance he got.

The fact that it was close to her desk, giving them both a clear view of the other, was a nice side benefit to be sure.

It's not long before the quiet she'd found herself in before returns, as Felix does his best not to disturb her. She appreciates his effort, though she can tell it is a trying endeavor as she catches his feet twitching.

In an attempt to alleviate his boredom, she turns on her radio. It's already tuned in to her favorite station, and soon the office is filled with music and she can't help but smile softly as a pleased grin spreads across the vampire's shapely mouth.

Felix, for his part, is grateful to find the station plays modern, up to date songs. Not that he didn’t like the music Nate often played, per say, but it did lack a certain energy to it that Felix craved.

Keeping a not-so-subtle eye on the detective, he is happy to see she seems to be of the same mindset. While looking over a few documents, she unconsciously begins to bob her head to the catchy, upbeat rhythm of a song Felix knows well.

To his extreme delight, he even sees her begin to follow the words, perfectly lip-syncing every lyric as she continues to follow the beat.

He watches her lips as they move, soft, pink, a little chapped and bare of any lipstick or gloss. Aside from the barest hint of eyeliner and complimentary eye shadow, he notes she doesn’t wear much make-up. Preferring a more natural look, which suits her well he thinks.

Felix soaks it all in, this moment with her. Unguarded, relaxed, being here with Eris. It felt, so natural and right. He’d never felt like this before with another person, aside from his teammates. He wants to keep it, keep her, but he does his best from getting too excited, just in case.

She’s been very receptive to his flirting, albeit a tad shy which he found adorable, allowing him to savour the growing attraction between them. But, he couldn't help but wonder. What about something…more?

He’s brought out of his own thoughts when her eyes, dark blue like sapphires, catch his. She instantly straightens, brushing a strand of long, black hair behind her ear and clears her throat.

“I, uh, I really like this song...” She admits biting her bottom lip, embarrassed at having been caught.

Felix only smiles, loving the soft blush that blossoms over her fair skin as her pulse quickens.

“You have excellent taste,” His eyes sparkle impishly. “This is one of my favorites too! I wonder what else we have in common, we should definitely take the time to find out...”

He practically purrs the last part, and she can’t help but laugh nervously at how easily he manages to fluster her.

“Back in college I used to be a member of this dance team, and this song was a part of one of our regular routines...” She confesses, voice trailing off as she realizes what she's just said.

Gods, why was she telling him this?! It wasn’t something she advertised, exactly. Though, there had been the occasional incident where Verda or Tina had walked in on her jamming out in her office in an attempt to blow off steam after a particularly nasty meeting with the mayor or a run-in with Bobby.

To her surprise, instead of laughing at her like she expected, Felix jumps out of his chair so suddenly she barely sees him before he is leaning excitedly over her desk. His face is so close to her own, she nearly falls backwards, chair and all at the sudden proximity.

“Show me?!” His excitement is hard to deny, and she finds herself smiling at his enthusiasm.

“S-show you? Like, now, here in the office?” She repeats, receiving a vigorous nod in return.

“Yeah, it’ll be much more fun than just waiting around for those reports. Besides, you can’t not show me after letting that juicy bit of information slip just now.”

He can’t be serious, she thinks, but looking into those earnest eyes, so open and honest, she knows there’s no way he isn’t. They’ve spent enough time together at this point for her to get a sense of the young vampire’s exuberant nature, and, lacking anything else of immense interest to distract him, she knows there’s no getting out of this without refusing him flat out.

The very notion of telling him ‘no’ and potentially losing that bright smile of his doesn’t exactly sit well with her either, for reasons she doesn’t care to dwell on. So, sighing dramatically, she reluctantly gets out of her chair.

“Ok, ok…it’s been awhile so bear with me.” She says, moving to the middle of the room.

Shaking her arms and legs a bit, Eris takes a few steadying breathes in an attempt to quell her nerves. A difficult task considering she is now the focus of Felix’s attention, those amber eyes of his trained solely on her.

She has to think on it a bit, moving her feet and arms in various motions and poses before the movements become familiar again and, smiling like a fool, she is able to recall the entire routine from muscle memory until she is gliding and bopping across the floor of her office like she used to during her college days.

For a single, blissful moment, she forgets where she is. Caught in the nostalgia of her memories and the music.

Simpler, happier times when the world made sense. Before everything turned upside down, before poor Janet and Garret's deaths. Before her mother and Unit Bravo came crashing into her town, and life. Before she found herself being hunted down by a psychopathic vampire for a mutation within her blood she never knew she had before a few days ago.

Just dancing, in the quad with her former classmates and friends. Laughing, letting all their worries melt away as they practiced their routines. Improvising along the way, goofing off and having a good time despite the pressures of upcoming exams and troublesome boyfriends or girlfriends.

Felix watches her the entire time, absorbing the routine with such an immersed focus she can’t help but feel the heat creeping up along her neck to the tips of her ears. Especially when his eyes seem to stray to her swaying hips, his interest blatant and intense.

Swallowing hard, she comes to an abrupt stop and laughs awkwardly. Staring at the floor, with it’s uninteresting color palette. “Welp, yeah…that’s it!"

I’ll just go die of embarrassment now , she groans internally as she turns back to her desk.

“No, wait!” He stops her, reaching out to catch her by her arm. She shivers. The touch of his hand on her bare skin sends a pleasant warmth throughout her body, traveling all the way down to her toes. It's not dissimilar to the same feeling she'd experienced the day they'd gone to Kate's, when he'd ventured to touch her before getting back into her poor, beat up hatchback.

He feels it too, staring down at where his hand grasps her forearm. His smile softens, and he takes the moment to brush his thumb along her skin. As if relishing the touch and the sensations it gives them both, and she relaxes into the touch. “I really liked it, your dance. I think I got the moves down, let me try it with you, please?”

She only hesitates a moment as she considers, before nodding. He releases her, though he appears reluctant to do so. To her own surprise, she also feels a pang of regret at the loss of contact.

Grabbing her phone from her desk, she opens up her playlists on her music app. It doesn't take her long to find the song she's looking for, despite the numerous playlists she has collected over the years.

Music had always been therapeutic for her, a means of escaping or dealing with the world in the absence of her mother. Dancing was an extension of that, a fun hobby that had helped her work off stress and gain a few friends along the way.

And now, here in her office, during what had to be the most chaotic time of her life, she was able to share it with Felix. Grinning at the thought, she positions her phone upright before pressing play. The same song from the radio begins anew, and she returns to her position in the center of the room.

This time, Felix happily sidles up next to her, so eager she can practically feel him vibrating with barely contained excitement. She’s never met anyone with so much raw energy before, and she’s sure not even Tina could match him in sheer vivacity.

As they begin the routine, Eris can't help but think he would have made an excellent addition to her former dance team. In more ways than one, she decides after they run through the steps a few times. He's a quick learner, following her lead, and perfectly imitating every movement..

Surprisingly, it’s not long before they fall into an easy groove. Their timing, uncertain and new at first, quickly becomes almost second nature by the time they all but perfect the routine and soon they find themselves laughing and smiling as they lose themselves to the rhythm. Felix is a natural performer, his movements graceful yet laced with his usual cheer and vibrance, as they dance to the hip-hop tempo of the song.

“She walks like a model

She grants my wishes like a genie in a bottle (yeah yeah)

'Cause I'm the wizard of love

And I got the magic wand

All these other girls are tempting

But I'm empty when you're gone

And they say

Do you need me?

Do you think I'm pretty?

Do I make you feel like cheating?

And I'm like no, not really 'cause

Oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader

She is always right there when I need her”

Eris can only imagine how they would look to the rest of the station, if Tina or Verda, or god-forbid Douglas, walked in on them at that moment. There would be no end to the heckling she’d endure, that was for sure but for now it didn’t matter. They were carefree and safe behind these four walls, away from the troubles that haunted her outside of the sanctuary of her office.

The song eventually ends, but her playlist goes on, queuing up the next song in her library. It's another dance hit, one she recalls often being played in the local bars and dance halls that she and her friends would frequent. Dancing long into the night, until they were a merry band of sweaty limbs and clothes, high off the adrenaline and fruity cocktails plied by the bartenders and eager would-be paramours.

“Ah, hell yeah!” Felix laughs, “this is another good one! Your playlist is fire, detective.”

Without pause, they throw themselves into the new song, adding their own unique bit of flair here and there as they dance.

“Any cool routines go with this one?”

She shakes her head as she shimmies and rolls her hips playfully around the vampire, who watches her closely. “Nope! Completely freestyle, think you can handle that?”

“Oh, I can more than handle…” He promises, rolling his lips suggestively. He beckons her, wagging his finger in a come-hither gesture. “Show me what you got, detective?”

She laughs, mirth bubbling over.

For the first time since all of this mess started she feels light, her natural endorphins kicking in and setting her at ease.

When the moment presents itself, Felix takes the opportunity to take her by the hand. Twirling her here and there, bringing her closer as her back falls against his chest before whipping her away once again. He's quick on his feet, and thanks to her years of experience, dancing with numerous partners Eris finds herself able to match and meet his pace with little trouble as the two moved in tandem.

Soon enough, they find themselves swaying together. It’s the closest she’s ever been, physically, to the younger agent by themselves. A fact that Felix seems to pick up on as well, though he feels very little inclination to resume any distance between them. If anything, he takes advantage of the moment, eyes eagerly seeking her’s as he dares to rest his hand on her waist.

The touch sends an instant jolt up her spine, but she doesn't push him away. Instead, she melts into him, meeting his gaze and welcoming the heat that has been building between them.

She’ll never get over how beautiful his eyes are. Like gemstones, sparkling gold and striking. She could lose herself in them forever. It’s amazing how easily they fall into each other, as if they’d been dancing together for years.

“This kind of music and dancing is definitely more my speed, not like the fancy ballroom dancing Nate likes. Though, he is really good at it.” Felix breaks the tension, laughing lightly. “He did teach me a few fun moves too.”

She barely hears him, but smiles and nods anyways. The blood pumps loudly in her ears, heart racing as she feels the sweat begin to drip down her temple. It’s been awhile since she went this hard. Usually, even her most energetic dance sessions were within the safe confines of her apartment. Felix, frustratingly, looks unperturbed by all their physical exertion. Yet another vampire perk, she guessed.

"Here comes the dip!" He announces suddenly, leaving her only a fraction of a second to react as he suddenly drops her downward.

Her arms reach out, instinctively wrapping around his neck to keep from falling. He may not have the sheer muscle mass or height of his companions, but Eris can feel the strength in Felix's arms and neck as he holds her tightly. He’s slender, but solid.

"Don't worry, I got you!" He laughs, lilting voice taking on a huskier tone as he speaks. "I won't let you go, unless you want me to…though, that may be a bit difficult. I kind of like holding you like this.”

Eris feels her heart skip a few beats as she processes his words. Chest rising and falling as she attempts to catch her breath, the heat that had momentarily been abandoned returning full force, crackling in the sparse space left between them.

Charged and tempting, like a favorite candy left unsupervised on the table. All one had to do was give in, indulge in that first, sweet taste...

“Well, you two seem to be having fun.”

Startled, Eris looks up to see Verda standing in the doorway of her office. There is no mistaking the twinkle in his eye, or the amused twitch to the corner of his mouth and suddenly Eris feels the need to bury herself in a deep, deep hole. Beside him, or more like towering behind him, is an all too familiar, and exceptionally handsome face.

“Felix, this is hardly what I’d call escorting Eris home.” Nate sighs. Despite his soft rebuke, she can still see a small, indulgent smile on the man’s face.

“Oops, sorry Natey!” Felix laughs, quickly helping her back to her feet. “We were just having a bit of fun. Right?"

He shifts his gaze back to her, eyes bright, still filled with the vigor of their dancing and the sizzling remnants of their lost moment.

"Sorry, Nate it's my fault." Eris tries to apologize, smoothing the wrinkles from her shirt. It was more a joint effort, if she was being honest, but she was also the one who gave into Felix's request in the first place. So, she felt somewhat responsible for their delay.

It felt silly, like being caught by a parent with a cookie from the cookie jar before dinner. Not that she would know what that was like.

"I'd be inclined to believe that, Eris. However, Felix has a much longer track record than you when it comes to belying his duties." He says, casting a knowing look at said agent.

Felix only smiles with a shrug, looking perfectly unapologetic.

She chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. "Welp, I tried. Never let it be said I didn’t try to defend your good name.”

“Detective!” Placing a hand to his chest, Felix sighs dreamily. “My personal knight in shining armor. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

"I just came to deliver these for you, from Tina." Verda chimes in, passing the manilla envelopes to the still-grinning Eris.

"And where did Tina get off too?''

Now, his smile vanishes, "she left work a little early so she could try and catch Kate at the dental office, drive her home...poor woman has been on autopilot since her son's passing…"

A somber silence falls over the room, the reality of death reclaiming the once vibrant and merry atmosphere. It's almost suffocating.

Nate clears his throat, thankfully breaking the sudden quiet that blankets them all.

"Well, let's be off then before Adam comes looking for us both." Eris cringes, she can only imagine the stiff lecture that would follow if that ended up happening.

"Let me file these away, then I'll grab my coat and meet you two out front?"

"Sounds good." Nate agrees with a soft smile, warm brown eyes alight in good cheer.

After Felix, Nate is another member of Unit Bravo who sets Eris at ease. The man exuded a natural warmth and openness that was hard to resist, not to mention rare, for which she was grateful for. A stark contrast to the other two members of their team who were currently not present.

"A good night to you then, Eris." Verda nods, "I am going to call it a day, Eric and the kids have dinner waiting for me. Mustn't let it get cold, I’d never hear the end of it."

She smiles, nodding. "Have a good night, Verda. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, say ‘hi’ to the family for me."

The vampires move to follow the pathologist out of her office, Felix gracing her with another wink as he trails after Nate to wait outside.

"Hey, Felix." She calls out, before he disappears.

He stops in the doorway, turning back to smile at her. "What's up, detective? Itching for another dance already, because I wouldn’t say no to that."

"No, I mean - I would, it's just…" she runs a hand through her hair, letting out a breath. How did he always manage to get her so worked up? "Thank you."

"For what?" He asks, smile dropping a little in confusion.

"For...taking my mind off things. I was kind of in a funk before you came to get me, and the dancing just now...well, it really helped. So, thank you for that."

Eris thinks she's seen most of Felix's expressions by this point, the agent has varying degrees of excitement and cheer, whether genuine or cheeky. Occasionally somber, like he had been with Kate. But the look on his face now could only be described as, well, almost bashful.

"I, heh, well...your welcome, then." Eris blinks, surprised at his response. She's never quite heard him at a loss for words before. He turns away, rubbing the side of his neck. Was he, was he blushing? "Always here to help…"

He laughs, the sound not at all like his usual loud, boisterous laugh. More like a self-conscious chuckle, as he shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I, uh...I better get to Nate, before he thinks I am holding you up again. Don’t keep me-us waiting too long, alright?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of my presence, even for a few seconds.” She jests, enjoying the leverage she seems to have gained over the normally unflappable flirt.

He stares at her, as if he’s never seen anything quite like her before bursting into another nervous laugh. “Your something else, you know that?”

With that, Felix tears himself away and she smiles at his retreating back. It was nice to know she could throw the usually charming and cheeky agent off of his game, giving him a taste of his own medicine every once in a while was very cathartic for all the times he managed to leave her a stammering mess.

Still, biting her bottom lip in thought as she recalls the heated moment they'd shared, she wonders what would have happened had Nate and Verda not shown up. How much of this, all the flirting and back and forth, was simply a fun distraction for the vampire who seemed to draw her in so effortlessly with his easy smile and otherworldly eyes.

He seemed the type to love them and leave them, moving on to the next new and interesting thing that caught his fancy. Though, it felt wrong to think of him like that, as if there was still so much more to him she had yet to see and understand. Maybe there was more to him, hidden beneath the charming smiles and quick quips, waiting for the right person to take an interest and a closer look.

Watching her from a short distance, lingering at the station's entrance, she can't see the soft amber eyes that mirror her own musings. Wondering if maybe she might take him up on that second dance, just the two of them, and where it might lead.

Would it be so bad, he thinks. After this whole mess with Murphy was settled, he knew they'd be called away again to god-knows wherever they were needed next. But, watching the detective as she finished her day's work, catching the way she smiled softly as she mouthed a few familiar words from the song they'd danced to just moments ago, he feels a sudden, anxious kind of excitement pull at his chest at the possibilities.

Until then, Felix forces himself to turn away. With a spring in his step, he replays the feeling of her skin against his own, the beating of her heart, her enticing aroma surrounding him, overwhelming his senses. Snuggling into his thick, cotton scarf he savors the memory. Bracing himself for the cold, and Nate, both waiting for him outside the warmth of the station.

He would definitely need to see about that second dance, he decides with some conviction. Hopefully, before they were forced to return to their lives before all of this killing and madness.

With a wide grin, he hums happily, the same tune that he would now forever associate as their song to their first dance.

~ * ~

“Oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader

She is always right there when I need her

She gives me love and affection

Baby did I mention, you're the only girl for me

No I don't need a next one

Mama loves you too, she thinks I made the right selection

Now all that's left to do

Is just for me to pop the question

Oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader

She is always right there when I need her

Oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader

She is always right there when I need her.”

~ * ~

Below is a link to the routine I had in mind when picturing Felix and Eris’ dancing, if you're curious, choreo by Blacka Di Danca ft. Fraules <3

Thank you for reading! I have a few more stories in mind for Flirty Hotville, so he may be making an appearance again here soon…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4E46VmGLc88

#twc #f hauville #eris x felix hauville #the wayhaven chronicles #these two dancing fools #i love them so much #felix hauville #<33333 #yes they make their own playlist after this

35 notes · View notes

honeylikewords · 4 years ago

Text

gifts (din djarin)

(a hanukkah fic about my Very Definitely Jewish Darling, Din Djarin. i left a few things ambiguous-- for example, Grogu is very definitely the baby/child/son being mentioned, but his name isn’t used so that he can be interpreted as either a human or alien child-- but it should still all make sense. also, Din and his beloved being a married couple. that’s about all you need to know! enjoy!)

“You have to actually at least try to wrap them.”

Din casts a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder at his wife, who is standing behind him in her pajamas, arms crossed over her chest with a playful smirk on her lips. She leans against the doorway to his work room and points at the small pile of presents laying in crumpled, crinkled, crushed lumps of misshapen paper, her eyes twinkling in the glow of his bench lamp.

“It’s hard,” he grumbles, turning back to the task at hand upon his workbench with a pout. “Besides, it’s not like he can even open packaging.”

“You can’t just give him unwrapped gifts, sweetness. The wrapping paper’s half the fun!”

“When I was a kid, I didn’t even get presents,” Din grouses, fumbling with a piece of tape stuck to his fingers. “It was just lighting the candles, prayers, and maybe dinner. None of this gifting stuff.”

“I know, hon.”

Walking up behind him, Din’s wife places an affectionate kiss on his temple and rubs at his tight shoulders, giggling to herself at his dour disposition. The corner of his lips twitch but he seems to suppress whatever emotion had intended to cross his face, instead allowing for the frown lines to form deeply on his forehead as he scrunches his brows and futzes with the obstinate tape again.

“But,” she continues, “We both agreed that the little guy was gonna get presents for each night. And if we’re going to be giving gifts, we ought to be wrapping them. Right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he replies, voice softly distant but accepting.

There’s a pause as she reassuringly massages her thumb along the neckline of his shirt and he makes that low, clearing sound, deep in his throat-- the ever-familiar noise of Din trying to gear himself up to say something he’s shy about-- then casts his eyes down at his hands, picking aimlessly at the affixed tape.

“Could you, uh… help me, please?”

His wife chuckles and rolls her eyes, bending down to kiss him solidly on the cheek, nodding as she pulls up a stool and sits next to him at the workbench. She lifts up one of the malformed paper-piles trying to pass itself off as a wrapped present and reaches over Din’s fidgeting hands to pick up his box-cutter, slicing through the masses of poorly-placed tape and crumpled paper to excise the gift within.

A Hot Wheels car in a plastic box sits before her, safely removed from its cocoon of wrapping paper, and, satisfied with her work, she turns to Din, flashing him a warm smile.

“What paper did you wanna use for this one?”

Din scuttles off his stool and procures a laundry basket packed with long tubes of rolled wrapping paper. He picks up one printed with chubby penguins wearing knit vests and pom-pom hats, and presents it to his bride proudly.

“I thought he’d like them,” he explains, pointing at one of the vested birds. “He loves animals.”

His brown eyes glimmer beneath the lamplight, and his eagerness to please gives him a puppyish sweetness, almost as if he’s waiting for her to praise his selection in paper. She can’t help it; leaning over, Din’s wife gives him yet another kiss, this time a light, brief peck on the lips, and feels him melt slightly into her touch, his tension from his earlier frustration ebbing away.

When she pulls back, Din’s face is clearly warmed-- a certain glow about his cheeks and ears, and a pleased expression overtaking him-- and he flashes her a sheepish smile.

He watches as she carefully unspools a length of the paper and measures it against the matchbox car, flipping the container this way and that until she has the correct proportions. Once she is content, she takes up a pair of scissors Din had long-since abandoned on the workbench and glides through the paper easily, slicing off a neat section of it before aligning the present just so and making her folds.

Entranced by the efficiency of her motions, Din stares as she makes neat fold after neat fold, enveloping the small box in a smooth, crisp layer of the penguin paper. She holds down the nexus of the folds with one finger and turns to Din, pointing to something further down the worktop surface.

“Could you hand me a piece of tape, honey?,” she asks, twirling her finger as if that will summon the tape dispenser closer. “I can’t reach it from here.”

Din gives a wordless nod and cuts her a small segment of the tape, taking great care not to get it tangled around his fingers again as he gingerly affixes it to the end of hers. Once she has it, she places it on the central fold of the paper amalgam, then extends her hand again; a silent request for another piece.

Once more, Din cuts off a length of tape and gently places it in her hands, and watches her with wonderment as she seals the gift into its paper, flipping it over so that the seams are concealed at the bottom. She looks up and down the table, brows knit, and sighs through her nose.

“Did you… not bring any bows or ribbon out, Din?”

“...We have ribbon?”

She lets out a huff of affectionate exasperation and gets up from the workbench to scour through the basket of paper and finds what she’s looking for wedged in at the bottom; out of the depths of the wrapping paper basket she procures a rather beaten-looking baggie of stick-on bows and spools of ribbon, shaking it as if to say “behold, Exhibit A” to her husband.

Din gives her a beleaguered shrug of the shoulders followed by what he clearly hopes to be a winning smile, and she acquiesces, returning to the bench and tugging out a blue bow and unpeeling the backing of it.

“I think he’s going to love this one,” she murmurs as she affixes the bow, placing it jauntily on one corner of the box’s flat surface. “I think he’s going to love all the presents you picked for him.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Din sit up straighter, his chest pushed out a bit more prominently, pleased and prideful. She chuckles to herself and pulls out a marker from a “WORLD’S NO. 1 DAD” mug on the desk, uncapping it and handing it to Din.

“Write who it’s from on it so he knows, okay?”

Din grins and nods, almost childlike. Just below the bow he writes the words “FROM DADDY TO KID” in his heavy handwriting, letters slightly clunky but nevertheless legible. He recaps the pen and places it back in the cup, pleased with his successful signage.

“That’s one done,” she beams.

“Seven more to go,” he responds.

They talk quietly as they continue to wrap his gifts-- a picture book, a set of chunky, toddler-fist sized building blocks, a plush frog, a box of bathtub soaps, a few tubs of play dough, a thick-pieced jigsaw puzzle depicting a rocket ship, and his “big present”, a push-along bicycle-- and Din helps as best he can, holding down junctures of folded paper for her or cutting off strips of tape or signing this and that as he’s asked to.

The bike poses a particular problem to the couple and they sit on the floor and take turns shearing off thin, manageable pieces to try and coat the vehicle in a sort of woven cask of paper, and as they work their conversation continues, voices soft to match the hour of the night.

“I think I got some candy, one year,” Din says absentmindedly, hands busy wrapping the infant-sized handlebars in a layer of puppies-in-yarmulkes-print paper.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Every so often there were the chocolate coins or those, uh, you know--”

He frowns for a moment, trying to conjure the words to mind, pausing midway through the mummification of the bike. When he catches the memory, he snaps his fingers, smiling with satisfaction.

“Like, the gummy fruit slices? You know? Where they were, I think, supposed to look like oranges most of the time, but some of them would be green or blue or--”

“With the little white strip kinda towards the outside edge?”

“That’s the one!,” Din grins, resuming his wrapping. “We’d have those from time to time. They were always at least a little stale, but I remember them being there when we’d have the bigger gatherings; if there was going to be a group of people over for the meal, usually someone would bring along a box of those fruit slices for us kids.”

“I don’t think I ever ate those,” she remarks, wrapping a thread of the paper around the seat of the bike with careful delicacy, “But I’d see them in stores all the time and wonder about them. They looked good in that sort of ‘imaginary foods’ kind of way.”

“We’ll get some next time we’re out,” Din says. “Gotta at least try ‘em.”

“And we’ll have to get him some applesauce,” she notes, adding to their mental list.

“Yeah, he seems to like the latkes better when we have applesauce with them. Takes after me like that, I guess.”

She looks up to see Din smiling to himself, and she knows that smile well-- it’s the expression he wears when he thinks proudly of his son, when he’s picturing that tiny little face and those big, dark eyes and sweet smile.

Overcome by affection, she reaches her hand out and lays it atop his, stilling him in his work. He turns his head up to face her, at first surprised, and then comforted. He cocks his head to the side and gives her another smile she knows: a smile of love, his eyes tender with attention, hazy with memories.

She interlaces their fingers and leans across the bike, coming face to face with him, and rubs the ball of her nose against his, feeling the tickle of his wispy mustache hairs and the smoothness of his skin. His breath is warm against her face and she sighs, contented.

“You’re a good dad, Din Djarin,” she whispers, feeling him tremble slightly at the words, at the ghost of her voice trailing over his skin.

She feels him nod and push slightly closer, hovering his lips over hers with an intended pause, a permitted distance.

“Thank you,” he rasps back, cowed by modesty.

He hesitates for half a second, a fraction of a moment, until he feels her putting her hand on the side of his face and becomes emboldened-- he presses forward and pushes their lips together, slow and deep and soft, unhurried in his indulgence.

Din allows one hand to tuck under the back of her head, cupping her close as he closes his eyes and savors the moment. He doesn’t care that they’re hunched over their child’s half-wrapped bicycle, nor that it’s well past midnight, nor that his legs and back hurt from sitting at an awkward angle at his workbench all those hours. No, all he can think of is this: her, warm and yielding and loving, her lips against his, a piece of his family, his clan.

They linger with one another for a long moment, then part, lazy and hesitant, hovering mere millimeters away. Din’s fingers trace softly along the base of her skull, brushing the hair at the nape of her neck to great effect. She brushes their noses together again and blinks up at him, gazing into the warm depths of his richly brown eyes as he scans her face with them, flitting from feature to feature to gauge her emotions.

He traces a hand down her shoulders and strokes faintly at the ridges of her spine that he can feel through her pajamas, his touch surprisingly dainty for a man so often entrenched in roughness and power and strength. Charmed, she lays her head on his shoulder, stretching slightly across the width of the bike still situated between them so as to wrap her arms around his neck and press her ear to his chest, both of them still and silent but comfortably so.

Din’s fingers continue to glissade up and down the column of her neck and back, every so often tantalizingly tickling at her sensitive hair and making her shiver, pleased. She squeezes him tight and nuzzles into his chest.

He makes that noise again-- muted but buried, but a rising clearing-- and he shifts, slightly discomposed as he tries to gather his courage. Looking up from his chest, she watches his face as he moves the corners of his mouth, readying himself.

“I, uh,” he starts, cheeks beginning to color slightly, “You know… I love, um, love you very much.”

She pauses, then grins.

“Of course I do, Din.”

“Thank you for helping me,” he mumbles. “And for kissing me. And thinking I’m a good dad.”

At that, she laughs, and Din is taken aback, an abrupt embarrassment overtaking his expression. She sits up and shushes him, putting her hands on either side of his face and pressing pecks all across his cheeks and lips, giggling between kisses.

“No, no, honey, it’s not that,” she titters, amused by his indignant countenance, “It’s just so cute!”

He furrows his brow and frowns.

“You know I’ll always help you,” purrs his wife, brushing one of his downy cocoa-colored curls behind his ear. That seems to melt his icy stiffness, if only a little. “And that I love you so very much. Right?”

At that, he lumberingly nods. She smiles, and joyfully kisses the downturned corners of his pouty lips.

“It’s just so cute that you’d thank me for kissing you,” she says, a glittering edge of adoration tinting her voice. “We’re married!”

Din’s face flushes and he looks down at his hands, wringing his palms slightly. His boyish bashfulness has her heart aflame with affection, and she can’t help but push closer, tipping the bike over slightly as she kisses his face anew, endeared to him beyond words. She kisses the ticklish spot just under his ear and Din lets out a little half-yelp, half-laugh, and she beams up at him, watching his sullen sulk fade away.

“I know we’re married,” he mutters, trying to suppress his mirth. “But it’s still… it still surprises me, sometimes.”

“Oh, honey,” she breathes.

Looking away, Din fumbles a bit and tries to stand up, making it to his feet with some effort as his knees make a slight popping noise. His wife giggles and he casts a sharp look down, preemptively scolding her away from making a joke about his age. Extending a hand to her, Din lifts her to her feet as well, somehow managing to gracefully guide her up and around the bike and directly into his arms, holding her to his chest with no barrier between the two of them.

His fingers worry at the hem of her pajama blouse as he takes pause, his eyes flickering between her face and anywhere else in quick succession. He seems to be trying to take stock of what to say or do, judging his options internally and allowing a silence to grow externally as he assesses his next move. Making a judgement of her own, his beloved puts a hand on his cheek and strokes along the patchy line of stubble starting to form the barebones beginnings of a beard.

“I love you,” she says, clear and confident and unabashed. “Always have, always will.”

A light comes into Din’s eyes, and he ducks his head, pushing his face into the tender crook of her neck and burying himself into her warmth, demuring into her skin with mumbled words and kisses. She feels his hands squeeze at her waist and lift her to his chest, then--

“Oh!”

Din is lifting her and spinning her, a surprisingly excited move from a man usually so reserved and reticent, and she can’t help but let out a bright, cheery peal of laughter, which, she is even more surprised by, is met with equal laughter from her usually severe husband.

His laughter is soft but deep; arid, with a light rumbling chasing each building layer as he lets himself become more and more open with his joy. She can’t help but feel like a shy girl again, in his hands, listening to the sound of his beautiful, unmatched voice as he laughs, only for her, only in her arms; she floats with butterflies as he sets her down and gives her a kiss, his face heated with his characteristic sweet diffidence.

“Sorry,” he murmurs against her lips, not bothering to pull back from her as he speaks. “I just got a little excited.”

“Don’t apologize,” she stammers with a grin.

“And you look so pretty when I pick you up and--”

Pushing forward, she silences his ecstatic stutters with a genial kiss, and listens to him sigh contentedly out through his nose, the sound not dissimilar to that of an old dog being petted in just the right spot.

Just as they begin to mould their lips to one another more deeply, a noise from behind makes Din whip his head around. The monitor he has sitting on his workbench is chirping, relaying sounds from the baby’s room: he’s fussing, stirring in his sleep and making small, plaintive cries. Instantly, Din’s eyes become filled with worry and his countenance shifts from intimate husband to concerned father, and he turns back to his wife, brows knit.

She strokes his jaw and kisses his chin softly.

“It’s alright. He’s just waking a little. But,” she says, putting her hands on her hips and surveying the wrapped gifts, “I suppose we ought to hide these away before the little one can peek at ‘em.”

When the monitor registers another whimper from the baby and Din’s expression becomes even more distressed, she takes his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze, not letting him slip through her fingers into a mire of his own worries.

“And then, right after, we’ll go check on him. Okay?”

Din nods, a modicum of confidence restored to him when the monitor falls silent and stays so for many moments in a row. He gives her a quick, fleeting phantasm of a smile-- warm and sweet, shy and docile-- and she falls just a little bit more in love with him, the same as she does every time he lets her see that perfect smile of his.

He moves to part from her to start picking up the presents, but she tugs at his hand slightly and holds him back. Casting an inquisitive look over his shoulder, he meets her eyes and has time to blink once before she puts her free hand on his chest and presses up on her toes to lock lips with him.

“Happy holidays, honey,” she hums as their lips part with a delicate sound.

Din blinks, then grins back.

And goes in for another kiss.

#long post #din djarin #original #YES i know it's late (hanukkah is already over) but i wouldn't feel good doing anything Christmasy until i'd done this one!

14 notes · View notes

spine-buster · 5 years ago

Text

the storm before the calm (f. andersen) | 7

A/N: Heeeeeere we go!

Fred knew something was wrong.

It was a slow descent, noticing that Aleida was getting more and more distant, but it was noticeable.

It happened in two acts:

>< >< >< >< ><

Act 1: When Aleida Noticed People Were Looking

Bee and Morgan had asked if Aleida and Fred wanted to join them for dinner at Canoe. Aleida agreed, and mentioned she would bring them for hang out at SoHo House afterwards. When Morgan mentioned it was member’s only, how could they possibly do that?, Aleida said not to worry about it.

Aleida had to reapply her lipstick before she exited the taxi because of Fred. When she did, he slipped his hand over hers so easily. Morgan and Bee were waiting for them outside, and as they all stuffed into the elevator with a few other patrons to make their way up to 54th floor of the building, Fred’s hand was resting on her ass.

Aleida ordered an expensive bottle of wine for the table, and Morgan ordered another. Bee told her the story of their first date at Cibo. Fred’s hand squeezed Aleida’s underneath the table the entire time. Aleida mentioned how the executive chef was a friend. Dinner was sublime, as it always was at Canoe. Morgan got a little bit tipsy; his cheeks blushed red like he had been pinched for five minutes straight. There was almost a third bottle of wine ordered until they all remembered they were also going to SoHo House. Fred seemed a bit reluctant to go but he was convinced. Aleida excused herself to use the restroom before they left.

Inside, washing her hands, Aleida was minding her own business when she looked up at herself through the mirror and saw Diane Ragland, one of her mother’s friends. Aleida held her breath. Diana was an almost constant mainstay at her parents’ dinner parties growing up, but Aleida hadn’t seen her in years. She was sure her mother and Diane were still friends; it was just that Aleida hadn’t seen her.

“Aleida? Is that you?” Diane said once she finally looked up from exiting the stall.

“Hi Diane,” Aleida smiled meekly.

“I thought I looked out into that sea of tables and saw you,” she said, her voice smooth like velvet. It was one of the things that Aleida didn’t like about her. Her voice was always too calm. “How is your mother doing? And your father?”

“They’re well, thank you.”

“And you?”

Aleida cringed. “I’m okay.”

Diane began washing her hands, getting some soap from the dispenser and rubbing it all over her hands. “Yes, you look okay,” she commented. “You look better than the last time I saw you.” Aleida thought back to that – God, it was so long ago – which was probably at one of her mother’s dinner parties. “It was the Heart and Stroke Foundation Ball,” Diane clarified, as if she was reading Aleida’s mind. “Your father was the guest speaker.”

“Right.” Aleida didn’t want to think of that night. She didn’t want to think about anything to do with that time period. She’d survived on martinis and the asparagus on the main course plate that night because she wore a backless, strappy, figure-hugging gown that got her all the attention she didn’t want.

“You look fuller. And happier. Like you don’t have a bone to pick with everybody who comes up to you,” Diane commented. “And it looks like you’ve made some good friends, finally.”

Fuller. Happier. Bone. Aleida held her breath. She didn’t want to hear anymore. “Speaking of, I’ve got to get back to them,” Aleida said promptly. “It was nice to see you Diane.”

“I’m sure.”

At SoHo House, Morgan and Bee were having the time of their lives and Fred just wanted to go home and get her in bed. She could tell by the way he was touching her; the way he looked at her throughout the night when she was talking to Bee, or ordering drinks, or just plain looked at her because he wanted to, because he could. But she wanted to spend more time with Morgan and Bee. Or, at least Bee. Or, at least at SoHo House. Even though she didn’t want to be there. She did, but she didn’t. She didn’t know anymore.

There were a lot of eyes.

It was a Friday night so she knew there would be. But every time she looked past Fred, or Morgan, or Bee, and she saw a person, they were looking. Looking. Looking at her, then down at their phone. Looking at her, then at their friend. Looking at her, then whispering something. Looking at her, then giving their friends a knowing look.

“They’re probably looking at me, you know,” Bee piped up when she noticed that Aleida couldn’t take her eyes off of everyone else. Aleida looked at Bee, who was already looking at her. “They probably see me here and wonder what business I have being at a private members club. Or they see me with a drink and are ready to call me an alcoholic again.”

Aleida’s cheeks flushed red. She remembered what Bee told her about that incident, and what Fred told her too. “They’re not looking at you.”

“Well, they’re not looking at you either.”

Fred saw. Fred saw people looking at him at SoHo House. He didn’t care.

Fred saw. Fred saw people looking at Aleida at SoHo House. He didn’t care.

Fred saw. Fred saw people looking at him and Aleida together at SoHo House. He didn’t care.

Aleida did.

Saw Ally Casillas and Freddie out last night at SoHo House with Bee McTavish and Morgan Rielly. Can’t believe Freddie is still with her. Doesn’t surprise me that Bee is hanging out with her now. She is such a social climber, it’s so obvious.

Isn’t SoHo House private? How’d they get in?

Aleida Casillas is the biggest coke whore in all of Toronto

Ooooookkkaaaaayyyyy?????

Aleida’s a huge bitch because she’s a spoiled brat. Plain and simple. She thinks she’s different from the rest of those party girls but she’s not. She’s even worse. She’s the biggest hypocrite.

And that’s the tea!!!!!

>< >< >< >< ><

Act 2: When Aleida Noticed People Were Seeing

Truly, the beginning was when Bee told her “They’re probably looking at me.” Because Bee was perceptive like that. And Aleida didn’t want to admit it, but Bee was right. Whatever she was implying with that statement, or whatever she was trying to do by saying that to Aleida, she was right. But Aleida didn’t want to admit it.

Then Aleida babysat Matias and Gabriela for Alejandra and Oliver one night. When they came home and the kids had been asleep for at least two hours, Oliver went upstairs to check on the kids but Alejandra stayed with Aleida.

“Fred couldn’t come because of the game tonight?” Alejandra asked, to which Aleida nodded her head. “Did Matias make you watch it?”

“No. We watched Penguins of Madagascar.”

Alejandra nodded her head in silence, fluffing up a few of the decorative cushions on the couch to make her look like she was cleaning up. She was fidgeting, which told Aleida there was more on her mind than just what she and the kids got up to that night. “He’s a nice guy, you know. Fred.”

Aleida nodded her head. “I know.”

“Have you guys talked about what you two are?”

Aleida furrowed her brows as she ignored her sister’s gaze. “Why would we?”

She didn’t see Alejandra roll her eyes. “I don’t know. Usually when two people love each other they do stuff like that. Hell, even when they don’t love each other yet – when they just like each other – they usually call each other girlfriend or boyfriend.”

“What’s the difference?” Aleida huffed.

“Aleida, you can’t be stringing him along like you do everyone else,” Alejandra commented, crossing her arms across her chest. “He doesn’t deserve it. Especially him.”

Aleida shook her head. “I’m leaving,” she mumbled as she turned on her heels and began stomping her way towards the front door, not wanting to be part of this conversation anymore. If Alejandra was going to do this, she wanted no part in it. None whatsoever.

“Aleida get back here,” Alejandra demanded, following her throughout her giant house. “He deserves better from you, Aleida.”

Aleida whipped her head around and glared at her sister. “Alejandra, don’t.”

“Don’t what? Call you out on your bullshit because I see your bullshit?” she demanded, raising her voice. “The bullshit you’ve been self-perpetuating and sabotaging yourself with for years?”

“You don’t see anything about me, let alone the bullshit.”

“Yes I do, Aleida. You’re just too wrapped up in everything around you to see that some of us love you and care about you and actually want what’s best for you. Fred included,” Alejandra said. “You’re so blind to everybody around you and how much they love you. You complain about not being seen but you’re the one not seeing the love that’s right in front of you.”

Aleida went red. How dare she. How fucking dare she. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you too, Aleida,” Alejandra bellowed back in an equally harsh tone. “But at least I’m married with children and I’m happy. I let people in. I hope one day you can say the same for yourself. That’s really all I want for you.”

Aleida slammed the door behind her.

Instead of asking Freddie to touch her, she wouldn’t.

Instead of curling into Freddie’s body, she wouldn’t.

Instead of looking at Freddie, she wouldn’t.

She’d stare up at the ceiling with a void in her eyes. Freddie would see. He would see and he would touch her and it would do nothing. He would see and he’d nuzzle into her and it would do nothing. He’d see and he’d drape an arm around her and it would do nothing.

It was only when he actually spoke that she would respond in any way.

“Aleida,” he’d mumble.

And she’d finally look at him. And she’d finally touch him.

But her touch was cold and empty.

>< >< >< >< ><

Act Three became When Fred Decided to Say Something About It.

They were at an event, but Aleida wasn’t there. Well…she was there, physically, but not there mentally, and it wasn’t annoying Fred, per se, but it was making him worried. She’d gone all out – hair done, nails done, put on a pretty and classic dress that hugged her in all the right places – but there was no use. She wasn’t there. She was somewhere else, and Fred needed to find out.

“Is everything okay?” he asked at one point when they were finally alone, not bothered by anybody coming up to speak with them, or separated in different conversations.

“Everything’s fine,” she said, so blasé, as she took a sip from her champagne flute. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re quiet.”

“I thought you’d prefer me that way.”

Fred furrowed his brows. That quip from her was not helping the situation. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?”

“Aleida, what’s this about?” he asked, his voice still soft despite what she had said. “Is there someone here making you uncomfortable? Do you not want to be here? Do you want to go home? Because we can go.”

She wished, she wished to God he hadn’t said those words, because it showed he cared so much. The pain stung her eyes, which she ended up rolling. “Can’t a girl just be a little bit prickly every once in a while?” she asked, the same bit of attitude in her voice. “Not everything has to be made right, Fred. Not everything is rainbows and butterflies.”

“But I want to make it right for you. And if it’s not, we can go.”

She hated him. God, she hated him so much for being so kind. She couldn’t even bare to look at him. She couldn’t do it. So she walked away, towards the washroom, to try to find any semblances of sanity and decency she had left.

***

Fred and Aleida were alone now at her townhouse. He loosened his tie as he watched her take off her earrings and put them back in their velvet box, and he had to say something. He had to.

“Aleida…” he began, softly.

“Don’t start with me, Fred,” she mumbled in a harsh tone, trying to dismiss him. When he went silent and she finally looked at him, she saw the look he was giving her – the pain in his eyes – and shook her head. “Don’t give me that look, either. With those sad puppy-dog eyes.” He wasn’t going to listen to her, and she knew that, but she said it anyway. Because…well…

Aleida had prepared herself for a war. A war she had to win.

“You know…every single day since I’ve met you, I’ve had to live with the fact that the first time I saw you I was in my own world and I missed your sad eyes – the pain you were going through that night when you performed,” he began. “And when I met you, and was trying to find you…and then when I did find you, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t let a day go by – not even a moment – without looking you in the eye and actually seeing you.”

Aleida’s eyes burned. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“It means that I’ve been seeing you the whole time we’ve been together but you refuse to see me back,” he said. “You refuse to see what’s going on between us. You refuse to understand that I can see you, Aleida.”

“You’re right, Fred. You see people,” she nodded her head. “But you don’t see me.”

“Yes I do. Yes I do,” he repeated more emphatically. “God Aleida, what have we been doing this whole time? All I’ve been doing is seeing you!”

“No you haven’t.”

“Yes I have!” he let out a shout – the first of many, he thought. “I saw you that night in Shopper’s Drug Mart. I saw you that night when you let me watch you perform. I saw you that night in the basement of the church be the happiest you’ve ever fucking been in a while. I saw you. I saw you.”

Aleida had begun shaking her head as Fred listed off the instances. “No. No. You don’t get it. You think this is so simple. You think it’s so easy. You don’t realize anything. That first night when you came to see me perform – I hadn’t introduced you to anybody because I said I didn’t want anyone to ruin you, but I was the one ruining you.”

“You haven’t ruined anything!”

“Yes I have!” she screamed. “I’ve ruined you. I’ve ruined everything good about you since the day I met you.”

“No you haven’t! God, Aleida, why would you think that? Why do you think all you do is ruin things? You’re a creator, Aleida – you can be – if you’d just start actually doing things that make you happy. Nobody’s going to save you because nobody needs to save you. You just have to fucking love yourself.”

She glared at him. She wanted to run up to him and shove him, punch him in the chest, do whatever she could, though she knew it would be of no use. “Don’t you dare fucking stand there and tell me to love myself like it’s so easy – like I can just flip a switch. Don’t you dare say that when you know how hard it’s been for me to love myself since I was eighteen.”

“Then I don’t get it. Why aren’t you doing stuff that brings you joy? Why are you doing stuff that makes you miserable? The modelling and the nights out and being someone you are so obviously not?”

“Same reason you play hockey even though it makes you erupt like a volcano sometimes,” she deadpanned, throwing his own words from so long ago back at him. “I’m good at it.”

“That’s not the same thing,” he tried to reason.

“Oh, it isn’t?” her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“It isn’t and you know that,” he said. “I have trained my entire life to be where I am today. Hockey has given me some of my best mentors, best friends, best relationships, and best memories I’ve ever had. All these things you keep doing all the time do nothing but hurt you, yet you continue to do them. Hockey gets me angry sometimes but it doesn’t hurt me – it doesn’t hurt my soul like all this stuff does with you.”

“It doesn’t hurt your soul? Even game sevens against Boston?”

Fred glared at her. It took every ounce of strength within him to stop himself from telling her to fuck off. “I know that you’re only saying that because I found out about the weakest point of you,” he said in an unreasonably calm voice, making sure he wasn’t letting the volcano erupt. “And now you’re trying to get the weakest point out of me, too. But just because somebody else finds out, it doesn’t make you more vulnerable or susceptible to them using it against you.”

“Say for yourself.”.

“I am saying for myself. I would never use that information against you in any way and I would wring the neck of anybody who has, but I have a sneaking suspicion that nobody has – that you’re just waiting for someone to use it against you so you can explode at them and justify your shitty behaviour and treatment of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“You think that no-one sees you but you aren’t doing anything to make it better. You close up even more, you become more hardened, you cause scenes in bars and restaurants even when I’m right in front of you showing you I fucking care about you. For the love of God, Aleida, I don’t want to consume you, Aleida. I just want to love you.”

The words stung Aleida as they were up in the air between them. She was so emotional she was shaking. “Don’t.”

“And you love me,” Fred continued, walking up to her slowly. With each step, her chest tightened. “I know you do. You love me, which means you’re capable of loving yourself.”

“Don’t.”

“There’s no need to ignite every room on fire anymore.”

“How fucking dare you.”

“How fucking dare I? How fucking dare I?” he yelled, pointing to himself in his chest.

“How fucking dare you speak to me like that,” she said as she squared up with him. “You don’t see me at all. You don’t know me at all.”

“Tell me you don’t love me. Say it. Say the fucking words. And don’t just say it because you’re playing your game and putting up your front like you always do. Say you don’t love me right now and I’ll walk out that door and we’ll never see each other again.”

Their eyes met.

There was silence.

A long silence.

Hesitation.

And then.

“I don’t love you.”

Fred’s eyes burned. He looked at Aleida as his eyes went red, as the tears welled and threatened to escape. He stared at her for as long as he could, for as long as was humanly possible when a person had just had their heart broken, their world shattered. He tried to look for an answer that she didn’t say. A hint of a lie. A clue that she was putting up the front she did when he met her, the one everyone thought she was really like but that he knew was a complete lie. But he couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see anything but the tears, the red in her eyes, too, stinging with emotion. With sadness. With emptiness.

Just like when he met her.

And so, he knew he would keep that image of her in his mind forever – of how he met her and how he left her – as he turned around and walked out the door.

152 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years ago

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 6: Something Borrowed, Something Blue]

I’d like to give a very special shout out to @killer-queen-xo and the insightful prediction she left on Chapter 5 about Y/N and the camera...you were close! 😉

Chapter summary: Y/N breaks a promise; John gives a gift; Freddie has a request; Roger makes a scene.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, creepy male behavior.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Welcome!” Mary chimes as she opens the door for you, then her eyes flick down to the gift bag decorated with Santa hats and sprigs of holly. “Oh, love, we said positively no presents!”

“It’s just something small, I promise. Very inexpensive.”

“She’s here!” Freddie announces with a flourish of his hands, leaping up from the couch. The apartment he shares with Mary is tiny and very cluttered, and absolutely none of the decorations match. The walls are a collage of Bohemian tapestries and family photos and prints of Rococo-style paintings and magazine cutouts of articles about Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Aretha Franklin, Elvis Presley, Queen. Freddie pecks you on both cheeks; Blue Christmas is drifting from the record player. You’re suddenly aware that the apartment is brimming with the scent of baking cookies. In the living room, Roger, Brian, and John are hanging strings of popcorn and paper ornaments on a short, rather scruffy Christmas tree. There is a vast array of presents scattered around the tree stand; all are small, with the exception of one large square box swathed in silver and sapphire wrapping paper.

“I see no one else respected the no presents rule either.”

“You Bostonians and your insatiable need to rebel,” Freddie quips, shooing you towards the tree.

“Y/N, look at this,” Chrissie says from where she and Veronica are sitting on the couch threading popcorn. She’s frowning and holding up a piece of paper cut into the shape of a Pontiac Firebird. “Will you please inform Roger that this is not Christmas themed?”

“Awww!” You grin as she hands it to you. He’s even drawn on a windshield, headlights, and a smiley face floating behind the steering wheel. “Let him hang it, Chris. It’s the only car he’s going to be able to afford for a long time.”

Roger bounds over and embraces you, nearly knocking you over. “This is why you’re my favorite American in the entire world. Possibly my favorite person period. The love of my life.” He takes the paper Firebird and impales it on an ornament hook, then combs through the tree branches for an ideal location.

Brian points heatedly at Roger. “If he gets to hang the damned Firebird then I get to hang my Saturn!”

“Look what you’ve done,” Chrissie tells you, but she’s smiling. She’s wearing a gorgeous green velvet dress and pieces of mistletoe weaved into her long dark hair. Veronica is beside her in a chunky red sweater and denim skirt, not particularly flashy yet festive nonetheless; she waves to you as she pushes pieces of popcorn one by one down the string. She’s wearing makeup tonight, which is unusual. Her lace-white cheeks are tinged with rouge, her slate-blue eyes rimmed by lavender shadow. Freddie and Mary are removing a sheet of cookies from the oven and quibbling over whether they’ve browned enough.

Roger gestures to the gift bag as you place it under the tree. “You better not have spent your own money on that.”

“Oh, tons. It’s diamonds and gold and a dash of overpriced modern art, just to spice things up.”

Roger growls theatrically in his high, raspy voice. Brian stands back and admires the tree as John loops a strand of multicolored Christmas lights around it.

“It’s actually very modest,” you assure Roger. “Not impressive at all. Chris helped.”

“You enabled this behavior?!” Freddie scolds Chrissie as he traverses the room with an overflowing plate of chocolate chip cookies.

She sips cheap red wine impishly and shrugs. “I know a girl in fashion school, I can get their extra yarn if I buy her a cup of tea and pretend to care about her disastrous love life.”

You smirk. “Disastrous love life? I’ve got one of those.”

“You knitted something for us?!” Roger shouts, delighted.

You wiggle your fingers in the air. “What can I say? I’m good with my hands.”

Roger groans. “Don’t tease me.”

“You certainly are,” Brian tells you. “That roadie who busted his forehead open got fixed up straightaway.”

“That was literally two stitches. Head wounds just bleed a lot, it looked way worse than it was.”

“Well,” Brian insists. “I was impressed.”

Freddie claps his hands, slick obsidian nail polish gleaming. “Ahhhh, I’m so excited! What have you made for me, love? Oh, I hope it’s a nice thong.”

“It’s probably not,” Chrissie says.

Mary pours you a glass of wine and glances around the room. “Does everyone have enough cookies? Drinks? Veronica, dear?”

“I suppose I could use a refill.” She passes Mary her glass and smiles as John sits beside her on the couch. You’ve never quite been able to figure out Veronica; she’s cordial yet removed, kind yet wary, extremely dogmatic in her Catholicism and yet simultaneously socializing with rock stars who are unmistakably living in sin. Her most redeeming quality, as far as you’ve observed, is her steadfast devotion to John...or, perhaps, to the life she’s envisioned they could build together. She rests her hand on John’s thigh and glances coolly at you as you pretend not to notice.

Mary returns with a fresh glass of wine for Veronica. “Alright. Should we start with you, Y/N?”

“What, for the gift exchange we all promised wasn’t happening?” You grin. “Sure, I’ll start.”

You open your Christmasy bag and start doling out small boxes. It’s December 23rd, and Queen is enjoying three weeks off for the holidays before the Sheer Heart Attack Tour resumes. The next show is in Columbus, Ohio—not exactly a cultural mecca, it’s true—followed by a scattering of stops across the continental United States. Half of you is thrilled, especially for the night the band will spend in Boston; the other part of you is dreading it. You don’t talk to Roger about what he does with groupies on tour—or what Brian does, or what Freddie does—and Rog doesn’t mention it around you either. He asks you to join him after every show, for dinner or drinks or clubbing; and you tell him no (though it’s never easy to) and try not to think about the apparent eventualities of stardom. Then Roger goes one way, and you go another.

“Let’s see, what do we have here...” Brian begins prying open his box with long careful fingers.

“You can’t judge me,” you plead. “I’ve only had the tour break to work on them, and I’m really not an expert knitter or anything, and I—”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Freddie gushes, holding his black and white striped hat aloft for everyone to see. He pulls it on over his silky hair and turns to Mary. “What do you think? Am I dashing?”

She beams as she kisses him. “Overwhelmingly so.” And you think about how being on the road feels like one dimension, and being here in London another. Here, fidelity and domesticity; there, freedom from the familiar world and all its browbeating rules.

“Mittens!” Brian proclaims joyfully. They’re an olivey green, and just large enough for his hands. “They’re so comfy, feel these Chris...”

Roger whips his hat out of the box; it’s very fuzzy and a fiery red with flecks of burnt orange. “I’m obsessed! I adore it! I’ll never take it off!”

“I can’t believe you did all this,” John says. He’s sliding on his mittens, which are a soft greyish blue. “This must have taken you days.”

“It’s Christmas! You’re supposed to slave away for the people you love at Christmas. And you’ve all done so much for me, the scales will always be hopelessly lopsided, don’t you worry.”

“The color is beautiful,” Veronica observes as she touches John’s mittens, but perhaps guardedly.

“They match his eyes!” Freddie exclaims; and they do. “This is delightful, Nurse Nightingale. Truly. How can I ever repay you?”

A smile ripples across your face, full of serenity and relief. They really do like the presents. I didn’t stay up until 4 a.m. knitting for nothing. “The cookies and wine are more than sufficient. I’m so sorry I didn’t have time to make anything for the ladies, but hopefully your charming future husbands will share and there are chocolates in the bottom of the boxes for you—”

“Oh please,” Chrissie snaps. “You’ve already made the rest of us look thoughtless enough. Kindly shut up and drink your wine now. Thank you, obnoxious Bostonian.”

You laugh as Chrissie distributes her and Brian’s gifts for everyone. She decreed weeks ago that you’ll spend Christmas Eve and Day with her family in Dartford. You can help me keep Brian distracted and in good spirits, she’d told you. His father is livid about us living together without being married, and I’m petrified Bri will give himself another ulcer over it.

Inside the small boxes Chrissie passes out are fancy teabags that smell like pomegranate and peppermint. Freddie and Mary dispense pouches of little pink soaps shaped like dolphins and seashells. John and Veronica give everyone homemade candles, which are either ruby red or evergreen. Roger has picked out three novelty mugs: Led Zeppelin for Brian and Chrissie, cats for Freddie and Mary, and raining gold coins for John and Veronica.

“Well I hope that’s prophetic,” John jokes.

“I don’t get a mug?” You’re trying not to show it, but you are hurt that he forgot you.

“No, you don’t.” Roger rummages around under the tree and passes you the large square present wrapped in silver and blue paper. Chrissie and Mary whistle and clap.

“Oh, big spender!” Freddie chastises.

“Roger, no,” you breathe, horrified.

“Roger, yes!” He drums the coffee table eagerly. “Open it.”

“No real presents allowed! You don’t have the money—”

“Are we married?” Roger asks.

You blink at him. “What?”

“Are. We. Married?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Then you don’t get to tell me what to do with my very tiny sliver of earnings that the record company doesn’t steal.” He grins. “Now open it.”

Slowly, cautiously, you tear through the wrapping paper as the others hover on the edges of their seats. John is squinting suspiciously. Roger balls up his fists and presses them to his smiling lips. You open the top flaps of the box.

“No.”

“What is it?!” Mary begs. “The anticipation is agony!”

“Yeah, love of my life,” Roger taunts, his blue eyes luminous. “What is it?”

Carefully, you lift it out of the box. It’s brand new and shiny and perfect.

“A camera!” Freddie cries.

“A Canon F-1, to be precise,” Roger says. “And a manual too. For our aspiring wildlife photographer. Us feral musicians being the wildlife, of course.”

“Roger...” You reach for him instinctively, and he rushes over to wrap you in a hug. “Thank you so much. I don’t know why you would do this for me.”

He laughs. “Because you’re the best gift I ever got, Boston babe!”

“Let’s give it a try!” Freddie plucks the camera from your hands and begins loading film. “Alright, click this...press that...oh fuck, how do I do this?! Deaky, come over here. You can fix anything.”

“Sure thing, Fred.” John readies the camera in just a minute or two, no longer than it takes Mary to refill glasses and send around another plate of cookies. He looks a little ashen to you, a little stunned; but when you ask him if he’s okay, John just smiles and nods.

Freddie snaps photos of Brian and Chrissie as they snuggle on the couch, of John posing sheepishly in front of the Christmas tree, of Veronica waving as she nibbles a chocolate chip cookie, of Roger in his flame-colored hat. Then Roger makes sure you get your camera back, and it’s your turn to take the pictures. You sit beside the tree, the kaleidoscopic glow of Christmas lights speckling the walls like stars, and collect still frames of memories like catching lightning bugs in jars, like it’s July instead of December, like it’s the heart of a year instead of the end. After a while Freddie comes over to sit next to you, to toast wine glasses with you, to make fun of your flushed cheeks. Then he watches as you gaze at Roger from across the room. Rog is trying on Brian’s mittens and clapping his hands like a seal, grinning hugely, flashing his pointy little canine teeth. And despite all those oh-so-rational promises you’ve made to yourself, you begin to wonder.

“Don’t do it,” Freddie says quietly.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you sling back, pleasantly tipsy. And then: “Why not?”

“Because I like having you around. And if you do this, eventually you won’t be around anymore.”

When you’re finally exhausted enough to drag yourself away from them and catch a taxi, John follows you out into the hallway of the apartment building.

“I have one more gift for you.”

“John, no, absolutely not, I am thoroughly unworthy—”

“Stop.” He pulls a thin, rectangular item from behind his back. It takes you a moment to recognize it.

“Your notebook...?”

“I know it’s not wrapped.” He’s anxious, you realize, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I kept trying to work up the nerve, and I still wasn’t sure about it when we came over here, and now, well...here I am.” He gives the notebook to you, and you open it, and you gasp in awe.

Inside are sketches from Rome: the concert, the temples, the museum, the beach on that cool breezy afternoon, and, best of all, the people you shared the city with. You and Roger laughing in front of a statue of Perseus. Brian and Chrissie contemplating ruins. Freddie hunched over a piano, his dexterous hands stretched across the keys. And you sitting in that sweltering, fire-lit corner of the Italian restaurant, smiling from behind a glass bottle of Coke. You trace your fingertips over your own face; it’s blissful and peaceful and beautiful in a way that you’ve never seen yourself. “John...”

“Because, you know, you said that you wanted to document the tour so you could remember it all, and I figured...since you didn’t have a camera...maybe this would be better than nothing.”

“It’s a lot better than nothing, John. It’s incredible.”

“They’ll do for now. You won’t need drawings anymore,” he notes, somewhat mournfully. “You can put them on your refrigerator until you have photos to replace them with.”

You shake your head, still staring. “The way you captured my face...”

He shrugs, smiling crookedly. “I just borrowed it.”

“Thank you.” You climb onto your tiptoes and wrap your arms around the back of his neck. He’s warm and gentle; his fluffy hair tickles the sensitive undersides of your wrists.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispers to you; happy, not merry, like a true Englishman. And he’s right. You can’t remember a time you’ve been happier.

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings like a scream, like shattering glass. It wrenches you out of that fogged, heavy precursor to sleep and your hand fumbles from beneath the covers to grab the receiver. The cord bounces clumsily against your nightstand and nudges the blush-colored conch shell that lives there.

“Hello...?”

“Darling, there’s an emergency.”

You bolt upright in bed. “What happened? Are you okay? Is the band—?”

“There’s going to be a party on New Year’s Eve and you have to come.”

You groan and fall back into the embankment of pillows. “Fred, that’s not an emergency. Jesus christ. I thought someone died.”

“Then you should be overwhelmed with gratitude for your friends’ continued existence and delighted to join us!”

You glance at the calendar tacked to your wall. “That’s tomorrow, right?”

Freddie scoffs. “Of course it’s tomorrow! Some bloke from the record company is hosting and I need a date. Makes me more marketable or something. Mary can’t come, she’s got the flu. So you’ll have to take one for the team and play the adoring paramour. Shouldn’t be too heavy a lift. I’ve been informed that I’m very adorable.”

“Make Roger do it.”

There’s an edge to Freddie’s voice when he speaks. “They aren’t quite that progressive, dear.”

“I’m really more of a museums and restaurants person than a getting coerced into socializing with strangers person, if I’m being completely honest with you.”

“You’ll survive,” he replies brusquely. “Chrissie and Brian will be there. You’ll have fellow boring people to hide in a corner and eat biscuits with and discuss planetary movements or whatever the fuck.”

“Great. Roger and John are coming too?”

“Not Deaky. He already has plans with Veronica’s family and can’t weasel out of them. It’s not like he would schmooze anyone anyway.”

“Oh.” That disappoints you, more than you thought it could. “Maybe I have plans I can’t weasel out of, ever think of that?”

Now Freddie sounds amused. “You don’t.”

“How do you know?”

He laughs. “Because there’s no one you love in London more than us.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The paramour ruse doesn’t go very well; within twelve minutes Freddie has abandoned you and is guzzling martinis with Elton John and some record company guys you don’t recognize, pointy party hats on their heads and silver balloons bobbing against the ceiling. It’s not 1975 yet, but it will be soon. The mansion is decked with suits and ballgowns and expensive-looking vases perched precariously on end tables. Elegant white columns rim the vast living room. You, Brian, Chrissie, and Roger are chatting nervously by a massive punch bowl carved in ice, swiping appetizers off the waiters’ trays and trying not to break anything.

“I feel completely useless,” you say, nodding to Freddie.

Chrissie chuckles. “I think he just wanted you to be here. He thinks you’re good luck, you know. All our fates turned around when you showed up.”

Roger points at you with his punch glass. “Your people specialize in witchcraft, don’t they?”

“Oh, so close. That’s Salem, about thirty minutes up the road. No witches in Boston.”

“Hmm. Sounds like something a secret witch would say.”

You brandish your hand through the air. “I summon more mini crab cakes.”

The others glance around. “It didn’t work,” Chrissie observes sadly.

Brian sips his punch, which is bubbling and a vivid red. “Maybe you have to invoke Satan first. I saw a toy poodle on the couch you could sacrifice.”

“Yes, yes,” Roger agrees. “Just toss it in the oven and see if anyone notices.”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Now that would make a fantastic impression.”

Roger grabs your empty glass, plops it on a passing waiter’s tray, and takes your hands in his. They’re rough and strong, and they feel a little too good. “Alright, are you going to dance with me now?”

“Roger...”

“Don’t harass her,” Chrissie warns. “She’s here, she’s working on conjuring more snacks, she’s under no obligation to dance with you on top of all that.”

He frowns at you, those intense blue eyes bright beneath shagging bangs. “Really?”

You smile, reaching up to straighten the collar of his sparking rainbow jacket. “If you’re still interested in 1975, you can ask me then.”

“Yes ma’am.” He grins triumphantly at Chrissie, and she smirks back. “Can someone kindly tell me what that clock over on the mantle says? Obviously I can’t see that far.”

“11:19,” Brian says.

“Fantastic. I’ll be back.” He winks at you, then looks to Brian. “Stay with her, will you?”

“Sure.”

Roger lights a cigarette and saunters away, smoke drifting around him. Several young women—escorts or daughters of producers or soon-to-be-ex-girlfriends of musicians—descend upon him and start asking about Killer Queen. Roger is radiant when he replies, enchanting, wearing charisma like a snake’s skin, climbing ever onwards up the rungs of the social ladder; and you think about how there’s Home Roger and Tour Roger—though he felt like home in Boston, and though he feels so distant now—and how any woman who chooses him will have to spend her life watching him devour other people’s love from across the room, from across the world.

“Be careful,” Chrissie tells you softly.

“He won’t be back at midnight.” You pour yourself a fresh glass of punch, avoiding her eyes, hiding your disappointment...or, embarrassingly and infinitely worse, perhaps your hope. “They’ve been staring at him all night. And he’s noticed.”

“Oh, honey...” Chrissie rubs your bare shoulder, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s fine,” you tell her. And you plan to drink until it feels like it is.

Some guitarist from Genesis appears to introduce himself to Brian, and Bri leaps into a fevered discussion of how much he admires the band’s work and how he built his Red Special and the merits of guitar techniques that sound like Russian or Japanese to you. Before you know it, the mysterious Genesis man is hauling Brian off to present him to someone equally important. Chrissie shoots a worried glimpse at you as she follows Bri away.

“Go!” you insist, forcing a smile. Just abandon me in this super intimidating mansion full of rich important strangers and breakable museum artifacts, that’s totally cool.

“We’ll be back in five minutes, I swear.”

You wave cheerfully. “Take your time!” You peer at the clock. Thirty minutes until midnight.

As you’re dishing yourself yet another glass of punch, a man in a posh white suit approaches from the other side of the table. “Are you hiding from people as well?”

“Not too successfully, apparently.”

He recoils and raises his eyebrows. “My apologies. Want me to disappear?”

You almost say yes—it wobbles on your lips like an unsteady toddler—then you reconsider. He’s tall and blond and polished; he looks a bit like Roger from an alternate universe where Rog went to boarding school and plays polo. More significantly, he could be someone important, someone the band needs, someone you don’t want to offend. “No, I’m sorry, that was so impolite. Please forgive me. My judgment is quite impaired, that’s my excuse, I blame the punch. Also I’m a New Englander and thus inclined to be uncooperative towards Brits.”

He laughs, a full genuine laugh; and it feels like a victory. See? I’m clever, I’m charming. Anyone would be lucky to have me. “I’m Eric.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s a resounding pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” He gestures towards the open area on the floor where buzzed men and giggling women are tripping over each other. “There’s no way I could interest you in that, is there?”

You ponder it, nursing your fourth punch. You aren’t much of a dancer, that’s true; and this handsome stranger of a man isn’t Roger. But he might be able to get your mind off him.

You sling back the rest of your punch and slam the glass down onto the table. “Okay. But only because there’s an Eagles record on.”

“Deal.”

He follows you to the dance floor, weaves his fingers through yours, sways easily with the music. Eric tells you that he’s from up north, in the Lake District; his family owns an estate that used to be the seat of an earldom or something. He describes endless emerald hills and castles and horse farms until your mind starts to swim, until the effects of the punch and scant appetizers roll over you like a wave.

“Okay,” you announce dreamily. “Thank you so much, Eric. This has been lovely. But I have to go sit down now.”

“Oh come on, one more song!”

“I’m flattered, but I have to pass. Maybe after midnight...” You move to pull your hands away, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers are locked with yours. You try again. Eric’s still smiling, but his eyes have gone flinty. Oh no. You look around for Freddie or Brian, both of whom have vanished.

“One more, come on,” he presses. “I insist.”

“Eric, I’m really dizzy—”

“Don’t be rude. We’re having such a nice time, aren’t we?”

“Please let go of me.” You try to keep your voice level, try not to offend him. Everyone around you on the dance floor is laughing and drinking and smoking, not paying any attention at all.

“Look, you said you’d dance, so that’s what we’re doing. Am I suddenly not good enough for you?”

“Seriously, you need to let go.” You try to tug your hands away. Your heart is racing, blood rushing in your ears. The room is listing to the right, now the left. You realize that Eric is gradually leading you away from the center of the room and towards a quiet hallway. I can’t let this guy get me alone. I’m weak and I’m drunk, and I don’t know what he’ll do to me. You struggle harder, more visibly. His grip on your hands tightens. “Let go, Eric, let go of me!”

“Calm down, bloody hell lady, I’m just trying to—”

And then Eric is ripped away from you and his face smashed with vicious force into the nearest column. You scream, your hands covering your gaping mouth; the room goes silent. Eric crumples to the floor, unconscious. Blood pours from his broken nose and litters his white suit with crimson blotches and smears. Droplets drip crawlingly down the column. Roger stands over Eric, shirt completely unbuttoned, jacket rumpled, shadows of lipstick peppering his neck and chest. He wipes his own palms on his rainbow jacket, scowling, disgusted. Then he turns to you.

“Ready to go?”

“Roger, I...” You gaze in shock down at Eric. I hope he’s not dead. That might make things awkward with the record company. “I-I-I’m so sorry,” you manage finally. “I’m sorry, Roger, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything—”

“No, I’m ready to go.” He lays his hand on the small of your back and guides you towards the front door, grabbing both of your coats off the rack. “Let’s go.”

“Okay.” And relief floods through you. Okay.

Brian pushes his way out of the stunned crowd as Roger swings the door open. Frigid air skates over your cheeks. “Rog, what happened?!”

Roger glares savagely. “When I tell you to stay with someone, you fucking stay with them.” And then he steps with you out into the bitterly cold, nearly-January night.

“It’s not his fault,” you explain as you and Roger hurry down the sidewalk, your words spinning mist into the air. “Some guy from Genesis showed up and you know how Bri is about them, and I told him and Chris to go, please don’t be mad—”

“Are you alright?” He’s scrutinizing you closely; you can still see the rosy lipstick stains on his skin as you pass beneath each streetlight.

“I’m fine, I’m completely fine. Please don’t be mad.”

He narrows his eyes. “Well obviously I’m not mad at you, babe.”

“Oh god, I hope this doesn’t hurt the band. I don’t know who that guy was with. You broke his nose, you know.”

“Good.”

You shake your head, trying to chase away those ghosts of lipstick and the girls who left them there. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. “I know you were busy, I know the party was important, I know I ruined midnight for you—”

“You didn’t ruin it. We still have a few more minutes. We’ll duck into a pub somewhere and have a pint to welcome in the new year, it’ll be grand. Maybe get you some food. You look like you could use it.”

“I just...” You bury your numb, shaking hands in your coat pockets and brace yourself against the cold. “You left the girls. Left the party. I just don’t understand why you would do that.”

“Are you serious? Obviously I’m going to drop everything if you need me. I’m always going to do that.” He pulls his fiery red, hand-knit hat out of his coat pocket and slips it over your wild, windswept hair. “You’re still on my list, you know.”

You sigh. “You’re a smart man, Roger Taylor, but that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“What,” he says, a tad bitingly. “Because I can’t promise you a picket fence and precisely two well-mannered, unremarkable children and a golden retriever? You’re right, I’m not going to promise you that. Because that’s not who I am. That’s not who you are either, by the way. But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?”

And that stops you, here in the cold dark heart of London, here beneath a cascading streetlight on the opening page of 1975. Because Roger’s right.

He takes your left hand and lifts it to his lips, and you know exactly what he’s going to do even before he oh-so-feather-lightly bites your goosebumped knuckles. “Look, forget about it. Don’t worry. Don’t freak yourself out. We’ll get a drink, we’ll watch the fireworks, and then I’ll walk you home. No questions, no answers. You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?”

You watch Roger, his cheeks ruddy from the wind, halos of streetlights reflected in his eyes. And you echo: “Okay.”

#queen fanfic #queen fic #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave #queen #fanfic

112 notes · View notes