#and now it's happening again and white people can only wring their hands and shrug
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mossy-rainfrog · 3 years ago
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[Image ID: A digital drawing of Martin and Jon in season 1 of the Magnus Archives. Martin is seen out in the archives hallway, through the doorway to Jon’s office. Martin a fat Black man with short coily hair, round glasses, and snake bite lip piercings. He wears a blue sweater over a white collared shirt, and carries a brown satchel with him. Martin is looking over his shoulder with interest as he walks into work, and in a smaller panel to the side, we see Jon watching him with wide eyes. Jon is a thin Persian person with long greying hair tied back in a low bun, and rectangular glasses. He wears a red button down underneath a brown jacket, and is seated at the desk in his office. He stares out at Martin, looking flustered. There are small lines by Martin’s mouth indicating the piercings, and there are exclamation marks by Jon’s head indicating his reaction. End ID.]
I found an old fic in my notes about Martin dressing alt/punk outside of work and accidentally leaving on a small indicator of his usual fashion when he comes into the archives and I just. had to bring it back. Also, because I am still fond of it, please enjoy the aforementioned fic🥰:
Jon is having a difficult morning, to say the least. He had believed that coming into work an entire hour early would provide him with ample time to get a head start on today’s organizing, but that has decidedly not been case. He’s already had to take the statements of two utterly ridiculous liars who could barely keep the grins off of their faces as they recounted their ludicrous tale, and then listen to Elias subsequently dress down his so-called ‘attitude towards patrons’ for nearly half an hour, and suffice it to say, he would really like to get started on something that is actually worth his time.
He dislikes settling down with the more... difficult statements before all of his colleagues arrive, an attempt to keep them from interrupting his recordings to greet him, so once he’s finished his other menial tasks, he finds himself simply sitting and waiting for the ensemble of his assistants to arrive.
Tim and Sasha are the first - entering together as usual after having stopped for coffee on the way in - but Martin is slow to follow, taking nearly another fifteen minutes to arrive. It’s nearly ten past seven at that point, and once Jon hears Martin’s steps coming towards his office, he has half a mind to give the man yet another lecture on punctuality and work ethic. He gets as far enough as bracing his hands on the table to stand up, and then Martin appears in the doorway to his office, and he realizes something strikingly different about his appearance.
That is to say, Jon’s whole world narrows down very suddenly to the little black studs decorating the space underneath his bottom lip.
He’s staring, he knows he is, but Martin is busy looking down the hall for the moment, so Jon doesn’t force himself to tear his eyes away just yet. How long has he had his lip pierced, Jon wonders? Has it been there the whole time he’s known him? Has he only recently gotten it done? How? Why?
It’s hard to imagine Martin - soft, unassuming Martin who is far too large for the amount of space he crams himself into, always slouching, always pulling himself inwards as if he can make himself disappear - dressing in any way other than soft sweaters and slacks, but if Jon’s honest, he’s never actually seen the man outside of work. He has no idea how Martin chooses to dress himself when out from under the Institute’s rigid dress code, and this tiny window he’s been provided with is making him maddeningly curious.
He’s not... he doesn’t have feelings for Martin, aside from a general annoyance, occasionally marked with curiosity. He’s a professional, for God’s sake, not to mention that Martin’s very existence as a given is like a grain of sand in his eye, rubbing and irritating. Now he cuts clean through without even noticing. Jon itches to know more.
“Jon?” Martin’s voice tears him from his thoughts. “Is something wrong?”
Oh, shit. Jon can feel his gaze heat up as if he’s done something horribly wrong - how embarrassing that he can’t even keep a blush off of his face - but he still forces himself to open his mouth and stutter out an excuse. He means to remark on one of Martin’s missing reports, or the fact that he’s coming in nine minutes late, but what ends up leaving his mouth is; “Your lip is pierced.”
Just a sentence, not a question. He thinks he’s positively beet red. Martin freezes, the tips of his ears darkening visibly against his brown skin as his hand shoots to his mouth and his eyes widen.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I must have forgotten to take them out,” the poor man looks like he’s about to panic as he whips his gaze around as if to see if anyone else has noticed. “Don’t tell Elias, please, I’ve seen how he gets after Tim for the dress code, and there is no way, I mean no way—”
“Oh, n-no, it’s- I- it’s fine, really,” Jon raises his hands in defense as Martin rambles, for some reason inclined to reassure the man. “I won’t- I’m not- I’m not going to tell him.”
Martin hesitates, wringing his hands, apologies visible on every pore of his face. “I- Thank you. I’ll- I’ll go take it off. Christ, that’s embarrassing.”
“Only if you want,” Jon shrugs, which is definitely not the correct thing for him to say as a boss, and it definitely comes out a little gentler than he intends it to, and Jon is three seconds from screaming if he can’t figure out how to make himself react normally to this. It’s a non-traditional piercing in an academic institute of research; it’s against the rules, however dated they may be, and further than that, there is no reason for it to completely undo his composure the way that it has. He tries to get a hold of himself. “I-I mean, that’s likely for the best.”
Martin is giving him a funny look - probably a response to seeing the whole spectrum of human emotions flash across Jon’s face in a millisecond - but he still nods and says: “Sorry again. Thank you,” and then disappears down the corridor.
Jon immediately buries his face in his hands and sighs.
What is wrong with him? For God’s sake, he’s just seen Martin with a lip piercing, it’s not like he’s witnessed the man undressed. Besides, he works in an archive where he has to read statements about the intricacies of monsters that rip off people’s skin and suchlike every day, he should know how to keep his composure better than this. He should just move on with his day and focus without a problem, just like he does every morning.
Except, his mind keeps wandering back to it; the way the little studs had followed the shape of his mouth, the way they had quirked up when he flashed one of his nervous smiles, the way Jon is still desperately curious about what brought him to get them done, and also what it might feel like to brush a thumb, or perhaps even his lips over them.
Jon sits up so fast his head actually smacks against an open filing cabinet behind him. His mind is too busy reeling to notice the ache that fills his head, and he stares straight ahead with wide eyes and utterly scorching cheeks. Absolutely not. He absolutely did not just think about kissing Martin Blackwood. that was- that would be...
He blinks hard, clears his throat. It doesn’t matter what that was. He’s decidedly not interested in Martin Blackwood romantically, or in any other capacity given his truly ridiculous academic competence and his obnoxious habit of interrupting seemingly every stable thing Jon has in his life. He crushes the feeling down hard, locks it up in a box, stuffs it down under his lowest two ribs, and resolves himself never to open it again.
He is not going to keep thinking about this all day. He has work to do, and if something as simple as a pair of metal studs can distract him this badly, then he needs to make absolutely certain it doesn’t happen again.
He tells himself he’s not disappointed when he sees Martin without the piercings later that day.
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toiletwipes · 3 years ago
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and i'd give up forever to touch you
extra chapter. all i can breathe is your life.
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Summary: It's discount, disco Tuesday and you've decided to drag Wilbur along too!
~3.4k words. masterlist.
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he finds himself wrapped in one of your adventures, you being determined to find inspiration to keep writing music and living life the way you always loved. he didn't get any of it, but you were his friend, and he didn't mind all that much when it was you.
at the moment, you'd taken him out for a drive, refusing to tell him where you'd be going but beforehand you'd painted shapes onto both of your faces, with neon green and yellow and pink paint. diamond and hearts on yours, clubs and spades on his, not to mention the outfit you demanded he wear. demanded is a loose term, you merely gave him a look, puppy dog eyes, and he folded like a lawn chair.
the paint had dried and left his face feeling itchy but every time he raised a hand, you'd slap it down. "if i have to hold your hand, i will, don't test me, will." you had teased but you definitely felt your breath stutter at the thought, and he wasn't fairing that much better. holding hands?
much to his surprise, he found himself standing in a short line for roller skates, lights dim and people skating in a large rink. you had paid for the tickets and everything, insisting all he had to do was skate. how hard could it be?
for him, unnecessarily.
the moment he stood up with the skates tied to his feet, he could barely stand still, threatening to fall over in three different directions. his long legs have finally backfired on him from all the times he's mocked you for being shorter.
but you, you glided through the air, stopping by his side as you steady him, a little giggle in your breath. and he could see the outfit and the paint coming together. while everything else had dimmed, the paint and clothes glowed. and you didn't look so bad like this.
not to mention the skirt you chose for tonight, with shorts underneath of course, but it was hard to remind himself that you're just friends.
that you didn't wear it for him, why would you when you're just friends?
he whines inside of his head, so cruel, as you help him to the edge of the rink, holding onto the wall. most of the skaters stay close to the inside of the circle, lucky for you two as you guide him to the edge of it, feeling the breeze from everyone.
you cut slide backwards as you hold both of his hands and guide him through the motions. "just one foot in front of the other, like you're sweeping dirt behind your feet." you say, but as he tries to kick his feet, he trips himself and falls into you. you curse as you both tumble to the ground, wilbur's face shoved into your stomach and your knees wedged into his armpits.
"you okay?" you call over the music, ignoring the slight ache in your elbows and butt, patting his shoulder.
he lifts his head and is met with your face staring him down and all he can see is the paint and the whites in your eyes glowing. and he can't think, nothing processing. is that what a god looks like, he vaguely hears in the back of his mind.
"wilbur?"
without another second to think, he's scrambling off of you, as much as he can with the skates tied to his feet still, but he can see a slight impression from the paint, somehow, in your white shirt.
you don't notice, only snickering as you pull yourself to your feet and he just so happened to be looking up and oh fuck.
he can see up your fucking skirt.
and it doesn't matter that you're wearing shorts, because he's still fucking looking. until he covers his eyes and attempts to stand without any aide. god, he knew he was a pervert but shit. not that he could forget the sight when it's burnt in the inside of his eyelids.
"oh my god, you're so stupid," you laugh and tug on his arms, and drag him back to the wall, getting him to stand eventually.
he groans, leaning his forehead against the wall with both of his hands gripping the sides as tight as he can, "how am i supposed to skate if i can't even make it past the entrance? what was the point of bringing me?" he says, looking up at you as you survey the area, and you just shrug, a small smile playing at your lips.
"it was a discount tonight, figured you'd might enjoy learning," and you're tugging his arms again, looping one of your arms into his to help guide him. "and besides, you'll never learn if all you do is mope and whine about it!" and you press on his back and chest, getting him to stop slouching and telling him how to balance his weight the best way for him, before nudging him forward and watching his arms lock up, feet straight as they roll right towards the chairs lining the walls.
he falls to his knees when he reaches the chairs, and you don't hesitate in calling him dramatic, stopping right in front of him as he pulls himself to sit.
"i think-" he gulps down air like it's water, "i think i'll sit here for- for a minute." you try to pull him up but he shakes his head, insists that you get a headstart into skating, he'll probably figure it out after watching you do it anyways.
you skate away, only after he reassures you once more he's more than okay sitting for a moment.
and you make it look more than easy. you skate across the glossy floor like it was made of butter, weaving your way in and out of the crowd as if you had places to be. and in a brief moment with no one in front of you, you slow down, arms lowered to your side as you enjoy the chilled air, a smile growing as you begin to move your legs and arms again, doing two more laps before you come back to wilbur.
he doesn't have much to say.
"wow."
and he just accepts the punch to his shoulder, rubbing out the ache as you laugh.
"it's just practice, that's all it is."
"you probably practiced like a professional, knowing you." he teases, eyes flickering from the endless moving mass, glowing in the darkness and back to you.
"to be fair, my parents loved taking me here as a kid, didn't help that they knew the owners," you shrug, chest heaving a little bit as you spoke, your breath not yet even.
"that does help," he says, fingers pressing into his knees as he briefly wonders when this place will close. not that he's not having fun, it's just that he doesn't know how to skate at all. and maybe it doesn't help that skating comes to you like breathing does. "so what's-"
"-alright, skaters, it's time for the first special skate, the couples round, if all the single people could please safely exit the rink-"
"oh that's our cue," he says and as he stands you tell him to just hold onto your shoulders, you'll lead him out of the rink. but just as you get to the halfway point, you're singled out.
"to the strange couple, please refer to the default hand-holding, and not the conga, thank you,"
your brain short-circuits to the point where you miss the exit and, on accident, rejoin the circling mass of skaters. wilbur, who's right beside you, is panicking.
"y/n- i can't- i can't do this- i can't skate," and he's breathing too hard as his limbs begin to lock up, you shake out of your stupor and gently take his hand into your own and try to distract him, going from telling him you believe in him, telling him to just bend his knees and you'll guide him like before. then you offer something else up.
"if we get through this lap, we'll do anything you want and i can't say no," you tell him, and it's unbelievably hard to say anything but yes please get me out of there.
and all he can get out is a strained yes, quiet as anything over the music that reverberates through their chests, over the sound of the wheels against the floor.
but you guide him through it, slow and towards the outside of the rink, where most of the couples weren't, and its painful to watch him stiff as anything, barely holding himself together. but as the time passes, you find yourself back at the exit, and he doesn't hesitate to latch onto the closest free table and sit down. he's swallowing mouthfuls of air, maybe a little bit dramatic you humor to yourself, but for the most part he looks tired already.
you stand next to him, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair. "you did so good, wilbur, you made it," he doesn't say anything as he leans his head back as you work your fingers through small tangles. doesn't say anything as the praise burns at his groin, and hopes the dim lights and his physical exhaustion covers the fact that he might have a praise kink.
you lean down to whisper in his ear, "alright, we got through it, what would you like to do now?" and it takes a lot for him to hold back begs and whimpers, but he manages to say something along the lines of food.
you lead him back to your original table with your shoes sitting on top, you ask him if he wants to take the skates off and he doesn't even hesitate to pull them off as soon as he's sitting again. you have to laugh, but then his head rolls around his shoulders and looks at you with dark eyes and it catches in your throat.
eyes wide and mouth open, he knows that this view is dangerous, but keeps looking. though, you seem to pull yourself together and give yourself a thorough shake, your fingers, hands, arms, and torso wiggle in your seat. shaking off whatever it was that had you frozen.
"alright, come with me to get food?" you ask and he nods, standing up and finds that standing without a death machine strapped to his feet is much easier now. with the challenge gone, he starts to walk and then finds you latching onto his elbow with glowing, puppy dog eyes. "drag me?" you pout and he gives in, so easily, you wonder if he would ever say no to you.
your skates facing straight, he pulls you down the pathway between tables and finds himself at a bar area, you barely stopping from slamming into his sides, and he has to wrap an arm around you to settle you still.
you stay still alright, his arms warm from the exertion, and the slight sheen coating his skin makes you want to wring him out like a hand towel and at the same time, you want more than his arm around you.
but you're not toeing the lines of your relationship right now, you're fucking ordering food.
"what can i get for you today?" you skim over the menu above the employee's head, and will answers him curtly, you responding just as quick, handing over the right amount before waiting for the food itself by the edge of the bar.
you lean your knuckles into your cheek, breathing out a dramatic sigh to get wilbur's divided attention. he barely turns around at the sound of another sigh and by then, he's got an unimpressed look printed on his features.
"what is it going to take for you to loosen up? you move as if your bones are popsicle sticks held together by glue."
"you don't know my bones," is all he says before nodding to the employee handing him his chips and water, not even wasting a second before opening the bottle and drinking half of it to soothe the dry itch in his throat.
"you didn't answer my question, will," you inch closer to him to sing it in his ear, but he turns his face to look at you, instead of forward, and you're now nose-to-nose, so close together, just barely a breath's distance.
your breath hitches and he hears it, above everything else, he hears it and just barely closes his eyes and closes the distance. you don't move until you realize where you were again, and you're pushing on his shoulders, skating across the floor with the bag of pretzels and bottle of water in your hand. wilbur walks behind you confused, more along the lines of afraid of the car ride home where you inevitably stop talking to him and demand he never speak to you again. had he read all the signs wrong? did you hate him?
you yank the shoes off your feet, taking the pair and wilbur's to the front, pulling on your converse as you left the rink with him trailing behind you, feeling more than ever like he fucked up. he knows he fucked up in his life before but it never felt as big as this.
the sky is dark and feels unforgiving as you, but you're taking the drinks and snacks and throwing them into the back without him saying anything.
and then you're closing the door and looking at him with your hands still open, as if you're still holding something, and he's about to ask a question, ask if you're okay or something like that, when you yank on the collar of his shirt and press your lips against his firmly, leaning your back against your car, hidden away from potential onlookers.
he braces himself with both hands landing on either side of you, your mouth distracting him more than he'd ever thought. fucking hell, he thinks, your lips soft, warm, and he can't help but chase after yours when you pull away for a second. you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes, and then you're leaning into him, hands sliding up to cusp his face, before tucking your head under his jaw and lips attaching to his neck, sucking and biting and soothing the bites with long swipes of your tongue.
wilbur feels so warm- so hot as you continue to leave hickey after hickey, it feels too good and he grinds his hips against yours, feeling a moan bubble in his throat when a hand covers his mouth, "don't let them know what we're up to, mkay?"
he almost whines beneath your hand but you're right back to his neck, pleasure spiking up in his spine every time you bite down and every time your tongue flattens against every lovebite.
eventually, the sound of the doors constantly swinging open and closed grabs your attention than the trembling man under your hands and mouth, leaning back as you look at the mess you made of him.
"wanna head home now?" you whisper, reaching up to push his hair out of his face, pressing a small kiss to his jaw.
home. not your dorm, not his apartment, home.
he nods, barely holding it together as you lead him back to the passenger side, closing the door and heading towards the driver's, a little pep in your step. you nod at the other skaters leaving and they give a slight nod back, unbeknownst to the man you're slowly ruining that sits in your car.
getting in, you're faced with a mess. glancing at his neck, you reach back and down for something soft, pulling it up, you see it's your old jacket, something you had for years and… something to cover your friend in for now. "here, if you get cold, because i'm feeling hot." you hand it over to him, before turning the ac up all the way, cranking it to the maximum settings and feeling the bitter cold on your very warm skin.
it was an excuse, of course, but you weren't going to tell him that as you see him very quickly pull it over his head. had you gotten it in a size that fit you, it might not have fit his long torso, but oversized? perfect on him.
you don't see him pulling on the edge of the hoodie, breathing deeply as he could to take all of your scent in. something akin to weed and cinnamon. something home would smell like, he figures.
it takes twenty minutes before you reach the dorms, and it takes another minute before you're inside your designated one, finding rosie and jared curled into the sofa, jumping at every turn in the horror movie on the tv.
"we're back," you say, as you head into the kitchen and pull out another bottle of water, drinking it in as you're well aware of the eyes you have burning into your skin.
swallowing the last gulp, you throw away the empty bottle before looking the man in your hoodie in the eyes and seeing just the very edge of hickeys peek out from the collar. stepping close to him, you reach up to his face and grasp his chin fairly soft, pulling him down just enough to kiss him slow and deep. when you pull away, the dried paint is dripping slightly down his cheek. you swipe it away as his eyes stayed shut.
"we'll be in my room, call us if you need us," you say but they were too absolved in their scary movie, too busy to notice the man practically shaking under your touch.
leading him to your room, like the thousands of times before, and leading him to your bed like the thousands of times before, but this time you give the door a slight kick before it closes. this time you kiss him and let him press you into the bed, hands burning everywhere they touch on your skin.
the nerves in his body feels shot when you reach under the hoodie to press your cold fingers against his skin, pressing against his stomach and gasping into his mouth when he does the same, flicking your shirt up a little to dig his fingers into your hip.
pulling away to breathe, you slow down, your heart pounding against your chest as you come down from a high that you knew would become a problem later on. you lean your head back into a pillow as he slows down too, his sticky forehead against your bare shoulder.
"would-" your mouth sticks together but you push the words forward, "would you be okay if we went to sleep right now?"
you didn't want to ruin anything more than you already did. knowing yourself, you probably confused him. you knew he had feelings for rosie but damn it if you didn't try at least. now look at where it's got you.
you don't see him nod, only feeling the bed dip as he moves off of you and moving to lay down in front of you. he gives your arm a nudge and when you move it, he leans into you, curling into your side as he gives you no room to think. all you could think about was him.
breathing in his hair, you smelt the shampoo from before, the slight smell from the rink, and then the damp feeling of sweat stick to his hair.
yeah, you would need to shower again in the morning. and yeah, you'd probably need to talk about this again. but couldn't you at least enjoy the way he can't seem to leave you alone? Can't you relish in the fact that he wants to be near you and not her. letting you mark him up. you could enjoy it, if not for a second. for the moment, you could enjoy the feel of him grounding you.
as for him, he doesn't know how much luckier he can get. so as your breaths slow in between, he sticks his head into the crook of your neck, just breathing you in and relishing the close proximity he has once again.
he may not have gotten to bury himself inside you but this is fine all on its own, head feeling light from how close you are together.
he presses a kiss to your skin before letting himself sleep in your arms.
(you almost cry when you felt his lips against your collarbone. wondering if this is the modern version of torture and who's administering them from above.)
...
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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 4 years ago
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Words: 3,823 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of suicide, gore, sexuality, fear and anxiety, disturbing imagery, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N heads outside of the walls for a distraction after the distressing day before. She returns in the evening to learn some concerning news.
Your name: submit What is this?
You woke early from fitful sleep plagued with the same old nightmares. It was still dark out and you knew no more sleep would come, so you decided to be productive again. Meat was always scarce, and after the news of Denise the day before, you needed a distraction. Not to mention having to relive old traumas… After quickly dressing, you stepped out on the porch into the cool morning air. Normally you would have asked Daryl if he wanted to join you, but the house across the street was still dark and you hoped that, for once, he was getting some sleep. Though with the events of the previous day, you really doubted it.
You grabbed your bow and headed for the gates. Sasha was on duty and she pulled it open for you with a kind but sad smile as you went out.
You spent all day outside the walls, engrossed in hunting, and it was after dark when you returned, hauling the rabbits with you over your shoulder. Tobin, a longtime Alexandria resident was on gate duty and you thanked him with a nod as you came in. He seemed particularly stoic but you attributed it to the prior day’s events. Denise was beloved by most of the people in town, especially since she had taken over after Pete’s demise… You made your way toward Aaron’s house and saw that the garage light was on and the door was open. You went in, expecting to find Daryl there tinkering on his bike, but the garage was empty and Daryl’s bike was distinctly missing. He must have parked it outside his place. You knocked on the door into the house and Eric answered it with Judith in his arms. You greeted them both with a smile but Eric’s face was grave and he was white as a sheet.
You throat tightened and your stomach dropped when you registered his expression. “What’s the matter?”
He gulped and stepped back to let you inside. “Have you been out all day?” he asked you.
“Yeah. Since before the sun was up,” you said, gesturing to the rabbits over your shoulder. Your heart started racing. “Eric—what’s going on?”
He shook his head and opened him mouth to speak but no sound came out. Turning on his heel he walked further inside and set Judith down on a blanket on the floor before he faced you again. “It’s—It’s bad,” he said seriously. “Carol left.”
Your brow contracted. “Left? What do you mean she left? Why? For how long?” Your thoughts immediately turned to Daryl. He and Carol were very close. You were sure he was worried, angry. He’d probably try to go after her.
“She left a note. I—I don’t think she’s coming back,” Eric said softly.
You paused for a moment. “Did Daryl go after her?”
“Rick and Morgan did. Daryl was already gone when they headed out.”
You stomach lurched and your head spun. “Gone—Gone where?”
Eric just stared at you.
Your breathing was speeding up. “Gone where?”
He averted his eyes and shrugged. “Best guess is back to where… it happened. To try and track them.”
You felt like you had been punched. “No. No, no, no,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Eric. “I—no. He can’t.” You tried to heave in a breath but your lungs felt tight. “I need to sit down,” you gasped, practically collapsing into a nearby chair as your knees felt like they were giving out.
“Glenn, Michonne, and Rosita went after him this morning,” he said quickly. Your eyes shot up to his face.
“Okay…” You waited expectantly for more details.
“But—they left early and none of them are back yet.” He looked mortified that he had to be the one to unload all this information on you.
You hung your head into your hands. “Oh my God. No… Fuck! Shit!” You stood up abruptly, the brace of rabbits forgotten and paced the length of the kitchen. “Okay. Okay. So, I’ll get some of the others and—and we’ll go look for them. Right? I’ll go find them and we’ll bring them back,” you said, more to yourself than Eric.
He winced, his expression regretful, anxious. “There’s… there’s something else.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Isn’t that enough?!”
He grimaced. “Rick came back after he and Morgan went out. They think Carol had a run in with some of the Saviors not too far from here. Morgan stayed out to follow her trail. They think she might be hurt but they don’t know. But when Rick came back—Maggie is sick. Very sick.”
“Sick how?”
“She—she thinks something with the baby. She was in a lot of pain… Rick loaded everyone up to get her to Dr. Carson at The Hilltop.”
You mind was whirring. “Okay. Okay…” You sat there, trying to process all this, wringing your hands. “Goddammit!” you said, taking your head in your hands again. “What the hell?!” You looked up at Eric desperately. “Who all went to Hilltop?”
“Pretty much everyone. Aaron went. And they took Eugene to get treated too since he was awake. I volunteered to stay here and watch Judith.”
You stood up and paced the length of the room. “Goddammit, what the hell is Daryl thinking!? I told him! I told him not to—” You broke off, gritting your teeth. Your hands clenched into fists. You turned over your conversation with Daryl the night before. You realized he had never said he wouldn’t go after The Saviors who had killed Denise. You now realized he’d been very specific about which words he spoke.
Eric shrugged vaguely. “I know. But—he’s…”
You sighed and shut your eyes, pinched the bridge of your nose hard in an attempt to ground yourself with something. “I know.” You looked back at Eric desperately again. “What do we do?”
He shrugged, at a loss for words now. “I think there’s only one thing we can do.”
Your jaw clenched. “Wait.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
And you waited. And you waited. And you waited. You weren’t good at waiting, even in the best of times. You refused to sleep. You refused to eat. You stood watch at the top of the gate and stared into the darkness which became dawn which became mid-morning. Still there was no sign of anyone. Everything was too quiet. You felt more and more nauseous by the minute, your stomach turning with anxiety.
Finally, a vehicle came into view in the distance. You raised the scope of your rifle to your eye. The RV. It was the RV. You continued to watch as it approached and you could see that it was Rick driving. You finally lowered the scope and the nauseous feeling in your stomach changed to a hard pit.
He stopped at the gate and raised a hand to signal that it was alright to open the gate. You climbed down and yanked it open, letting him drive through. The back of the RV had barely cleared the gate when he shut off the engine. You rushed to await whatever was to come, but you had a feeling like pins and needles prickling up your spine and a heavy weight on your chest. It was hard to draw air.
The door opened and people began to step out. But their faces… they weren’t themselves anymore. They were changed.
You knew that look; that wide-eyed, hundred-yard stare, the terror in their eyes. You had seen it on yourself, on your brother, on many others after they tangled with Negan. You knew what it meant. And there seemed to be a lot of people missing. Your people missing. You forced in a breath and just watched as they stepped out. Who was there and who was missing? Rick came around from the other side, and if possible, he looked worse than all of them.
“Rick…” you said, rushing over. He hardly seemed to hear you. “Rick!” You grasped his shoulders and his blue eyes, frantic and wide landed on your face.
“Judith?” he rasped, in a fog.
“She’s fine. She’s with Eric. Rick,” your voice broke off. You glanced at everyone who was pouring out of the RV, trying to take attendance.
“You were right,” he said, nodding almost imperceptibly. Tears were welling up in his eyes. “You were right. You were…” he trailed off.
Your eyes landed on Michonne and Rosita as they stepped out of the RV. “Daryl?” you demanded. You squeezed Rick’s shoulders to bring him back to you. “Daryl?!?” you urged.
He looked away down at his boots. His answer came in a whisper you almost couldn’t hear. He couldn’t look at you while he said it. “They have him.”
The breath was ripped from your lungs and your hands slipped from Rick’s shoulders. You staggered backwards, reeling. Suddenly Carl was there and he grasped your arm firmly. When you took in his expression, you were amazed that he looked better than anyone else. Of course he did. He’d grown up in this screwed up world during his formative years—he’d been at the prison when it fell, he’d had to put down his own mother… You, on the other hand, were spinning.
“He’ll be okay,” Carl said. “Daryl’s strong. He’ll fight.”
You shook your head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Suddenly Aaron was beside you. You’d never seen him look worse. He was as white as a sheet and shaking. His eyes were wide, red, and puffy.
“Oh my God,” you launched yourself at him, grabbing him into a tight hug and unable to stop the tears from pouring down your face. “Oh my God.” He hugged you back weakly. You pulled back and looked at him, clasping his face in your hands. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” you said, doing your best to reassure him.
“I’m sorry,” he said weakly, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hey! Stop it. Stop. Everything—everything is going to be f—fine,” you said, pulling yourself back together while he was going to pieces. “You’re okay. Eric is okay.” You released your hold on your dear friend and nodded. “Go see Eric. Go home.” Aaron gave you another fearful and concerned look but you simply wiped the tear streaks from your cheeks and nodded. “I’m fine. Go home.”
You spun around again to look at the rest of the ragged group and started mentally going through the list of people who had gone out. “Maggie?!” you demanded suddenly.
“She’s at Hilltop,” Carl said. “Sasha stayed there, too.”
Your brow drew down low over your eyes. Something about that statement struck you as odd. “And Glenn?”
Now Carl looked away, and you could see light glistening in his eyes.
“No. No… Oh my God. No.” You put a hand out and had to lean on the RV, at risk of collapsing from the lightheadedness that flooded your brain.
Carl looked at you with a mixture of devastated and angry tears in his eyes. Your hand flew to cover your mouth and tears broke loose and streamed down your face again. You again glanced at the people wandering away toward Rick’s house. Michonne. Eugene. Rosita. Your eyes shot back to Carl, a sense of apprehension almost overwhelming you. “A—Abraham?”
Again, Carl shook his head.
He turned away from you, leaving you spinning, and grasped his dad’s arm. “Dad. Come on. Let’s go see Judith.”
You felt like you were going to be sick.
_ _ _ _ _ _
“I’ll go.”
Rick stared at you. “I—I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You aren’t asking,” you countered.
“I’ll go myself. I—”
“You’ve got kids. You’ve got a baby. Hell, you’ve got a whole town to look after now, Sheriff Grimes. And you need to get ready because they are coming. They’ll expect you to be here. You’re the leader. Just—I’ll go.” Rick watched the muscle in your jaw twitch. “You know I have to go.”
Rick heaved a sigh. He knew you’d go regardless of whether or not he wanted you to. He knew you did have to go. This was you and this was Daryl. “How?” he asked you. “How are you gonna get him back?”
“Don’t worry about that. That’s my job. I know more about Negan and that place than anyone. I will get him out. I promise you. I will get Daryl out.”
Rick let out a long slow exhale, with an edge to it like a growl. “I don’t suppose I have any real choice in the matter anyway,” he said.
“You don’t.”
Rick sighed again, rubbing a hand over the heavy stubble on his face.
“Rick, listen to me. They are going to come and the first thing they are going to do is take all your weapons and all your ammo. That inventory Olivia keeps of the armory? Burn it. And take some of the guns and ammo, just enough so they won’t suspect anything, and hide them outside the walls. Outside. If you hide them in here, they will find them. And when they do, someone else will die.”
Rick gulped and nodded. He felt like an icy hand had seized his heart in his chest. “Alright.”
“And there’s one more thing… Negan and his assholes—they cannot know that we are connected. Do you understand? You need to make sure that no one ever mentions me, okay? Like I don’t exist.��
Rick gave you a questioning look but nodded.
You gulped at the constriction in your throat. “I’ll tell you everything at some point but right now I need to go. I don’t want Daryl there a minute longer than he has to be. You understand everything?”
Rick nodded gravely. “Yeah. I’ve got it.” He hesitated. “Be careful.”
“I will.” You turned on your heel and went home to prepare.
_ _ _ _ _ _
You were concealed in the woods outside the nearest Savior outpost. It had taken you far longer to get there than you had hoped and you’d had to go pretty dark to find it… You killed more Saviors, but not all of them. Some you had kept alive for a little while, until they had given up their information on the location of the satellite outposts and lookouts. You glanced down at your jeans and t-shirt. They were filthy but still a bit too well kept. You wiped the walker blood on the blade of your knife on your shirt and then took the edge of it to your clothes, placing a rip here and poking a hole there. You looked at your arms. They were scratched and bruised from fighting your way through the woods, through walkers, through soldiers of The Saviors to get here. Good. You wanted it to look like you were having a shit time. You heaved in one last breath; your heart pounded. You were terrified, but the thought of Daryl being held by them sent an urgent shot of fearlessness through you. It had already been too long. You didn’t allow yourself to run through the what ifs… You gritted your teeth and stepped out of the woods, approaching the front of the outpost with your hands up.
The two guards in front saw you immediately. “Freeze! Don’t move!” Automatic weapons pointed at you.
You obeyed. They approached.
“Holy shit,” one of the men said as they got closer. He exchanged a look with the other.
“Son of a bitch,” the second man said matter-of-factly. “You gave us quite the run around, little lady. Negan had whole crews out looking for you.”
Your chest was heaving with nervous breaths. “I—I know. I made a mistake,” you muttered. You didn’t have to try to sound scared. You were. There was a quiver in your voice, but you knew it would work to your advantage. You wanted them to see you as helpless, scared.
“A big one,” the first man agreed. “Search her,” he said, nodding to his associate. He trained his gun on the center of your chest.
The second man frisked you, lingering a little too long with his hands on your body. He removed your knife from the sheath at your hip and clicked his tongue. “Damn. Too bad we can’t have some fun with her first,” he said, hungry eyes wandering over your body and back up to your face.
Revulsion twisted your stomach.
“Too bad,” the other agreed. “But you know what Negan said. She goes straight to him. What do you want? Why are you here?” he pressed.
“I—I want to come back,” you said quietly. “I can’t stay out here…”
This drew chuckles from them. “Negan was right,” one said to the other. “He called it.” He pressed the muzzle of his gun into your back. “Walk slow. Toward the building.”
“I’ll call it in. Damn, is he gonna be surprised. Might even throw us a bonus for bringing her in.” He raised his radio to his lips. “This is Rich at satellite outpost Beta-2. Repeat, this is Rich at outpost Beta-2. Anyone copy?” There was a brief burst of static before another voice responded through the speaker.
“I copy Rich. This is D at Sanctuary. What do you need? Over.”
“We’ve recovered a wanted individual who fled Sanctuary. How would you like us to proceed? Please advise. Over.”
There was another pause. The other man grabbed your wrists roughly and zip-tied them together behind your back, cruelly tight.
“Who do you have?” came the voice again.
“We’ve got Y/N.” He said it with relish and his eyes flew to your face again, a small smirk on his face.
The pause this time was even longer and your stomach turned. What if this wasn’t going to play out as you thought it would? What if he just decided to kill you? Then Daryl may never get out… Finally, the voice responded again. “Negan wants her brought here to Sanctuary immediately. Secure her and get her here now.”
It was done. You were going back.
You were thrown roughly into the back seat of a truck and once you were in, they zip-tied your ankles together too. The whole ride, the man in the passenger seat stared at you while he spun your knife with the point stuck down into the center console. Your heart never slowed from its sprinting in your chest.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you saw the familiar building coming into view and the truck stopped at the double doors. The man in the passenger seat cut the zip-tie around your ankles and soon you were roughly pulled out of the back of the truck by the elbow. You were pushed toward the double doors and forced inside. The sounds, the smell of the place brought memories flooding back to you and you began to feel lightheaded as you were herded up the stairs. You were met at the top by two of Negan’s apparent lieutenants, Simon and Dwight.
Simon was glaring at you and his nostrils flared. “Well, looky what the cat dragged in, Dwight.” He let out a low whistle. “What can I do for you, Y/N? Oh, and may I just say that you look like shit.”
You gulped at the lump in your throat. “I want to talk to Negan,” you said quietly. You glanced at Dwight beside Simon and that’s when you noticed that most of the left side of his face and ear were horrifically scarred—burned. When you had been at Sanctuary, Dwight and his wife and her sister were workers with you and your brother. You had gathered from what Daryl said that Dwight had escaped and ended up going back. Now he had moved up to being one of Negan’s right-hand men.
You let out a gasp as Simon backhanded you across the face hard. You tasted blood from a split in your bottom lip. “Of course, you want to see the big man,” he growled, stepping right up into your face. “You’ll see him when we say you can see him.” Simon grabbed you roughly by the elbow and dismissed the two men who had brought you in from the outpost. “Let me escort you to your accommodations, Y/N. I reckon you’ll find them familiar.” Soon you were in front of a metal door with a ‘#1’ painted on it; the cell you’d been held in when you’d first been brought to The Sanctuary with your group. Simon’s grip on your arm was like a vice. He smirked as he yanked the door open and shoved you inside, into the blackness. “Enjoy,” he snarked. “I’ll be sure to have fresh towels and the room service menu sent right up.”
“Simon—” you started, but you were cut off when he slammed the heavy door in your face, leaving you now in complete darkness.
Fuck. Was this what Negan had said to do with you? You had a hunch it wasn’t… Simon was a prick. He was volatile. You were willing to bet that he had taken it on himself to teach you a little lesson before taking you to see Negan. The zip ties on your wrists were cutting into you and it was nearly impossible to get comfortable with your arms pinned behind your back the way they were. You shifted your position on the floor and tried to alleviate some of the pressure.
You had no idea how long you sat there in the darkness, but it was at least several hours before you heard voices and boot steps on the other side of the door. You pressed your back into the wall and managed to stagger up to your feet. When the door cracked open, the light coming in even from just the dim overhead lights in the hall seemed blinding and you winced. At first all you could see were silhouettes in front of you.
But as they came into focus and your eyes adjusted you saw that it was Simon and Dwight, this time followed by the man himself, Negan… complete with leather jacket and his signature baseball bat slung over his shoulder.
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pride-moth · 3 years ago
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If you were church, I'd get on my knees [Stolitz Week Day 4 - Wedding]
Ao3 Link
Event Info Link
The paparazzi are everywhere. They sit in the trees, in the windows of neighboring buildings, in the cars on the adjacent streets, some have even made their way onto the premises. They’ve been taking pictures of everything all morning. Of the seating area, the flower arrangements, the early guests, even the waiters. They’re prepared to fill the tabloids with the most scandalous wedding in hell. A Prince and an imp. The highest and the lowest. It’s gossip pages simply filling themselves.
They’re prepared for everything. Except for the ceremony not happening in the elaborately-staged venue. They will sit there for hours until dawn comes and there’s still nobody there, except the guests and waiters who have been roaming the place since the morning. “We’ve been duped,” someone will say eventually but nobody will have any idea what to do next.
Sometime in the afternoon, the real wedding congregation is happening in the I.M.P headquarters, with only a handful of people and a private wedding photographer. Everything is decorated in the crispiest shade of white they could find. It’s smaller and simpler than the fake venue they’ve coordinated, but it’s still stunning and gorgeous and perfect, and Stolas is slowly losing his mind in his little pre-room where Millie and Octavia are doing their best to keep him together. He picks at his white suit, wrings his hands and runs to the mirror every single minute to check himself.
“You need to calm down,” Via says, slightly exasperated considering Stolas hasn’t exactly been calm in hours, “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“What if it isn’t? What if the paparazzi come here? What if they find out? What if Blitz decides he doesn’t want to marry me after all?”
“Blitz is…” Millie says while fine-tuning her own hair, “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think he’d ever marry. Didn’t seem like the type. But he’s decided to marry you and that’s something, right. Plus, you’ve gotten married before, you know how it works.”
“That was so long ago, I scarcely remember.”
“The point is there’s no reason to be nervous, everything is going to run smoothly.” Millie gives him a hearty pat on the back.
“Weren’t you nervous when you and Moxxie married?”
“Oh, I wasn’t, Moxxie almost lost it, though. But do you know what I told him?”
“What?”
“That marriage isn’t that big a deal. We love each other before the big party and we’ll love each other after the big party, just with more tax benefits.”
“That’s not very romantic…” Via remarks from across the room.
“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Millie shrugs. “You’re just having a big party to celebrate how much you love each other. And to get tax benefits.”
“Maybe.”
“So, don’t worry about it! Also, there’s no paparazzi, they’re still swarming the fake venue, Moxxie has CCTV on them.”
“Thank you, for organizing this whole thing, I just… Didn’t want to do this with the press present. It’s… I don’t know, it feels less special when everyone gets to watch, you know?”
“No problem, and now get out there and marry my boss!”
Stolas takes a deep breath and his daughter by his hand and walks out of the room.
He walks in with Blitz already waiting in bated breath, wearing a matching white suit that makes him look just obscenely handsome and when their eyes finally meet, it’s as though all worries fall off him in an instant. It’s going to be fine, Stolas thinks, maybe all of it is going to be fine. Forever.
“You look great,” he says shyly and takes both of Blitz’ hands.
“You are absolutely smoking hot,” Blitz responds. Stolas chuckles.
Next to them, Loona, their impromptu officiator, clears her throat to get their attention. “So, uhm, again, can someone explain to me why we’re doing this all proper and pseudo-Christian??”
“Because I like to spite the establishment which I’m marrying into. Also, Christian weddings have a very good aesthetic, we’ve been over this, now ask us for our vows, Loonie,” Blitz replies sharply.
“Okay, sure, uhm, vows please?”
Stolas breathes in deeply. “Blitz, when you came into my life, I never could have imagined standing here with you now. You were loud, abrasive, vulgar and… Well, you still are all of these things, but now I love you for it. Now I want to listen to talk about nothing and rant about your least favorite fruit all day. I want to hear your voice from morning to evening and I won’t tire of it. When I met you… I thought you would be nothing but a tiny speck on my night sky. Seen once, but quickly forgotten. But now I know you’re the brightest star of them all, always leading my way. I love you and I wish to always find my way to you.”
There is some sniffling in the room, though someone is probably also throwing up.
“Wow, okay. Dad, would you like to go next?” Loona says, then, her voice shaking just the tiniest bit.
Blitz looks around and takes a deep breath. “I’ve never been lucky with relationships before, they were… Yeah, they were all pretty terrible. And I didn’t even plan on having one with you for a long time, frankly. But… You know, sometimes you don’t really have a choice. You don’t want to fall in love with the weird bird prince. You just want to get his book and you have sex with him to do, but… It becomes more than that and that’s why we’re here now. Because I love you, even though it took me a long time to accept that. And I can’t wait to be married to you and rail you in the Hellton Hotel honeymoon suite.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment. A silent, disturbed “What?” comes from Octavia.
“What?! Do you think I’m not gonna fuck my husband harder than ever before in our wedding night? Fucking prudes.”
Loona clears her throat again. “So, uhm, right. Stolas, do you wish to take Blitz over here as your husband?”
“Yes, of course I do!”
“Great. Dad. Blitz. whatever. Do you wish to take Stolas here as your husband?”
“Hell yeah, let’s go!”
“Good, then blah blah something something by the power of whatever is going on here, I pronounce you two married. But please wait until after the party with whatever you two want to do to each other…”
“And…?” Blitz says.
“Oh, right, yeah. You may now kiss. As if you need my permission for that. ...Wait, we didn’t even do the thing with the rings yet!”
But they’re already kissing. And so they share this, their first kiss as husbands, it feels exactly the same as always in the best way possible. They’ve kissed before, hundreds upon thousands of times, and this time is no different, it’s an intuitive motion, a well-practiced one, carried out with pure trust and comfort.
And yet, it absolutely is different because that kiss now carries a promise. A promise for many, many years of more kisses, years of just them, together.
The party goes into the dead of night, people dancing and drinking all in celebration of their love, it’s an almost surreal concept. Octavia gets drunk for the first time and that’s a whole piece of work, but Loona is there for her, them being sisters now and all.
But in the Hellton Hotel honeymoon suite they’ve booked for the night, nothing much actually happens because they’re drunk and tired and exhausted, so all they do is cuddle up against each other in the gratuitous pink bed and fall asleep soundly, secure in the knowledge that there’s more than enough time for everything else during the rest of their lives.
The next day, the tabloids will be filled with only one picture, the one their own wedding photographer made, the one they actually want the world to see on their own terms. It shows them, in their matching white suits, Stolas with one hand on Blitz’ hips and a content smile on his face while Blitz has his tongue out and gives the camera the middle finger.
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okay-j-hannah · 4 years ago
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That’s My Wife
Harry Potter : Fic
Charlie x Reader
Word Count: 3049
Warnings: SEXY TALK! Charlie is just all over you and your quidditch uniform 😂 Also I know I keep using different gifs for Charlie fics... I just look up ‘hot ginger man’ and pick one I like 🥰
Request: “Hey could I have a story where you are Charlie Weasleys wife and a professional quidditch player? In goblet of fire when they go to the world cup instead of Ireland vs Krum it's your team versus Krum and Charlie is so proud to have Weasley on your uniform and is showing you off to everyone and idk I really just think of Charlie as a very proud guy but humble. Thanks so much!” - Anon
A/N: There’s nothing quite like having your husband be your biggest supporter, especially with the Quidditch World Cup fast approaching
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Shifting beneath the covers, (Y/N) sighed as her brain began to wake up. There were a number of thumps happening outside their bedroom and she groaned.
“Charlie?”
Thankfully, a hand came sneakily around her waist, pulling her to him, “What’s the point of apparating if we don’t even get to sleep in?”
“They’re excited,” (Y/N) replied in a quiet voice, keeping her eyes closed as she turned towards her husband, “And people are a bit careless when they’re tired.”
Footsteps could be heard going down the creaky stairs and (Y/N) peered behind Charlie to see that the moon was still basking their window. It had to have been nearly daybreak for the others to be up and about.
“I’ll have to get ready anyway,” she mumbled, resting back into Charlie’s embrace, “The team wants to do warmups and standard procedure before the majority of the crowds…”
Charlie suddenly held her tighter, silencing her with a grin, “Later, sweetheart – I won’t be able to see you all day. I want to hold you for a little while before you fly off.”
She couldn’t help the giggle that escape her with him cradling her against his chest. Though the World Cup was hours away, she knew her captain wouldn’t let her out of his sight until the game started. With the narrow win England made to be entered into the cup, there was immense pressure to deliver a swift and skillful victory for the team.
Being the rising star of “Quidditch Weekly,” there was a lot on (Y/N)’s shoulders to carry the team. It was that thought that began to swell within her when a sudden shout came from downstairs.
“George! What is that in your pocket?”
Charlie laughed low in his throat, his grisly morning voice doing it justice, “Looks like mum found those joke shop toffees.”
“Nothing!”
“Don’t you lie to me!”
(Y/N) took a deep breath, allowing Charlie’s natural scents relax her; worn leather, old newspaper, rain-soaked grass. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do without him giving her pep talks between penalty shots and time outs.
More than anything she wished he could be on the grounds with the referees instead of up in the stands.
With the anxiety filling her up as it usually did before a big game, she reached for his hand wrapped around her. Lacing their fingers together, she could feel him lean into her neck and plant a kiss behind her ear.
“You’re going to be incredible, sweetheart.”
She sighed into a smile, closing her eyes once more and allowing a few more moments of peace.
“Accio! Accio! Accio!” Came from downstairs, and she laughed out loud that time.
~~~
The sun crept higher and higher as the team lay on the pitch, doing stretches. Their captain Edric Vosper was pacing along the team benches.
“England hasn’t been a part of the Quidditch World Cup since 1981,” he intertwined his fingers in front of him, “And with us scraping that win against Transylvania last month… there’s too much at stake.”
“We know, Vosper,” came the voices of some of (Y/N)’s best friends – the beaters of the team, Dawn and Indira.
“We’ve had this same speech at every practice since that win,” (Y/N) added, smirking and straightening her arm braces, “I’m not sure there’s much else you can say to prepare us.” Her fellow chasers Avery and Keaton snickered behind their hands.
Vosper seemed at a loss of a comeback, finally sitting on one of the benches, “You’re right, of course. I just had a talk with Ludo Bagman and have basically every coin in my account betted for England being the winning team.”
“Why would you do that?” Dawn cried, slumping onto the grassy ground, “I’m worried enough about the game without knowing you’ll be broke if we lose.”
“And will probably have to crash at my place for the rest of the year,” Avery rolled his eyes.
Vosper put his face in his hands and took a deep breath, making the team all refrain from smiling sarcastically. (Y/N) stood and folded her arms, leaning forward slightly to speak.
“I say we take a break before the match starts – go enjoy some time with our families until the whistle blows.”
Keaton flexed his fingers, “Yeah, if I have to practice another quaffle pass I pretty sure my fingertips will snap.”
The team all laughed, evidently trying to make it as lighthearted as possible with the amount of pressure all nestled on their shoulders. (Y/N) secretly believed that a pep talk from all their close friends and family would motivate and improve the teams morale.
But she also knew that if she voiced that much of her opinion, then the players would just tease her about becoming the next great captain for the team. And she was too good of friends with Edric to make him doubt the authority of his position.
“Hey, guys, we’ve been practicing every day for weeks,” Indira stated, pulling a knee to her chest for a stretch. “Maybe enjoying our last meal with our families would relieve some stress.”
“Why are you saying it like we’ve all got death sentences? Our last meal?” Avery laughed, leaning over to push her away playfully.
She shrugged her shoulders, “Way to improve the mood, Hawksworth.”
The rest of the team laughed again, waiting for Vosper to lift his head from his hands. When he did he focused his attention to the opposing team across the quidditch pitch. The brutal Bulgarian team was conducting a number of routines with quaffle passes and snitch spotting.
They donned scarlet robes with black and gold lettering, which reminded (Y/N) of her Gryffindor house back at Hogwarts. It made her frown to see them arrogantly flashing those colors as they sped on their similarly tinted Firebolts.
Peering down at her own uniform, she relished in the bright white and complementary cherry red accents. The proud emblem of golden dragons blazoned the front and brought a fiery desire to beat Bulgaria with every bit of will power she had.
“I think we are over exhausting ourselves,” Vosper concluded, resting his elbows on his knees. “How about this – you all are free to do whatever you please until the match, as long as you deliver the Rowntree Counter.” He stared pointedly at (Y/N), saying, “If we can execute that as perfectly as you did with Transylvania, we’ll have this game in the bag.”
With slight hesitation, she gulped and nodded. She knew there were scouts in the crowd, recruiters that were looking for talent. If she could make a spotlight of their team, they could go far in quidditch history.
It was this thought that dwelled with her as she left the pitch and made her way through the crowds to find the tent grounds the Weasley’s had rented.
She quickly found herself distracted by numerous fans; now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, she could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. She made her way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around.
Many of the campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; a tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami.
“Excuse me, miss,” came a timid voice nearby, “Are you (Y/N) Weasley?”
She turned her shoulder and saw a young girl and boy standing on their tip toes and wringing their hands excitedly.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s me.”
“The chaser for England’s National team?” the boy added on, somewhat disregarding her previous response.
(Y/N) peered down at her uniform and shrugged her shoulders, “I’m pretty sure that’s what my robes say.”
There was a squeal behind her, and then another and another. Whispers, then shouts, began appearing all around her as exclamations said:
“Is that…?”
“Mum! It’s the England chaser!”
“She was on the cover of Quidditch Weekly yesterday.”
“Do you think I could get a signature?”
“Wait… (Y/N) Weasley?”
“I don’t have a quill… would she mind using my body paint?”
And it was twenty minutes before she was able to extract herself from the growing crowd. She had signed robes, arms, books, tents, and English flags with everything from paint to lipstick. There was even a little girl that bought a miniature figurine of (Y/N) that padded along her palm, even laughing the same full body laugh that (Y/N) usually did, which she signed the back of.
She had to apologize to everyone as she pushed through, saying she’d like to get to her family before the day was through. It didn’t stop the stares, gasps, and waves, but she was grateful for not being followed as closely anymore.
A short way farther on, she saw two little witches, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls’ toes to skim the dewy grass. Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents to claim a breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn’t work.
As she neared the other side of the fields, she noticed the colors changing drastically from black and scarlet to white and cherry. This new patch of tents were all covered with thick clusters of dragon themed décor; blue, red, and white flags flew all around the campers. Dragon kites, dragon statues, dragon emblems, dragon puppets, and even dragon hide was covering most other surfaces.
It really showed the loyalty, as well as the increase of more fans trying to get her attention. One began waving a moving poster of herself crossing her arms and smiling broadly. But just beyond she noticed the exact family she was looking for.
“Charlie!”
One of the redheads sitting around the morning fire stood and whipped around to see who was calling for him. When he spotted his beloved, he called out, urging her forward.
The nearer she got, she noticed that it wasn’t just the Weasley’s, Harry, and Hermione – Ludo Bagman and Mr. Barty Crouch were there too.
“I thought you were going to be on the pitch all day!” Charlie cried, reaching her and pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until after the game.”
She giggled happily as he lifted her enough that she was on her toes, “We convinced Vosper that we could use a break to gather our senses.” She nuzzled into his shoulder as they continued to hold each other close – that calming smell of rainfall and old, weathered book pages whelmed her again.
Charlie moved a hand to the side of her face where he could direct her attention to his eyes, “God, you’re so beautiful.”
She smiled, her eyes suspicious, “Even in this sweaty updo?”
“What can I say? I can’t resist a woman in uniform.” He gave her a seductive gaze and bit his lip, leaning his forehead against hers.
She moved her hands up his torso and around his neck, sighing deep in her chest, “Not until I knock Bulgaria on their ass.”
Charlie closed his eyes and breathed deeply, “You just got a whole lot sexier.” And he practically growled as he dipped for a kiss, a hungry kiss. The intensity took (Y/N) slightly off guard, accidentally pulling a moan out of her.
“Okay, woah, woah!” came the boisterous voices of Fred and George, “Lock it up, this isn’t your honeymoon.”
They could hear Ginny laughing with Bill, and Percy was muttering things like, “Right in front of Mr. Crouch,” under his breath.
“Now, Charlie,” Mr. Weasley stated in a nervously loud tone, “We’ve got guests.”
(Y/N) had to be the one to pull away, finding her breath was taken away by the moment. Charlie grinned and waved a hand over his shoulder.
“Paparazzi,” she muttered, “We’re surrounded by witnesses.”
“It would be ridiculous to hide my feelings for you, (Y/N). Why shouldn’t the public know we have a perfectly wonderful marriage.” He held her by her shoulders, “I’m proud to have you by my side, so what if the Daily Prophet knows we kiss… guess what? We’re married!”
She couldn’t help but laugh, “Still I’d like to keep a few things… hello!” Behind Charlie’s shoulder she could see the entire Weasley family, and guests, watching them closely.
Charlie twirled around and put an arm around (Y/N), “Mr. Crouch, Ludo – may I introduce my wife, (Y/N) Weasley. THE best chaser that England has known these last few years.”
Ludo Bagman, a jolly man with rosy cheeks and a boyish charm, stood immediately and came to shake hands, “An introduction long overdue I’m sure you feel as well. You know I’ve got a pretty penny on your head to get England the win tonight.”
“Us too,” Fred yelled over the many heads, “So don’t fall off your broom.”
“Oh, you’ve seen nothing until you’ve seen (Y/N) play on the pitch,” Charlie stated, leaning towards the group, “She’s like a snitch herself, whipping through the air.”
“Yes,” agreed Ludo, “The biggest hope England has had in over a decade.”
Charlie beamed, moving his loving gaze to his wife. He simply stood there admiring the praise and talent, silently wondering how it was possible she had chosen him to be her husband.
“Thank you, Mr. Bagman,” (Y/N) replied, “Though you should look at England as the team it is – I’m just one person; it takes all of us to win the cup.”
Charlie grinned even wider if it was possible. Admiration wasn’t enough to describe how in awe he was of her. It was like she was in total denial that she was plainly the one carrying the national team. Though it was incredibly endearing and only made him more in love with the fact that she was with him.
“Oh, please, don’t neglect your talents,” Ludo exclaimed, “We all know you were the one that got the qualification from the Transylvania win!”
“Even with that illegal shot by the bludger,” Ron interjected, sneaking the rest of Hermione’s breakfast sausages, “Those scheming, biased referees.”
Bill clapped his hands together, “This is exactly the problem, if we can’t find the right people to observe the field, then what’s the point of having good players? They’ll be disregarded completely with a biased referee!”
And the family continued the conversation of the prospects of the upcoming game. Percy and Mr. Weasley tried to continue remarks with Mr. Crouch before he left and shortly followed by Bagman.
And all Charlie could do was stare at his wife and wonder… wonder how he got so lucky.
~~~
She could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Dawn and Avery couldn’t stop grinning.
The roaring voice of Ludo Bagman could be heard magically magnified across the sea of people.
“Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”
The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. A huge blackboard opposite them showed BULGARIA: 0, ENGLAND: 0.
After a presentation of entrancing Veela and a few soaring dragon fireworks, Ludo began to announce the Bulgarian quidditch team members; next came England.
“Presenting – Vosper, Frisby, Choudry, Withey, Flitney, Hawksworth, and Weasley!”
Seven gleaming robed players came whizzing out of the stands on white golden Firebolts. The Weasley family cheered and shook their top box voraciously.  
“That’s her, that’s her!” yelled Charlie, waving his English flag and pushing into Bill and Ron. His brother followed her with his Omnioculars.
“Theeeeeeeey’re OFF!” screamed Bagman. “And it’s Weasley! Hawksworth! Flitney! Dimitrov! Back to Weasley! Hawksworth! Levski! Flitney!”
The speed of the players was incredible – the chasers were throwing the quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Charlie reached over to fight Ron’s Omnioculars off him but failed as he heard the name Weasley again.
The chasers had fallen into their Rowntree Counter, their signature move. They flew into a straight dive as red, white, and blue colors came streaming out of the back of their brooms – signifying the flag of the United Kingdom.
They knocked two of the opposing Bulgarian players teetering on their brooms and distracted the beaters. Flitney passed the quaffle to Hawksworth, who kicked it around before passing it back to Weasley.
(Y/N) did a magnificent overhead kick into the hoop on the far left.
“WEASLEY SCORES!” roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. “Ten zero to England!”
Charlie jumped and waved his arms, screaming himself hoarse, “THAT’S MY WIFE! WEASLEY IS MY WIFE!”
Bill reached over and stuffed his UK flag over Charlie’s face to shut him up, and Ginny laughed, giving him her white and red rosette.
(Y/N) did a lap of honor around the field and threw a kiss towards the top box where Charlie waved his hands toward her, “I love you, baby!”
The England chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another’s minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette now on Charlie’s chest kept squeaking their names: “Flitney – Weasley – Hawksworth!” And within ten minutes, England had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the white-clad supporters.
Charlie watched as (Y/N) performed miraculous moves toward the goal posts. The continuous overhead kicks, the usage of the butt-end of her broom like a beater bat, and the intense throw of her arm was mesmerizing.
Charlie yelled and screamed until his face turned red, shouting his praise for his wife. The other members in the top box had to accept the fact that Charlie wasn’t going to shut up about his incredible player on the field.
It was just a continuous strain of, “THAT’S MY WIFE!” with a splendid look of pride and admiration on his cheery face.
“WEASLEY IS MY WIFE!”
~~~
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sgtbradfords · 4 years ago
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I just had an idea and I don’t think anyone wrote about it yet 🙈
SE2E12 when Lucy takes down that guy at the speed dating place
Any chance you would write something on that?
Lucy shutting down, nayla and Harper not being able to help her and having to call Tim to come and help
This turned out really cute and I am kinda happy with how it turned out... I hope you enjoy anon! :)
Lucy Chen thought they would be going to a bar or a club for her first girl’s night out with Nyla Harper and Angela Lopez. But no, what the two officers had planned was so much worse.
Speed dating.
As soon as she read the white words on the hideous pink sign, her fight or flight response kicked in. She wanted to run but knowing her two friends, they would never allow that. She tried talking her way out of it, didn’t work. So, she took the only option left, being to rope them into their own scheme.
‘Trust your judgement.’ They said. ‘Control the environment.’
‘Bullshit.’ Lucy thought as she took a seat, a sip of liquid courage coursing through her veins.
The night had started off decent, easily picking out the creeps to be vague to and actively ignoring the weirdos who sent a shiver down her spine. Though, she was not much better, as she came off a little too forward with the men that sat down in the seat across from her.
The buzzer sounded, announcing the end of the night as she and the last prospect, Isaiah stood. He told her he had a good evening, to which she off-handedly agreed. She heard him before she could see him as he reached out, pulling at the loose thread on her sweater.
She reacted instantly, his hands were moving towards her and all she could think about was the last time a set of unwanted hands approached her.
Lucy had him on the floor with his hands secured behind his back in eight seconds flat, Nyla and Angela running over when Lucy laid him out.
“Hey.” Nyla told her placing a hand on her shoulder, bringing her out of her daze. “You’re ok. It’s alright.”
She could hear the shrieks of people being startled around her, Angela’s voice foggy as she spoke to the man she just laid out. Her breathing increased rapidly, adrenaline coursing through her veins as her heart pounded in her chest.
Lucy never heard the question that Nyla was asking as she pulled out of the hold the other woman had on her arm. Her body moved on it’s own accord, her feet carrying her quickly, returning her to the car she had vacated not even an hour earlier, pulling on the handle of the car, sitting down in the passenger seat before she hit the automatic lock button, locking the doors.
“Hey, Chen?” said Nyla as she knocked on the window.
Lucy took a shaky breath to steady herself, focusing on grounding her mind.
“Lucy?” Angela asked as she pulled on the handle of the locked door, hitting the button of her car, unlocking it.
Lucy’s right hand hovered over the switch panel, pressing the button to lock the doors back.
Angela hit it again, only for the occupant of the vehicle to lock it back.
“Seriously. What do we do?” she asked looking over the top of the vehicle.
Nyla pulled out her phone, her thumb scrolling on the screen before pressing the glass, moving the phone to her ear. “Hey. You busy? Yes, I know you’re off duty. We’ve kinda got a situation. I mean kinda like you’ll find out when you get here. We’re in the pay by the hour parking lot on 42nd street. You can’t miss us.” She said before ending the call, placing the phone back into the back pocket of her jeans. “Well, this has been an experience.”
“He on his way?”
Nyla nodded, leaning back on the car. “Relax, she’s not going to budge.”
Angela glanced into the car, standing between the car and the one next to it, keeping an eye on the woman sitting in the passenger seat.
“You meet anyone interesting?”
Nyla snorted, telling Angela about the guy who got up and ran from the table holding a hand to his mouth, and the one she thoroughly grossed out, telling her the stories she had told them.
“What about you?” Angela had just asked when a familiar truck pulled in off the road.
Tim Bradford pulled his truck into the parking lot, stopping at the automated machine to pay for parking, grabbing his ticket before pulling up behind the car he knew all too well. He put the vehicle in park, pressing the button to roll down the passenger side window. “I’m not going to be your DD Harper.”
Nyla walked over to the truck, resting her arms on the sill of the window. “We may have done something stupid.”
“Define stupid.”
Angela walked over, joining Nyla as she looked at the driver guiltily. “I may have pushed Lucy too hard.”
Tim’s face dropped, concern quickly taking over before he could mask the emotion. “What did you do?” he asked as he unbuckled, opening the door of the truck.
Angela shared a look with Nyla, “We may have gone speed dating.”
Tim stared her as he rounded the truck. “You what?”
“She agreed, after some encouragement and bribing.”
“Speed dating.” Tim said as he ran a hand over his face. “What happened?”
“She had a loose string on her shirt and one of the imbeciles tried to pull it without telling her.” Nyla began telling him.
“Then she laid him out. It was impressive really.”
“Not the point Angela. Listen, we tried to calm her down, but she ran out of there and locked herself in the car.”
Sighing Tim moved towards the driver’s side of the car. “Unlock the car.”
Angela hit the button, Tim opening the door simultaneously, getting in behind the wheel before he pulled the door close.
Lucy stared ahead as the vehicle shook, her training officer sliding into the seat next to her, his chest against the steering wheel as his left-hand moved to his side, fumbling with the buttons on the side of the seat.
“How the hell does Ang drive like this?” he grumbled as the seat began sliding all the way back, his long legs slowly unfolding. “So, what happened boot?”
Lucy held a hand to her face, her elbow resting in-between the glass of the window and the door as she continued staring ahead, watching the things moving around the outside world of the vehicle.
“You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”
“Are you here as my boss or as my friend?” She asked, moving her hand down from her face as she began to wring her fingers.
Tim thought for a second, hesitating before answering. “Friend.” They were friends and they were coworkers but somehow, they were also more than that, their working chemistry setting the base of their friendship outside the four sides of the shop.
“I thought I was ready.” She sighed.
“For?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Something more.”
Tim nodded. “It’s only been two months boot. Your recovery isn’t something that will fix itself overnight.”
Lucy somberly let out a lone laugh. “Like hell it will! I’m tired Tim. I’m tired of the pity, I’m tired of the looks, tired of it all. I just want to put it behind me, live a normal life.”
“I know.” He whispered. “But neither one of us has a time machine Chen.”
“Tim, it wasn’t-“
“Don’t. Don’t say it wasn’t my fault. I’m the one who- I almost lost you Lucy.” He told her, his voice cracking at the admission.
“We talked about this the other night. What happened was neither here nor there and both of us are going to have to move on from it sooner or later.”
Tim knew that his rookie was growing restless, the outcome of those twenty-four hours still eating away at her. “I think… what you need, is to find an outlet.”
“An outlet.” She stated, turning her head to face him.
“Something that takes the stress off, where your thoughts disappear and I don’t mean paintball, something a little more strenuous.”
Lucy snorted, rolling her eyes. “Isn’t that what sex is for?”
“That’s not a healthy outlet.”
“And what, Officer Bradford, is your healthy outlet?”
“I have a few, one of them being running.” He told her shrugging. “I try, every day, to run. In the morning, in the evening, doesn’t matter. If you hold onto the shit that we see on the job, you’re going to implode.”
She nodded. “So, what would you suggest?”
“Everyone’s different, you just have to find something that works for you.”
Lucy mulled over his words, silence enveloping the car before she took the opportunity to speak. “Thank you.”
“I would say anytime Chen but you’re making me miss Thursday night football.”
Lucy shoved his shoulder. “I’m sorry for ruining your Thursday with my insecurities.”
Tim flashed her a smile. “We all have our days boot. I do have to say that I wouldn’t mind seeing the video of you putting this guy in his place though.”
“What, so you can critique me?”
“No, so I can see you laying this guy out on his ass.” He said with pride in his voice. “Then critique you.”
A knock sounded on the driver side window. “If you two are done with whatever this is,” Angela said, gesturing between the two “we would like to get out of here.”
“Find an outlet boot.” He said as he pulled the handle of the door, his tall frame exiting the car. “You three text me when you get home.”
“Awwwe look Ang, I think he’s worried.” Nyla teased as Tim walked back towards his waiting truck, the man raising his right hand up the air as he flashed his middle finger.
It took several days and shifts to find what he was talking about, but as she wrapped her hands in tape, a bag of sand hanging in front of her, she took the advice given to her to heart. Lucy couldn’t help the smile that overtook her as she replayed the conversation that followed the disaster that was the other night as she began hitting the swaying bag. ‘Find an outlet boot.’
“Bring your elbow up.” A voice spoke from a few feet behind her causing her to jump.
“Giving boxing advice now are we Officer Bradford?”
Tim shrugged off the bag on his shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. “No but, I would rather you hit the bag properly than have a bummed wrist tomorrow and us get into a shootout.”
Lucy jabbed the bag. “Sounds like advice to me.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do you want my help or not?”
She stopped the swaying bag, grasping it with both hands. “Fine.”
Tim stepped closer, moving into her line of sight as he stood next to the bag. He began critiquing her, Lucy adjusting her stance and positioning countless times as he began placed a pair of boxing pads on his hands. “Enough with the bag. Hit me boot.”
“What?” she said in astonishment. “I’m not-“
“You will Chen, hit me.”
Lucy took a swing at him, missing him as he ducked. “Again.” He ordered.
She forcefully swung her right arm, her throw landing on the soft padding. “Good. Again.”
They kept it up, Tim counteracting her throws and punches, throwing in his own punches that she successfully blocked for the most part.
“See? Outlet.” He told her as he pulled a bottle of water from his bag, taking a sip.
Lucy began unwrapping her wrists, wading the tape into a ball. “Thanks, Tim.”
“You’ve got a mean right hook but your uppercut could use some work. We’ll meet back here in two days boot.” He told her, gathering his bag, moving towards the door.
“Don’t I spend enough time with you already?”
Tim turned around, smirking. “Two days boot.”
Lucy sighed, turning around mumbling under her breath. “He’s lucky I like him.”
“Heard that!” he yelled as the door closed.
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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago
Text
i want your last name
summary: it’s only a year...
word count: 16k+ (holy crap i’m sorry)
warnings: idiot-strangers to lovers, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), frightening situations & suspense, alcohol consumption and drunkenness, language, innuendo, timeline inaccuracies
a/n: please bear with me as this is my first time writing rog and i’m relatively unsure about it. anyway, have a vaguely spooky fic just in time for halloween! xoxo! also: big thank you to @ineloqueent​ for helping with this fic! y’all, she literally held my hand and walked me through every paragraph what a saint
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january, 1982.
“you’re off your rocker if you think i’m going to go through with this, jim.”
from his place on the couch, john snorts. “what? afraid she won’t be pretty enough for you, rog?”
roger levels john an uncharacteristically dark look, jabbing his finger through the air like a knight brandishing his sword or a cowboy his gun. “watch your mouth, deacon.” john holds his hands upwards in surrender, and roger returns his piercing gaze to jim. “i’m not getting married. that’s absolutely out of the question.”
long-suffering band manger and unofficial rockstar wrangler, jim beach drops his face to his hands with a harsh groan. roger cringes in his seat, shifting uncomfortably. he knows what this is about; they all know what this is about.
the end-of-tour party in montreal.
god, he’d gotten so wasted. even now, two months later, he can barely remember that night.
brian, ever the diplomatic, is the first to break the tense silence. he leans forward from his place on the couch beside john and offers roger his most sympathetic look. it does nothing to ease the growing knot of dread in roger’s stomach. “maybe we should leave you and jim to talk, rog.”
jim lifts his head. “i think that might be best, yes.”
roger huffs and falls slack against his chair. he drops his head back, and the ceiling turns topsy-turvy. if jim and the rest of management get their way, his life is bound to feel the same: flipped upside down, all that he knows turned on its head.
john squeezes roger’s shoulder as he slides by, a silent expression of solidarity, but it doesn’t feel like much. john’s got a wife, a parcel of kids. he’s happy at home. roger—he’s never been that way, never seen the point in all the domestics. he isn’t about to join the bloody women’s institute just because a little fun upset a few highbrow jackasses who can’t tell a party from a funeral.
the door to jim’s office shuts with a soft click, and roger imagines the lid of his coffin closing with the same resolute noise. he sits up and runs a hand through his hair. from behind his tinted shades, jim stares across the expanse of his desk. he drums his fingers, worrying his lower lip. roger’s nose twitches to the side. jim isn’t playing around. the proposal typed and printed in the manila folder under jim’s hand is serious, deadly so.
roger removes his sunglasses.
“it was just a party, jim.”
there’s a heavy beat of silence. jim blinks once. “roger, you went streaking through a group of nuns and priests.”
roger squeezes his eyes shut against the words, thankful, for once, that he has no memory of the event. “did i?” he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “honestly couldn’t tell you what i did or didn’t do that night.”
“you did.” jim opens the manila folder and reads from a crumbled newspaper article. “queen’s roger taylor bared all this evening after the explosive conclusion to the game tour, filmed before thousands in montreal’s biggest arena. in a rare display of vulnerability, taylor stripped naked and exposed himself in the hotel lobby where queen resided. he stood on a table and beat his chest like a wild gorilla, chanting about the success of the evening’s filmed concert. lookers-on included none other than a group of nuns and priests recently arrived to canada on special assignment from the vatican. john deacon, bassist for queen, could also be seen laughing in the background.”
jim’s hand thumps against the desk as he drops the article, his stare decidedly unimpressed. “do you have anything to say for yourself?”
running his tongue over his teeth, roger hesitates. not his best moment, he would give jim that. but if he remembers anything about that party, it’s that he wasn’t the only sinner present that evening. john had gotten into his fair share of antics; crystal, too. it seems arbitrary that he should be the one singled out for punishment—and with a strange, archaic, probably-unethical punishment at that.
he shrugs, tossing his hands up in defeat. “i’m not going to be able to say what you want me to say. it was just a party. it got a little out of control. that’s all. i’m sorry if i gave the nuns a little show. i’ll—i dunno—write a letter if you want me to.”
jim scoffs. “write a letter if you think it’ll make me feel better—which it won’t—but that’s not the issue here.”
“then what is the issue? and where the hell does marriage come into it? because i’m not seeing the connection.”
jim sighs. his desk chair creaks as he leans back. taking off his glasses, he pinches the bridge of his nose before meeting roger’s eyes again. “this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, rog. remember new orleans?”
roger holds up an accusatory finger. “you were in new orleans too, jim, so you can’t attack me on that front.”
jim leans forward, his glasses between his hands. he runs his finger back and forth across the top of the frames. “i’ll be blunt. some other people in the office think you’re becoming too—how shall i say it?—explicit for the band. you’re not twenty any more, and raucous parties don’t fit queen’s image. they’re concerned that if more incidents like this hit the press, there will be a drop in sales or concert attendance because nice, suburban families don’t want to go to a concert with a drummer who flashes nuns. do you get what i’m saying?”
roger itches his temple and pushes against the sudden pain behind his left eye. “yeah. yeah, i do.”
“the marriage thing—that was barnaby potter’s idea. if you have beef with it, take it up with him.”
it’s roger’s turn to scoff. he throws his head back on the sound and curls his hands against the cool wooden arms of his chair. when he looks back at jim, he is surprised to see the older man rifling through a filing cabinet in the corner, his back turned.
roger surges forward with his ire anyway. “of course i have beef with it! slap my ass and scold me, sure, but hitch me to a woman i don’t even know for publicity? you’ve got to be joking.”
“personally, i think it’s an idea that will work if you give it a chance.” jim returns to chair and hands roger a sealed packet. “we’ve already got it all lined up, picked the lass and everything. it’s just for a year or so, until the tabloids calm down. then you can get divorced and go your separate ways.”
“wait, hold on—you picked her? without telling me? before even approaching me with the idea?”
“roger—” jim’s tone borders on a warning, but roger ignores his better judgement and cuts the other man off.
“you won’t even give me the option to choose the woman i have to shack up with? god, jim, i’m getting fuckin’ railroaded here!”
jim clenches his jaw. “i’m sure it feels that way, and i’m sorry for that. but it’s this—well, to be frank, it’s this or you’re out. the montreal party was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”
roger can’t be sure but he thinks he sees red. never in his life has he so badly wanted to wring someone’s neck. it takes every fiber of his being, every molecule in his body, to keep from lunging across the room and tackling jim to the floor. he bites his tongue hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. it coats his mouth in a metallic taste, but it’s nothing compared to the rage boiling in his stomach.
still, he knows what his answer must be. it’s this—a sham marriage, a year of hell—or losing the life he’s worked so hard to build.
he rips the envelope from jim’s hand as roughly as he can when he stands from his chair. he hopes he gave the man a papercut.
“i’ll do it, you bastard,” he mutters. “but i damn well won’t be happy about it.”
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“you look beautiful, [y/n].”
with a playful roll of your eyes, you offer ivy a smile. “thanks, love, but you and i both know this is just part of the job.”
ivy laughs and steps closer to adjust the puffed sleeves of your dress. “it might be a job, but damn, if it isn’t a comfortable one. i just about fell out of my seat when you told me you were quitting the agency to marry roger fucking taylor.”
you slide ivy a bemused smirk in the reflection of the long, oval mirror before you. “we’re not really getting married, ivy. you know that, right?”
ivy frowns and jabs her thumb over her shoulder, confusion awash on her round face. “unless i’m mistaken, we’re at a church, you’re in a wedding dress, roger taylor is the groom, and there’s a priest waiting for you right outside. did you read the memo wrong or something? feels like a wedding to me.”
sighing, you turn away from the mirror and reach for your bouquet of flowers. the white roses interspersed with springs of green leaves smell sweet, their stems tied together with a long white ribbon. you adjust one of the wayward petals then sit on the edge of a cushioned chair to slip on your heels. ivy leans against the door, her arms crossed over her chest.
“are you happy?” she asks, her voice soft.
you look up and pause. the heel of your white mary janes squeezes around your achilles’ tendon, and you wince as you shove your foot into the shoe. “what do you mean—am i happy?”
“i dunno.” ivy shrugs. she picks at an invisible piece of lint on the shoulder of her blue bridesmaid gown. “when we were kids, you always used to talk about your wedding day. now it’s here and—”
“ivy.” you rise from the chair and cross the floor to grab her arm. when you speak, you keep your tone firm and stare into her wide, brown eyes. “i’m doing this for the money and nothing else. it’s not a big deal. i don’t even consider today my wedding day. when roger and i get divorced i’ll find some other chap and make my childhood dreams come true, but that’s not today, and i’m okay with it. so yes, i am happy. this is what i want.”
ivy doesn’t appear convinced what with the way she continues to gnaw at her lower lip and shift her concerned look about your face. but she relents when someone knocks on the door, moving to allow you to grab the doorknob.
“wait, [y/n].” you turn at the door, eyebrows lifted in expectation. “how much are you getting paid?”
you press your pointer finger to your lips. “handsomely,” you whisper, dipping your head as though you are about to spill a secret. ivy leans in. her eyes sparkle with interest, and you inwardly smirk. she’s always been a sucker for drama and intrigue, your cousin. “but,” you continue. “that’s for me to know and you not to know.”
before ivy can respond, you pull open the door to see none other than your future husband waiting for you in the vestibule of the chapel.
he stands poised to flee the premises. he’s half-turned toward the closed chapel door, his hands worrying before his waist, his gaze hinged on the flurry of life outside the chapel, visible through the windows on either side of the door. you realize he’s fiddling with an unlit cigarette, not merely rubbing his hands together in an external sign of nervousness. you can’t make out whether or not his eyes are wild with fear or anger or some other emotion; the black tint of his sunglasses obscures the majority of his eyes. he’s handsome in his suit, but, then again, he’s roger taylor. you would be surprised to find a time in which he isn’t handsome.
when you clear your throat, his head whips to face you, and his fingers stop fidgeting. “sorry,” he mutters. “i was just—” he rubs a hand across the back of his neck and sighs. “they’re ready for you.”
“okay.” you nod with a smile and hope the gesture will ease whatever consternation plagues him. “i’ll be up in a moment.”
“right.” he nods once.
from behind his shades, you see his eyes trail from the top of your head to the soles of your shoes. it’s not sexual, not lewd; he’s just inspecting you, and you don’t blame him. who are you to him other than the model pulled out of a catalog, prepared and willing to be his wife until his time served is complete? you’ve spoken only once before this moment, and that phone-call was terse at best. roger made it perfectly clear his opinions on the arrangement, and he wanted to be sure—no, he needed to be sure—you understood his feelings on the matter. you assured him you had heard him loud and clear; your ear had rung for the next hour if only to remind you of his extreme distaste.
“roger,” you say, pulling his attention back from wherever his mind has drifted off to, his stare gone vacant but hardly serene.
his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to focus. “hm?”
“i said i’ll be up in a moment. you can go in now.”
he nods again, this time his chin smacking his collarbone in his urgency. he rubs his jaw, mutters something unintelligible beneath his breath, and turns on his heel, slipping back into the chapel sanctuary with heavy footfalls. your brows rise on your forehead in the wake of his exit. ivy hovers behind your shoulder.
“that’s him?” she squeaks. “that’s roger taylor?”
“yes.” your mouth twists in pity. “poor dear. he really doesn’t want this.” after waiting the appropriate amount of time to be sure roger has made his way to the front of the church, you step towards the entryway, but not before you can ask ivy one last question. “do i look okay? the pictures taken today are bound to be published in the papers.”
ivy chuckles and shakes her head as she lightly pushes your shoulder. “you look gorgeous and you know it. now go get married to a rockstar, you lucky bitch.”
the actual wedding ceremony itself is a formality. truly, it cannot be called a ceremony. there’s no wedding march, no attendees gently dabbing their tear-filled eyes, no heartfelt vows or kiss to signal the joining of two souls. instead, there’s you and there’s roger and there’s a red-faced, balding priest who points to the solid lines on which you must affix your signature to make the marriage certificate valid. roger signs first, and his knuckles are white against the ballpoint pen. you sign second, and the pen feels overly-warm against your cool palms. the priest blesses you with a sign of the cross and promises the certificate will be notarized and sent to your home address within the week.
then it’s done. you’re married. you feel largely the same as you did this morning. if it weren’t for the giant rock on your ring finger and the recent transfer of seventy-five-thousand pounds into your bank account, you might wonder if this was all a product of your over-active imagination, run away with a plot stolen from a b-list film.
the most vital part of the day, the reason you’re here and dressed in a gown with your hair crimped and nails painted, comes right after the priest scurries away to tend to his more important duties. jim beach stands from his place in one of the pews and ushers a photographer forward. he points between you and roger.
“all right, get snug, you two.” jim chews on a large wad of gum, and his words are slurred with an excess of saliva. “just a few pictures and then we’ll go eat. we all know that’s the only reason john showed up today.”
lounged against a pew, john raises his finger in agreement, and his wife elbows him in the chest. he sputters, doubling over in pain, while freddie laughs in amusement. beside you, roger watches the interaction with a back as straight as the pew benches, his jaw tight. you push your arm around his elbow and tug lightly. he inhales before turning to meet your eyes.
“what?” his voice is not cruel or unkind; it’s just tired.
“try and look happy, yeah?” you say, offering him a gentle smile similar to the one you’d given him in the vestibule. it’s the only thing you have to give him other than your hand in marriage and a chance to salvage his reputation; yet, again, it does not alleviate the tension pinching his brow. “the faster we smile the faster we can eat.”
roger shifts, as though he wants to pull away from you, but knows he shouldn’t. his feet dance back and forth on the carpeted stairs leading to the sanctuary state. “i should be telling you to try and look happy. this is just as much an inconvenience for you.”
you shake your head with a chuckle. “hardly. i make my living pretending to be happy, or moody, or sultry. whatever the director wants. i’m a pro at this. and besides,” you add. “it’s my job to make you look good. though, to be honest, that’s not very hard. you look good all on your own.”
roger sniffs and rubs the underside of his nose. he ignores your compliment and keeps his eyes trained on the photographer setting up his equipment at the base of the stairs. “maybe i could use some tips…”
he’s being glib but you take the opportunity to try and break the ice—the rock solid, absolutely frigid, polar ice-cap style ice—between you both. holding up a finger to the photographer, you slide to stand in front of roger. he’s taller than you, not by much, but enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye-contact. his blue eyes very much resemble the ice with which he’s surrounded himself. you can feel the chill on his shoulders, even as you smooth the wrinkles on his tailored dress-shirt.
“whenever i have to fake a smile,” you say, adjusting his thin tie. “i always think about the thing that makes me happiest.” he doesn’t ask you to expand, but you do anyway. “for me, it’s when my cousin ivy moved in with my mother and me. i was seven and she was six and it’s been one giant slumber party ever since.”
“is that your cousin?” roger’s eyes flick to the girl sitting across the aisle from the band and management. ivy has her hands beneath her thighs, her head dipped, her dark black hair covering a curtain over her face.
you nod. “mhmm.”
“she doesn’t look like you.”
you lift an eyebrow. “she’s adopted.”
“right, sorry.” roger exhales deeply, and the weight of the world slips from one of his shoulders to the other, tilting his body in a stiff hunch. “i’m feeling out of sorts today, as you can probably imagine.”
“just think about what makes you happy, roger.” you dare to lift a hand and press it against his cheek. his skin is smooth beneath your fingers. he must have shaved his morning. he looks boyish up close, and you wonder if, like you, he had ever dreamt of what his wedding day might look like. you wonder if, like you, he had given up those dreams to make today a reality.
the photographer takes a picture of your hand against roger’s cheek, and the sudden flash of light has you blinking in surprise. you look over your shoulder, mouth slightly parted and eyelashes fluttering to clear the white spots over your vision.
the photographer just shrugs. “ready now?”
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the shrill of a ringing telephone wakes you the morning after the wedding, and you groan, pulled from a heavy slumber by the incessant and high-pitched tone. there’s a dull ache at the base of your skull, and your tongue feels like it’s coated with a fine layer of sand. beside you, a man snores softly, his face pink and eyelashes soft on his cheekbones.
oh yes, that’s right. you’re married to roger taylor, aren’t you? you’d drunk so much at the celebration supper that you’d nearly forgotten. the evening itself is but a hazy memory, but you think you recall freddie imitating a russian style jig atop a table, and phoebe going into great detail about all the fabulous dress-up parties you’ll be expected to attend now.
one thing you can’t remember is how you ended up in roger’s bed, dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts. your hair is still stiff with sticky hairspray, your legs still encased in a pair of nylon tights, and you don’t feel… sated, for lack of a better word. it’s probably safe to assume that you did not sleep with roger; you merely slept beside him. why you didn’t take up residence in his guest room will be the first question out of your mouth once his day starts. 
you might be his wife and he might be your husband, but you don’t want him getting any funny ideas about the nature of your relationship.
this is a job for you. nothing more.
the phone continues ringing and, lest roger wake before he is ready, you move to reach across him for the phone on his bedside table. you speak into the receiver on a whisper, adjusting your fist on the mattress to keep from falling flat on roger’s stomach.
“hello?”
“uh—hi.” there’s a pause, as if the speaker is uncertain how to react to your voice on roger’s line. “is this [y/n]?”
“yes. who is this?”
“it’s brian. we met yesterday.”
you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “yes, i know who you are, brian.”
he chuckles softly. “sorry—i can’t remember much of last evening. it’s probably best i make a second introduction if i can’t recall the first.”
“well then, i’m [y/n] [y/l/n]. [y/n] taylor now, i suppose. pleased to meet you.”
“brian may. the pleasure is all mine. ours, really—me and the guys. what you’re doing is—we appreciate it, truly. you’ve saved the band, in a way.”
“that’s kind of you, brian.” you glance at roger out of the corner of your eye. he hasn’t moved a muscle, and his face is the most serene you’ve ever seen it. saved the band? you doubt it. smoothed a few ruffled feathers? that’s certainly more likely. “it’s no trouble, though. it’s just my job. what was it you called for?”
“roger was supposed to be at the studio an hour ago. we have a recording session today.”
“shit, really?” pressing the receiver to your shoulder, you twist your wrist upwards, but find your watch missing. you scan the unfamiliar room. a digital clock glows red on a built-in bookshelf. “is it really nearly one o’clock?!”
“afraid so.”
“shit, i’m sorry. i only just woke up. yesterday was hectic—to say the very least. i’ll have roger out the door in half an hour.”
“thanks, [y/n]. you’ll find this happens a lot after a night out. but, hey, at least you’re not shouting at me like rog does.”
after passing pleasantries a moment more—brian asks you about ivy, who you are surprised he remembers, and you ask him about his stargazing habits—you reassure brian that roger will be on his way as soon as possible. you drop the receiver on its base with more force than necessary, but the crack of plastic on plastic and the slight ring of the internal bell gets roger moving.
he grunts, twisting his head away from the noise.
you shake his shoulder gently. “wakey wakey, sleeping beauty. the day is already half gone.”
roger yawns as his eyes blink open. he rubs a hand down his face and arches his back like a cat as he stretches. slumping back against his pillows, he stares at you for a moment, his eyes roaming your face.
“are you an angel?”
you laugh at this, and he winces, holding the heel of his hand to his forehead. “no. i’m your wife. are you still drunk?”
“maybe a little.” his eyelashes flutter rapidly as he adjusts to the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. he waves his hand around your head, and you lean back slightly, away from the exposed skin of his chest and striking collarbones. “you look like an angel with the sun all around your head. ‘s like a halo.”
“that’s kind of you.”
he shrugs, shaking his head. “just sayin’.”
“i think you’re still drunk.”
as if to prove your point, he hiccups then falls to his side on the bed. “maybe.” his cheek is pressed firmly against the mattress, smushing half of his face flat. soft, steady breaths filter in and out of his parted lips, and his eyelids begin to grow heavy as he is dragged back to his dream world. he looks more tired child than grown man, but the sight is endearing. still, your current job is getting him out the door and on his way to the studio. you can’t let him be any later than he already is.
“oh no, you don’t.” grabbing his arm, you pull as you slide from the bed. roger resists your strength and moves to push his entire face against the mattress. he mumbles something against the sheets, but you can’t make out the words. “brian already called. you’re late, pretty boy.”
roger rolls over onto his back, and the movement causes you to lose your grip on his wrist. you stumble backwards then plant your hands on your hips.
“come on, roger. you’ve got to get up.”
“i don’t want to. yesterday was shit, and all i want to do is stay in bed.”
with a sigh, you gather your wedding dress from its heap on the floor. you lay it over your forearm and pull open the closet door. “nice to know you thought our wedding day was shit,” you say. 
you mean it only as a joke, but roger sits up fast, swaying slightly with the movement. he catches your eye as you exit the walk-in closet, and you pause, turning the light off slowly, held by his angry stare.
“fuck off,” he says. “i don’t want this. i don’t want you.”
to say his words don’t sting would be a falsehood. no one wants to hear such a thing, least of all from their spouse. the words make your heart clench painfully in your chest, and you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. he doesn’t look at you, though; he cradles his forehead in his hands, his back hunched where he sits on the edge of the bed.
inhaling deeply, you reach up and begin to remove some of the pins lost in your hair. you head for the bedroom door. “well, while you sit and sulk, i’ll pack you a lunch. you’d better shower, though. you reek.”
from your place puttering about the kitchen, you hear the shower start up a few moments later. good—at least he’s moving. you haven’t the foggiest idea where anything is in his kitchen, but you make do with what you can find in the poorly stocked fridge, and pack him a light lunch. you start a pot of coffee, too, and lean against the counter as you wait for the pot to fill.
the ancient coffee pot takes too long, and you can hear roger humming in the shower down the hall. 
your nails tap against the counter. 
you’re antsy, unsure of what to do with yourself now that the wedding is over. how do you be a wife to someone who doesn’t want a wife? how do you be a friend to someone who doesn’t want a friend?
it’s too big of a problem to solve in the span of time it takes for roger to finish his shower, so you slip into the bedroom and peel off your stockings and his tee-shirt. you put on a sweater, some jeans, and wipe the day-old makeup from your face with a wet-wipe. the movements are tried and true, and they calm your racing thoughts. 
you have an entire year to figure out how to live with roger taylor. you don’t need to have it all figured out this morning.
the coffee pot dings, its job complete, just as you and roger both enter the kitchen.
but he hesitates before taking another step, and so do you. 
his hair is wet from the shower. a white sweatshirt swallows his torso. part of the hem is tucked into his white-washed jeans, and you’re struck by the narrowness of his hips. the weariness is gone from his face, replaced with a youthful sort of glow and stubborn cheekiness. you aren’t sure how he’s managed it, but he looks well-rested. 
you lift a hand to your cheek. you must look a state. it takes a lot longer for you to put yourself back together after a night out.
he stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head and crosses the kitchen to fill a travel mug with hot coffee. gnawing on your lower lip, you lean your hip bones against the kitchen island as he putters about the room, quiet as the grave.
it’s only your first day as husband and wife, and under such unique circumstances, you shouldn’t expect him to—what? make conversation? ask about you and your life?
“so… what do you think you’ll work on today? in the studio, i mean.”
he glances over his shoulder then shrugs. “not sure. probably something related to the rest of the tour.” bending at the waist, he pulls a drawer out from beneath the sink. his ass looks good in those jeans, but you doubt he’d like you staring, so you look away, mouth screwed to the side. “do you know where the sugar packets are?”
you frown and push away from the island, rounding it to stand beside him. “no?” he turns at the sound of your confused voice, and his head jolts backward to see you standing so close. “i don’t live here, remember?”
“well, you do now.” he swivels on his heel and pulls a small white jar across the counter. lifting the lid, he sighs. “i can’t find the sugar.”
“actually, about living here now...” you follow as he starts for the door, grabbing his keys from a small table in the foyer. “the bedroom situation? i figured we’d have separate bedrooms but last night—”
roger opens the front door and silences you with a hard stare. “the only other bedroom is my practice room.”
your shoulders slump. “oh.”
“i wasn’t going to make it a guest room if you’ll be gone in a year.”
“but where will i—”
“fuck it all, [y/n].” he curls his hand around the doorframe, hanging his head. a cold winter breeze sweeps through the hall, and you pull your jumper tight around your waist. “just sleep in my bed, okay? i don’t fuckin’ care.”
you swallow hard, nod. you’d been prepared for some measure of hostility, some measure of resentment. what you hadn’t been prepared for is the way his rebuffs settle like dead weight in your stomach. he alone can be blamed for this; it was his actions that drove management to force you upon him. yet, he seems to look at you with nothing more than dread and disgust. perhaps it is because you are the physical embodiment of his wrongdoing. his antics created you, and he is powerless to wipe you from his eyesight as he might a clump of dirt. you are a permanent stain—at least for the next year.
maybe you can’t begrudge him his disdainful attitude, then.
you come to when a car horn blares outside. 
roger is gone, the door open, void of his claustrophobic presence. leaning around the frame, you catch sight of him and his blond hair as he reaches his car parked on the side of the road. spinning on your heel, you grab his sacked lunch from the fridge and race after him.
“roger!”
he looks up from his car door, and you can’t help but note the way his shoulders lift, tensing at the sight of you running barefoot down the sidewalk. the winter air quickens your steps, and you’re out of breath and huffing when you reach his side. white plumes escape your mouth and drift towards the gray sky.
“you forgot this,” you say, pushing the brown paper sack against his chest. you curl your toes against the frigid bricks beneath your feet.
his brow pinches. “what is it?”
“a lunch. you haven’t eaten yet.”
for the first time since meeting him, the ghost of a true smile lifts the corners of his mouth as he stares down at the sacked lunch. he lifts a hand, and you are surprised by its warmth when he covers your knuckles with his palm. his eyes flick upwards, meeting yours.
“thanks, [y/n].” he tilts his head to the side. “i’m sorry i’ve been a prick. this is all… really new for me.”
you slip your hand from his grasp, sure that your smile is somewhere between girlish and shy. a sharp wind whips through the stitching of your sweater, and you shiver.   
“we’ll figure it out,” you say, and it’s a message to both him and yourself. you will figure this out.
“yeah.” he slides his key into the slot on the car door. “yeah, we will.”
“oh. rog, wait.” you stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder. when he twists at the waist, you wind your arms around his neck before he has time to react. you squeeze tight, your toes skimming the ground. he feels firm, stiff like a board. “hug me back,” you whisper against his ear. “there’s someone across the street taking photos.”
the sound he makes in your ear—a grumble, a low growl—sends your blood pumping into overdrive. he’s angry, but he dutifully embraces you as any newlywed husband might. his arms are strong around your lower back, and you melt into him.
god, he feels good. you can’t remember the last time you were held like this. he smells like the soap from his shower, and his sweatshirt is soft. his hair brushes against your cheek, and your eyelashes flutter in response. you should pull away; you’ve hugged him long enough to appear the besotted wife, desperate for her husband to stay home the day after their wedding. the paparazzi surely got what they wanted.
so, why is it so hard for you to let go?
you shake yourself free of the feeling, whether it be longing or desire or something else entirely.
sliding your hands across roger’s shoulders, you drop from your raised stance. you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and without hesitation. just in case.
“go on.” you hurry to step back, to allow him the space the leave. “you don’t want to keep the boys waiting any longer.”
roger’s eyes linger a moment more, his stare somewhere between searching and assessing. then he mumbles an oath beneath his breath, wrenches open his car door, and slips inside. the door slams behind him, and the engine roars to life. you retreat further at the sound, wrapping your arms around your stomach when the car tires squeal against gravel in his haste to get away.
some blissfully wed husband he makes.
biting the inside of your lip, you turn back to the house. the front door remains open wide, and it’s likely the heat has long since left the warmth of the halls. you pause long enough to lift the paper from the front stoop. what you see beneath the fold makes you hesitate all the longer.
there’s a photo of you and roger on the left side of the page beneath the headline, roger taylor marries model. the grainy, black and white image of your wedding day presents you, the smiling bride, and roger, the smiling husband, joined hand-in-hand beneath a heavy wooden cross. to the untrained eye, all is joy in the taylor household. the article describes the ceremony, though the details are patchy and entirely false, as intimate and “drenched with love.”
you scoff before you can stop yourself. clearly, the author of the article has encountered roger taylor under duress.
but it’s not the article which holds you frozen to the front stoop, your exposed toes and fingers sticking like icicles to the newspaper. rather, it’s the smear of red paint slashed over your picture. it’s the word slag scrawled over the article, an arrow pointed in the direction of the wedding photo.
still, in a one-on-one meeting you’d had with jim beach prior to the wedding, he’d warned you of something like this. though all four queen members are undeniably attractive, it is roger who makes the fans go gaga.
maybe it’s his boyish good looks contrasted with his raspy voice. maybe it’s the frenzy with which he plays, his easy charm and sunkissed skin. whatever it is—roger’s fans are a possessive lot.
jim had told you to prepared for a few nasty letters or scathing criticism in the papers. he had told you it wouldn’t last long, just until the initial shock of the marriage wore off, just until roger’s fans accepted the reality that they were not be his lawfully wedded wife.
so, truly, the first incident does not scare you. you just hadn’t realized the scrutiny would begin so soon. if anything, the painted paper makes you chuckle. roger’s fans certainly don’t like to waste time.
you toss the paper in the bin beside the stoop, and it’s forgotten before the day is over.
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a week bleeds into a month, and you find yourself falling into some semblance of a life with roger.
you cohabitate for the most part. he does not outright rebuff your attempts at friendship, nor does he accept any olive branch you extend.
conversation is stilted, his contributions terse and monosyllabic. he prefers your home-cooked meals be eaten before the television, and not at the dinner table, where he would be forced to engage with you. he doesn’t even give in when you ask if there’s anything he’d like to rant about. he just shakes his head and bangs on his drums well into the evening, despite having banged on them the whole day at the studio.
yet he sleeps beside you, allows you to sleep beside him.
without fail, he appears more at ease come nightfall. he sheds whatever protective shell he wears throughout the day in favor of something softer, something more tender. you’re not sure what changes him when he walks over the threshold of the bedroom, but something does. perhaps it’s the soft lamplight or the hum of the fan he insists be kept on despite the chill of winter.
there’s a part of you that wonders if it might be your very presence that softens him, but you’ve taken to silencing that part as of late. he’s long-since proven that you hold no sway over him whatsoever, and that’s okay. your job is to be a buffer between his antics and the all-seeing eyes of the public. nothing more.
two months to the day after your wedding, you’re stood in the hallway, slipping on a pair of earrings, and brushing away roger’s hurried attempts to get you through the door. he has one hand on the doorknob, the other wrist tilted to expose his watch face.
“[y/n], please!”
“roger, the party doesn’t start until queen arrives. give me just a minute more.”
tonight, the savoy hotel, the first music industry party you’ll attend by roger’s side as his wife.
you’re nervous.
your hands shake as you press the earrings into your ears, and you rub your lips back and forth, feeling the slick lipstick rub over the flesh. you’re thankful the dress you chose is a gauzy sort of chiffon. if you sweat, no one will be able to tell, thanks to the pale blue of the fabric.
impatient as ever, roger drags himself from the door to stand behind you, as though prepared to throw you over his shoulder. however, a smirk pulls at your mouth when he pauses in his frustration long enough to primp and preen his hair in the mirror. you catch his eye, your fingers paused in snapping your clutch closed. he sees your smirk, and his own lips pull on a wry smile.
the moment hangs in the air, thick with—what? tension? no. something else. camaraderie comes to mind.
your eyes remain locked with his, and his grin spreads until he is shaking his head with amusement. he pushes your shoulder, but the touch is friendly, almost brotherly in nature.
“come on,” he says. “i don’t want to miss all the good wine.”
nodding, you start for the door, trailing behind him to flick the lights off. darkness engulfs the house, the only light the white glow of the moon spilling through the window above the kitchen sink and a night light plugged in along the hallway baseboard.
but then the phone rings.
roger stamps his foot against the floor, the door already half-open. “fuckin’ hell!”
“let me get it.” you’re halfway down the hall before he can stop you. “i’ll tell them to buzz off. hold on!”
“i’m going to get the car started,” he says. his voice echoes through the hall to meet you where the phone hangs in the kitchen. “you have two minutes, [y/n]. two minutes!”
lifting the phone from the receiver, you press it against your ear. “hello?”
at first, you hear nothing on the other end.
but you’re sure you heard the phone ring, so you lean closer to the receiver and plug your opposite ear in a piss poor attempt to hear better. “hello? this is [y/n] taylor speaking.”
the sound of heavy breathing—deep inhales, hard exhales—meets your ear. deep inhale, hard exhale. over and over and over.
your throat tightens, but you push past the lump. “hello? who’s there?”
a stuttering of breath on the inhale, a shaky exhale. a croak, voice poised to speak.
only you slam the phone back on the receiver before the person on the other end can say a word.
for a moment, you stand still, eyes glued to the phone, mouth parted in shock.
but then roger honks the car horn, and you shake yourself free of the unsettling feeling. a missed connection, you tell yourself. a wrong number. a mistake. that’s all it was—a mistake.
still, you are shaking when you slide into the passenger seat of roger’s car. he glances at you before pulling into the busy street.
“are you cold?” he asks. he turns the heat up, blasting the air against your face. “you’re shaking.”
“no,” you say, and, truly, you aren’t. he loaned you an ostentatious fur coat for the occasion, lined with a smooth brown fabric, and you are comfortably warm beneath the heavy material. “just nervous.”
roger snorts, his eyes sliding to you. “nervous? surely you’ve been to parties before. you’re a model, for god’s sake.”
“i’m not sure what kind of model you think i was, rog. i did mostly print, never runway. parties were never a part of my nine-to-five.”
“oh.” his mouth screws to the side. “i guess—well, to be honest, i kinda thought models all did the same kind of work.”
“most people do. that’s in the past now, though.” you shift, glance out the window, and watch the streetlights blur in a hazy streak of orange and yellow. he’s driving fast, and you grip the side of the door, willing your heart to stop racing.
the car slows to a stop beneath a red light. roger taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and the silence in the car is deafening.
you should strike up a conversation. he seems willing tonight, and maybe that’s due to the cramped nature of the car, but it’s an opportunity nonetheless.
only you can’t stop thinking about the phone call, about the heavy breathing and the unanswered questions. you shut your eyes and find yourself mirroring the caller’s breathing patterns.
deep inhale, hard exhale.
“so, you’re done with modeling?”
you open your eyes and turn to look at his profile. why he insists on wearing sunglasses in the dead of night you will never understand, but the sight alone makes you smirk. he knows he’s attractive; you have to give him credit for embracing it.
“that’s why i married you,” you say.
roger laughs—and you realize it’s probably the first time you’ve heard the sound. his laugh aligns with the light timbre of his voice, and the anxiety in your chest eases to hear him sound something other than malcontent.
“i knew you were a gold digger!” it’s a joke—you can tell by the quirk of his mouth and the lines around his eyes—but you rush to defend yourself all the same.
“no, i’m not!” you hesitate before shrugging with a rueful chuckle. “well… maybe a little. i won’t deny that the money i get from this arrangement really helps. i was looking for a way out of modeling, anyway.”
“really?” roger’s eyebrow arches, and, as the car turns into the savoy, the wrap-around drive clogged with limousines, sport cars, and photographers jostling for a good spot, you catch a glimpse of admiration on his face. “what do you want to do now?”
“i’m not sure. go back to school. i’ve got a head for maths, so maybe accounting or something.”
roger twists his head to meet your eyes, and his smile is earnest. it steals the breath from your lungs.
deep inhale, hard exhale.
“you don’t strike me as an accountant, dove.”
“why not?”
“accountants are stuffy, greasy men. you’re… you know…” he waves a hand, inches the car forward as the line moves. camera bulbs flash in the world outside, but within the car, all you can focus on is roger and his next words.
“i’m…?” you’re fishing, but this is the first time he’s given you more than the time of day, and you’re eager to get something, anything, out of your husband.
he shrugs, and his hands curl around the steering wheel. a muscle in his jaw ticks. “you’re too nice.”
you look away. “ah—nice.” not what you’d been expecting him to say.
he pulls the car to a stop along the hotel’s entrance, and a sharply dressed attendant opens the door. sliding out after roger, you instinctively reach for his hand. he spares you a short glance and squeezes your fingers together in a gesture of encouragement.
a black—not red—carpet lines the walkway from the drive to the open hotel doors. velvet ropes hold back the crowd of photographers, reporters, and fans lucky enough to have squeezed their way to such a prime viewing spot. camera flashes paint the inside of your eyelids with bright, white spots. despite the chill of winter, the air is hot, heady with glitz and glamor. it’s hard to distinguish any one voice over the plethora of people vying for attention, and your head swims in the chaos of it all.
roger moves easily from one side of the rope to another. he is in his element, grinning for the cameras and joking with reporters who grab him long enough for a quote. his moments with the press are short, few and far between. he much prefers the fans—their simpering smiles, tear-stained cheeks, and waving slips of paper begging for a signature. you don’t blame him. who could ever resist such unfettered adoration?
near the end of the carpet, a reporter snags roger’s attention with his waving arm. palm still clasped in roger’s, you trail behind your husband, hovering just behind his shoulder. the cool smile you perfected in your modeling days remains fixed on your face, even as the reporter acknowledges you with a tilt of his head.
“is this your wife, roger?”
the reporter has to shout to be heard over the sudden surge of excitement as a new celebrity takes their first step on the carpet. it’s kate bush, if you aren’t mistaken. you could be wrong, though. the reporter’s query pricks your ears, dividing your focus between the cacophony around you and the question at hand. thus far, you’ve remained nameless by roger’s side. no one—fan or press alike—has asked after you, and you’re happy for it.
roger turns to look at you, and his grin spreads. he goes so far as to slip his arm around your waist, tugging you against his side, keeping his gaze on your profile. a sudden rush of blood floods your cheeks, and you duck your head beneath his watchful eyes. yet you find your own smile widening. the action is not one you have to force or fake, though. it’s easy to smile when roger is smiling.
“yes, this is my bride,” roger says. “[y/n].”
the hand he’s placed on your waist squeezes the flesh of your hip, pushing you further against him. to keep from tripping over your own legs, you press a hand against his chest to steady yourself. you can feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers; his heart pulses to a steady rhythm. your own heart beats twice as fast.
the reporter checks something on his small pad of paper. “is it true that you used to be a model, [y/n]? there are rumors that this marriage is a publicity stunt.” he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder as someone bumps his back, pushing him against the velvet rope. once righted, he continues. “there are rumors that you were hired to get the press to stop talking negatively about the montreal incident.”
you open your mouth to speak, but roger jumps in before you can utter a single syllable.
“are you joking?” he tosses his head back in an easy laugh and pulls you even tighter against his side. you’re afraid if he draws you any nearer you will absorb into him completely. but with the way the lights dance off his eyelashes and his hair looks perfectly tousled and his body feels strong against yours, you aren’t sure that would be a bad thing.
“i’m crazy about my wife!” he says, and the words go straight to your heart like a wildfire. “you should get yourself one, mate.” he playfully slaps the reporter’s upper arm. “they’re great fun!”
the reporter arches an eyebrow. “it’s just that i know you’ve gone on record as not exactly believing in marriage and—”
“what do you want me to do? kiss ‘er? would that make you happy?” a shit-eating grin rises on his face, indignant and cocky all at once. he shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye; you bite your lip. “will that get you off my back?”
“that’s not really—”
“here.” he taps the wrist of a bystanding photographer then points to you, twisting his body so that you stand face to face. “put this in your bloody paper!”
grabbing either side of your face, roger dips his head to capture your lips with his. for a moment, you remain unsure. you hold fast to his wrists, your mouth unmoving. the blood in your veins stands frozen in shock, and your heart presses painfully against your ribcage. somewhere in the back of your mind, your conscious screams for you to react, to play along, but it’s not until roger slides one hand from your cheek to the small of your back that you register what part you must play.
thank god it’s not a difficult role.
with a tilt of your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold tight. he tastes faintly of cigarettes and the mints he uses to freshen his breath. his lips are soft, softer than you’d anticipated. you can hear the clicking of cameras, feel the blinding light of flashbulbs pierce your eyelids, sense the growing interest in your display of affection, but none of it penetrates the bubble—the bubble of you and roger, of his lips and your lips, of his arms holding you close, his very air becoming yours.
he pulls away entirely too soon, and his smile is all the more cheeky. you press your fingertips to your lips, lower your face, and draw in a sharp breath.
“there! that could enough for you?”
roger steers you away from the reporters and into the sanctuary of the hotel at last. a rush of cool air meets you and, though it is mid-winter, you sweat beneath roger’s fur coat. the gentle whoosh of air-conditioning is a blessing against your hot skin.
as you enter the ballroom transformed for the event, roger lowers his mouth to your ear. “sorry about that, poppet.” the low register of his voice and the feeling of his breath against the back of your neck sends a shiver down your spine. “i’ve dealt with that tosser before, and he really grinds my gears.”
“‘s fine, roger,” you manage to say through your tight throat. “it’s what i’m here for, yeah?”
he stops walking, and his hand moves from your back to your wrist. his eyes drift over your face, calculating, searching. you let him look. you aren’t sure what he’s looking for, but you get the feeling that he’s truly seeing you for the first time. even in the manufactured blue light of the room, even with the myriad of tables surrounded by producers and singers and agents alike, his face visibly softens and his hand curls around your wrist.
“roger! [y/n]! over here!”
three tables away, freddie waves his hand, beckoning you over. roger drags you along, his fingers intertwining with yours as you sidestep people already lounging at their seats. once at the table set aside for queen and guests, roger pulls out your chair, and you sit, smoothing your hands over your skirt. he sits beside you and leans to his side to whisper something to john. on your right sits chrissie may, and you offer her a smile in greeting.
the function—a charity benefit organized to bring awareness to the falklands disagreement—comes and goes without issue. the dinner is bland, but the wine is good. chrissie is pleasant, and it’s your first chance to speak to another band member’s wife since the wedding. you appreciate her advice, laugh at her stories, and enjoy yourself without restraint. it doesn’t hurt that as roger drinks more, he more pays attention to you. you really shouldn’t encourage him, but when he slings an arm around your chair and pulls you closer, when he turns his head to whisper a joke in your ear at brian’s expense, when he plays with a loose lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger, it’s all you can do not to melt like the ice-sculpture in the center of the room.
come the end of the event, you find yourself walking between chrissie and veronica, your steps slow as the boys stumble through the hall. roger and john cannot stop laughing, though no one has said anything remotely funny for the last few minutes. they cling to one another like koalas to trees, as though the other might drop to the ground if released. brian and freddie aren’t any better. they sing off-key, their voices bouncing off the empty walls and laminate floors. you aren’t sure what part of the hotel you’ve wound up in, but it’s certainly less plush than the ballroom. still, you smile when roger slides his sunglasses over his eyes and snorts at one of john’s inane comments.
your smile falters when the sound of veronica’s labored breathing, pregnant as she is, reaches your ears.
deep inhale, hard exhale.
in the flurry of the evening—amidst the kiss and the dinner and the joking and the drinking—you’d forgotten about the phone call.
chrissie reaches out to grab your arm when your steps stutter. “are you okay?” she asks.
you stop walking. if the boys get into trouble around the corner, you’ll surely hear it.
meeting chrissie’s wide eyes, you frown. you hate the put a damper on the evening’s chipper mood, but the memory of the phone call crashes to the surface, bringing with it anxiety and unease. roger doesn’t need to know, but perhaps the other wives experienced a similar phenomenon. perhaps it’s all in your head. either way, you’d like a second opinion.
“this is going to sound weird, but… have either of you ever gotten a strange phone call?”
“phone call?” veronica rubs a hand over her swollen stomach. “what do you mean?”
you explain the events prior to your departure earlier in the evening, and the concerned looks that settle on chrissie and veronica’s faces stir the uncertainty in your stomach.
“that doesn’t sound good, [y/n],” chrissie says.
you gnaw at your lower lip. “no, i suppose it doesn’t.”
“have you told rog?”
you shake your head. “i don’t want to trouble him. not if it’s just some practical joke. it very well could be our kid neighbor having a lark.”
another memory drifts to the surface: the newspaper, the red paint dripping across your photograph. slag, they’d written.
you’d forgotten about that too.
veronica pulls you back to the present with her even tone. “i think you should tell him. if someone is harassing you, even if it’s just the once, don’t you think he should know?”
“i guess but—”
“hey, party people!” john sticks his head around the corner, breaking the conversation with his over-loud voice. “guess what we found?”
“judging by your wet trousers, i’d say a pool.”
john trips down the hall to grab veronica’s arm. “have i ever told you that you’re brilliant?” he presses a noisy kiss to her cheek, and even veronica isn’t capable of remaining firm under such affection.
like a child who has found an interesting twig, john crooks his arm in a follow-me motion, tugging his wife toward the pool. “come on. come see!”
veronica follows john around the corner, but before you can follow, chrissie presses her palm to your shoulder.
“you should tell roger,” she says. “before it gets serious.”
you nod, promise her you will, then make your way to the indoor swimming pool, knowing full well roger won’t hear a word of the incident.
the savoy’s pool room is understated in comparison with the rest of the hotel. though the ceiling stretches high, skylights allowing moonlight to shimmer over the undisturbed water, the room is just as hot, just as stuffy, as any other hotel pool. you drop your coat and rog’s to a plastic lounge chair as soon as you enter, swamped as you are by the thick air.
all nerves, all worries about the phone call, fade away as you slip your shoes off and watch roger and john’s poor poolside rendition of abbott and costello’s “who’s on first” routine. roger can’t keep up with john no matter how hard he tries, but their combined effort is valiant.
laughing, you clap as they take their theatrical bows and only laugh harder when john trips over the edge of the pool mid-bow. he lands belly-first in the clear water, rising a sputtering, drenched mess, his hair and clothes sodden to the bone, though his eyes are bright with mischief. he swims to where veronica sits with her ankles in the water and, before she can sternly admonish him, has her pulled into the churning pool beside him.
brian is next in. he cannonballs in the deep end, and chrissie follows of her own volition. the impact of their jump launches a tidal wave of water in your direction, and you screech, nearly falling in your attempt to avoid getting wet.
but then a pair of arms wrap around your waist, lifting you from the cool, albeit slippery, floor.
“roger, no!” you twist in his tight hold. “no, roger, don’t!”
your voice echoes in the room, bouncing off the windows and walls; yet roger ignores your pleas for release. he shuffles to the edge of the pool at the behest and cheering of his friends, each treading water, watching as you struggle to break free.
the water beneath your feet rises and falls, sloshing this way and that. you can see the bottom of the pool from where roger holds you, and there’s a delicate, inlaid design of a turtle twelve feet down on the pool’s stone foundation.
you curl your nails in roger’s arm. “roger, i can’t—”
he tosses you in before you can finish the sentence.
you fall through the air with a scream, land on your back, and sink beneath the surface of the water. chemically-laced water fills your mouth, your nose, and your lungs scream for air.
for a moment, fear grips you, not unlike the way it gripped you in the hallway of your own home, the phone cradled against your ear. only this time, you know exactly what will happen if you don’t get help.
this is not a battle you can win yourself.
kicking to the top, you break through the water and cough, shaking your head. tears cloud your vision when you open your eyes, but the liquid that’s caught in your eyelashes disguises them, and for that you’re thankful. roger bobs beside you, a grin on his face, looking much too pleased with himself and his antics. without a second thought, you reach for him.
“roger, i can’t swim,” you say.
his face falls. “oh.” he blinks then, realization striking as you grab onto his shoulders. “fuck, [y/n]. i’m sorry.”
clinging to him, you wrap your arms around his chest, your legs around his waist. you rest your cheek against the back of his neck and sigh, inhaling deeply. “i tried to tell you,” you whisper.
beneath the water, his hand curls around the skin of your ankle. he squeezes, and it’s all the apology you need.
the band stays in the pool for entirely too long. freddie starts talking about the next album, and the other boys chime in, clamoring for their opinions to be heard over the others. despite their drunken state, music brings a sense of clarity to their speech and thought. it’s their life’s work and something about which they care deeply. there’s no denying that. even when brian tries his hand at a backwards flip and freddie challenges john to a diving contest, they are always thinking, always working, toward their next goal. you admire them for that.
roger remains steady where he stands. you cling to him like a barnacle, even though you just as easily could remove yourself and find a place where your feet touch solid ground. he feels nice, though. his body is a comfort against yours, and as the business talk continues, your head lolls to the side on his shoulder, a gentle smile on your lips.
you could get used to this.
at some point, veronica complains about her aching back and drags john from the pool. they are the first to leave, but brian and chrissie soon follow. you aren’t sure if you want to go, if you want the evening to end. if it means roger will go back to ignoring you, shoving you aside, you think you could stay in this pool until your skin wilted and dripped off your bones.
“we’d better go, love,” roger whispers.
you know he’s right.
“yeah.” you try to keep the disappointment from your voice.
he moves to the side of the pool, and you heave yourself over the edge. your dress is heavy, weighed down by the absorbed water. you wring out the skirt as best you can, but until you can give it a proper wash and dry, it’s really no use. gooseflesh breaks out on your arms where the cool air hits, and you shiver.
roger appears behind you, turns you gently with a hand to the shoulder, and lifts a fluffy white towel. “here. i found these.”
“oh!” you move to take the towel from his grasp. “thank you.”
“i’ve got it.” with a smile—a boyish, gentle sort of smile—roger unfurls the towel and wraps it around your shoulders. he tugs the corners beneath your chin and laughs through a short breath. “comfy?”
you nod, pressing your face against the warm fabric.
“you look like a marshmallow.”
lifting your mouth from behind the towel, you tilt your head with an impish grin. “you once told me i looked like an angel. so, which is it? angel or marshmallow?”
“oh, angel for sure.” he thumbs a finger over the end of your nose. “you always look like an angel.”
you roll your eyes and hope the action does not expose the sudden flutter in your chest. “you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re drunk.”
he shakes his head. “no. i mean it.”
he looks at you for a long time. you look at him for just as long. the unease cadence of your breath, the way his breath whistles through his nose, the lap of the pool against the tiled walls—it all sounds so loud to your ears, though nothing can compare to the beating of your heart. it fills your entire body: bump bump, bump bump, bump bump. your cheeks feel hot with blush, and you finally look away, casting your eyes to the floor. you wiggle your bare feet against the tiled floor; roger wiggles his toes back.
“we should go home,” you say.
“yeah.”
roger pays an attendant to ferry you home, and the drive leaves your entire body close to overheating.
the back seat of his car feels strangely intimate compared to the front seat, but that might just be your imagination. surely, roger didn’t sit so close to you on purpose. surely, his hand isn’t pressed against your leg because he wants it to be. his car is just… cramped.
“did you have fun tonight?” you break the silence, but when you do, your voice sounds strange—slightly strangled, nervous, earthy—and you wish you’d remained quiet. you continue toying with a loose thread on your coat, ignoring the way roger’s eyes traverse your profile.
“mhm. did you?”
you nod, but don’t look up.
from the driver’s seat, the attendant coughs, and your gaze shifts.
deep inhale, hard exhale.
chrissie’s words of earlier surface in your mind: you should tell him about the phone call. it’s only right.
twisting, you look to your right, meet roger’s eyes, and promptly lose all sense of direction. his face is so near, his mouth parted, eyes hooded, cheeks flushed. your throat runs dry, but you can’t look away.
“roger–”
“hmm?” his lips tighten, but his smile is just as sly as it had been the moment before he kissed you in front of the reporters. the touch still lingers on your mouth, but you will the memory away.
“there’s something i should—”
his fingers sift through a lock of your hair, and he moves his head almost in a nuzzling sort of gesture. you swallow hard. “i was wrong about you,” he whispers. when did his voice get so raspy?
“what?”
“i was wrong to judge you,” he says. his hand moves from your hair to the side of your neck, one long finger tracing the lines of your skin. “to be honest, i thought you were some cheap girl looking for a way into my bed, but i was wrong. you’re more than that.”
“what—” deep inhale. “what am i, then?”
his lips quirk upward. “my wife.”
hard exhale.
his mouth claims yours, and you don’t fight him. you melt against him, his chest pressed against yours in the narrow space of the car. you’re vaguely aware that a driver sits not two feet away, more than able to hear the way roger pulls a soft whimper from behind your lips and the rustle of clothes as you both scrabble for any exposed skin. but you don’t really care. you’re drunk off of roger, and have been since you met him. it’s his looks, yes, but tonight—tonight you saw him in his element. you heard him laugh and saw him smile and preened under his attention. you would go to hades and back to live in a world shaped just like tonight, every bit of it.
roger can’t keep his hands off you as you make your way from the sidewalk to the front stoop. his hands roam your body, skimming every inch, squeezing the parts he seems to like most. you giggle like young lovers experiencing one another for the first time, and maybe that’s because you are.
when you drop the front door key because you’re too focused on returning roger’s eager kiss, it doesn’t seem to matter. you just stand on the stoop and kiss beneath the light of the moon a little longer.
when you finally get the door open and his palm hits your ass at the same time, you squeal, and he dissolves into laughter.
when he fumbles with the hallway light because he’s too focused on getting your coat off, you tell him to forget it. you don’t need the light anyway.
halfway down the hall, limbs and lips tangled, the phone rings.
you laugh as you peel yourself from his grasp. he puckers his lower lip in protest.
“i’ll be just a minute,” you say, lifting the phone from the receiver. he sticks his tongue out, but then sheds his shirt, leaving it on the kitchen floor as he slips into the bedroom. you bite the edge of your thumb as you watch him go, your head as muddled as creamy soup.
someone clears their throat on the other end of the line.
“oh, sorry. hello?”
“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”
cold dread extinguishes any joy lingering in your chest at the sound of the sickeningly smooth voice. 
your fingers curl tight around the phone. “who is this?”
“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”
angry tears spring to your eyes as you scoot to stare out the window over the sink. nothing but darkness meets your eyes, but still you try in vain to search for an answer in the inky blackness. “i said: who is this?” your voice cracks, but you push forward. “how did you get this number?”
“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”
“i swear i calling the fucking police if you keep this up!”
a beat of hesitation then: “what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”
with a helpless groan, you slam the phone down for the second time in one day. your fingers creak as you let go and step back, chest heaving. your skin feels slimy—slimy with roger’s lingering touch, slimy with the possibility that someone had been watching you kiss your husband, slimy with the possibility that someone could be watching you now.
you don’t stop and admire roger, clad only in his boxers, as you make your way to the en suite bathroom. you can’t stand to look at him, to know that somewhere someone cares for him so much they would take to harassing you. god, it makes you want to vomit.
you don’t bother with the bathroom door so intent are you at getting in the shower and scrubbing your slimy skin raw. you struggle with the zipper at the top of your spine, the tears hovering over your eyes threatening to spill over if you can’t be rid of your soaked clothing. you stamp your foot with a grunt and drop your hands, hanging your head in defeat.
roger’s soft chuckle sounds from the doorway. you don’t turn to look at him.
your back stiffens when he undoes the zipper, the pads of his fingers pressing along your shoulder blades, your ribs, the small of your back.
“that eager, huh?” he presses a wet kiss to the curve of your shoulder.
you want him; you really do. there’s some part of you that wants to drag him into the shower and work out your fears with the aid of his body against yours. but you won’t do that. you won’t use him, not when he confessed he thinks you better than that.
you twist to face him, holding the dress against your chest. “rog, i…” you place your hand on his smooth chest, feel the small hairs peppering his collarbone. “you’re drunk,” you finally say. “you’re drunk and you should go to bed.”
he smirks and pushes his hips against yours. “so? you’re drunk too.”
you shake your head. “no, not anymore.” you push him away gently. “believe me, roger, i want nothing more than to go to bed with you but—”
he plays with a lock of hair beside your face, and your desire to resist him weakens. “but?”
“i won’t do it while you’re drunk. besides, you’ll be over this by morning. you’ll go back to not wanting me. so i won’t do it—not while you’re drunk.”
with a huff, he lets you go, but not without kissing you once more. a traitorous tear slides down your cheek, and your throat seizes with emotion. somewhere in the back of your clouded mind, you wonder if you love him. or, if at least you are on the edge of loving him.
but it doesn’t matter. you’ll be gone in a year, and he will move on to someone else, someone strong enough to withstand his rabid fans.
he pulls away first and kisses your temple. “goodnight, angel,” he whispers.
you wrap your arms around your stomach and, once stood beneath the hot water of the shower, let the sound of the creaking pipes drown out the sound of your crying.
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roger is gone before you wake the next morning.
he leaves you a note on the kitchen island, scrawled in his plain script: “angel, i’m hungover now, not drunk. i’d still like you in my bed. – rog”
the note should send a thrill to your stomach, but it manifests itself in a ball of dread instead.
what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?
it’s heaven, but the price is hell.
you crumple the note and toss it in the bin, jumping when the phone rings. you hesitate, your gaze locked on the inanimate object that has come to haunt your dreams.
eventually, the phone stops ringing, but the shrill sound echoes in your head as you go about the day.
after the second phone call, tension becomes your constant companion. the days pass, and you withdraw into yourself, scared by the slightest sound, the never-ending line of cars outside the front window, and roger’s growing interest.
he seems to like you now that he knows you. he makes you laugh, asks you questions, even goes so far as to help you research university entrance exams.
but when he comes home from the studio, your stomach takes to twisting with apprehension as you wonder if your faceless friend watched him drive home and wonder further if your faceless friend can see roger kiss the side of your neck.
you try not to push him away. his attention is what you’ve wanted all along, and, though the romantic turn of events was certainly unplanned, he does make your knees weak and your head giddy like a schoolgirl’s.
still, the phone calls persist. it’s not every night and every day. you can’t trace the caller’s pattern because there is none. you never know who will be on the other end of the line. it could be roger calling during his lunch break as he is wont to do; it could be the university to which you’ve applied; or it could be them, the phantom who chills the blood in your veins.
there’s a pad of paper tucked beneath your side of the bed. the words of your faceless friend are scrawled across the page in frenzied handwriting, the handwriting of a madwoman.
what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?
did he buy you those earrings?
will he ask john to help you study for the maths entrance exam?
you should stop answering the phone; you know you should. but each time the phone rings, you respond like a pavlovian dog. you rush to answer, to frantically write down the day’s comment just in case there’s some sliver of information that might shed light on your faceless friend’s identity.
the caller is a woman; that much you know. her voice is deep and gravelly, but she’d referenced herself as the better woman for roger before. she seems to cling to the idea that you will leave him and the position of roger taylor’s wife will fall to her. if only to spite her, you will remain married to roger until your dying day.
you should tell roger too; you know you should.
but he’s happy.
when you first met him, he was sullen, dragging his tail between his legs like a scolded pup after the montreal debacle. it took a while, but you see him now for his true self. he’s carefree in a grounded sort of way, sold out for his music and the lifestyle it affords him. he’s gentle and kind and surprisingly considerate. he picks up the groceries when you ask it of him; he cleans the dishes from supper without complaint. he doesn’t pressure you for anything more than a make-out session on the couch when the lights are low and a record spins on the turntable. you would go further, but you can’t—not right now. he doesn’t ask any questions.
it would break you to tell him about the phone calls, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. each morning, you imagine his crestfallen face. you imagine the anger and the shouting and him calling the authorities and—
it’s easier for him—for everybody—if you just stay quiet.
besides, you’ll be gone in six months.
one evening, after dinner at an expensive restaurant, you let roger to take you to bed. he’d looked so pretty in the candlelight, and he’d listened to you talk about your hopes and dreams for the future. you think you fall in love with him when he drags you onto the bed and whispers sweet praises in your ear the whole night long.
when you wake the next morning, he is still there, and you snuggle into his chest. you breathe him in, and it’s bar soap from the shower and dried sweat and lingering cologne. his arms circle your back, squeezing you tighter.
“mornin’, angel,” he mumbles.
for a moment, you don’t respond. you keep your eyes closed and think back to yesterday.
there’d been no phone call. a blessed reprieve from three days in a row of randomly timed messages. roger had held you, and he holds you still. he is a comfort amidst your turbulent sea.
you should tell him. he can handle it. you’re tired of running from him.
rising to your palm, you meet roger’s gaze. he stares at you through his lashes, a sleepy smile on his mouth. he lifts a hand to cradle your face, and his thumb skims your cheekbone.
“how come you get a halo every morning and i don’t?”
you ignore his compliment before the bravery rushing through your veins dissipates. “rog, there’s something i haven’t told you.”
“yeah? is it about the freckle by your left ass-check?”
gasping, you slap roger’s chest. though he laughs, a red handprint remains in the center of his sternum, and he clutches his skin in pain. once settled, he apologizes and promises to behave.
deep inhale.
“about a month or two ago, i started—”
the phone on the bedside table cuts you off with its sharp bell-like ring.
your stomach plummets to your feet.
your eyes widen as roger holds up a finger and reaches for the earpiece.
he lifts it to his ear. “hello?”
some part of you hopes it’s your faceless friend. roger could deal with her himself. the other part of you prays it’s just a wrong number or john or—
“yes, fred, i know.”
hard exhale.
you slump to the side, leaning your weight against roger’s hip. thank heaven.
roger’s eyes slide to you, and he grins, winking. he squeezes the point of your chin between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes locked on yours as he nods and hums in response to freddie on the other end of the line.
“no, we won’t be late,” roger says. “yes, she’s coming. i promise i won’t forget.” he leans closer to the bedside table in his effort to end the conversation. “okay, fred. yes, i will.” finally, he heaves a sigh. “oh, for fuck’s sake, fuck off! i’m trying to woo my wife, so scram!”
“now,” he says, once the earpiece is on the base. “where were we?”
tugging on the back of your neck, he closes the distance between his mouth and yours. even with a hint of morning breath, you dissolve in his capable hands. he kisses you earnestly, and you struggle to remember what it was you wanted to tell him. he has this way with his mouth and his tongue and his hands that makes you forget everything but the feeling of him.
pulling back a moment later, he mumbles against your mouth: “what was it you wanted to tell me?”
you blink rapidly. “i—” damn, he looks so happy, glowing with youth and perhaps an inkling of love. you press your palm to his cheek then shake your head. “never mind. it can wait.”
he cocks his head to the side. “you sure?”
“mhm.”
“you remember the movie thing tonight, right?” he asks as he slides from the bed, drawing up his sweats from the floor and padding to the window. “that’s what fred called about.”
he throws the curtains open. the morning sun shines through, piercing every hidden corner, and your heart trips in your chest. your hands shake as you lift one of the bed sheets to cover your naked chest.
someone could be watching.
roger grimaces. “oh, shit, sorry, angel.” he tosses you his shirt from the floor, which you gratefully tug over your head. “anyway, tron, you know? we’re supposed to go to the premiere. something about flash gordon and—”
“i remember.”
“good. wear something nice because i don’t give a fuck about this movie, and i’d rather be looking at you anyway.” he smirks as he presses his palms against the mattress and leans in for another kiss.
you oblige him without hesitation.
“gotta go,” he says, pulling away only to firmly kiss you once more. “be ready by six, okay?”
you nod, and he leaves.
the majority of the day, you putter about the house. there’s chores to do—laundry and bills to catch up on and research for university admissions. it’s domestic work, mind-numbingly dull and repetitive. it leaves far too much space for your thoughts to run wild.
you admonish yourself for once more failing to tell roger of your faceless friend. you’d had the moment, and you’d blown it. with his unreliable schedule, there is no telling when you’ll have the chance to sit him down for a serious conversation again. you consider going to jim beach for help, but know once roger hears wind of it, he will fly off the handle because you didn’t come to him first. perhaps rightfully so, too.
you resolve that until you can find another peaceful moment, you will continue to suffer through it. it’s a step in the right direction, though. at least now, you have plans to tell him.
by five-forty-five, you are ready for the event. you sit in the living room, gnawing at your lower-lip as your leg bounces in anticipation. you haven’t gone anywhere with roger since the charity function earlier in the year. your faceless friend will surely be watching tonight, and already you feel sweat gather along your underarms.
roger unlocks the door and sticks his head into the living room upon his arrival. “car’s running. ready to go?”
you lift your handbag from the floor, nodding as you make your way to his side. roger stops you with a flat hand against your stomach. he bends to catch your eyes.
“you okay?”
“yes,” you say, but your voice sounds too rushed and eager even to your own ears.
he doesn’t hassle you for a more illuminative response. he just leads you to the car, opens your door, and makes his way to the theater, foot hard on the gas pedal.
as soon as you see the carpet—red this time—stretched along the sidewalk leading to the movie theater, bile rises in your throat. you reach for roger’s arm and squeeze tight. his head whips to the side.
“roger, i don’t think i can do this,” you breathe.
he frowns. “what do you mean?”
“it’s just that i’ve been—”
he pulls the car to the side. an usher opens the door, sound and light and chaos breaking the comforting quiet of the ride. your eyes flutter shut; you grit your teeth.
“[y/n], what is it?” roger’s voice is low, on the edge of irritation.
this is not the time. yet why do you feel like you’re going to pass out if you don’t—
“mr. taylor?” the usher prompts.
purging the emotions clawing at the front of your mind, you push roger’s shoulder and avoid his searching gaze. “nothing. go on! i’m right behind you.”
roger huffs as he slides from the car, but he dutifully offers his hand to aid you onto the red carpet. as he did before, he leads you toward the theater doors, stopping at the appropriate moments to pose for photographs. you hold on to the back of his jacket so tightly your knuckles crack. your eyes scan the crowd in search of your faceless friend. you will know her when you see her. she is a part of you now, like a demon on your shoulder.
roger rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture and leans to whisper in your ear. “you feel a stiff as a board,” he says. “what is it?”
you shake your head and nudge him further down the carpet. “we can talk about it later.”
“is it something i’ve—”
“no, roger. it’s not you.”
he studies your face a moment longer before nodding and returning his smile to the crowd.
near the entrance to the theater, a gaggle of girls wave their hands in an attempt to grab roger’s attention. he glances at you, and you nod, backing away to allow him one of the moments he so enjoys.
but one of the girls calls out your name. you lift your eyes to stop tracing the intricate weaving of the red carpet and stare at the girl in question until roger has to drag you over with a laugh. the girl shoves a newspaper in your face, your wedding announcement crinkled with affectionate wear-and-tear. she asks for your autograph, and you chuckle, feeling rather ridiculous as you scrawl your name across the page with a fat green marker.
it happens before you have time to react.
your head is bent as you sign the girl’s newspaper, your attention diverted from scanning the crowd for your faceless friend. but you feel her when she arrives, sense her eyes on your neck, and her fingers reaching for the sleeve of your dress. you have time enough to turn and catch sight of her long fingernails descending upon your cheek, but not time enough to stop her.
you scream more out of fear than pain as her nails scrape your face. truly, it does not hurt, though blood does begin to trickle down your chin and along the column of your throat.
it’s just that she’s there, before your very eyes, and she’s much smaller than you imagined. yet her eyes are dark with envy, and her nails are sharp. you recognize her labored breathing—deep inhale, sharp exhale—as she tries to move backwards and disappear within the crowd before she can be seen. you cannot look away from her, even when roger grabs your shoulders and wrenches you away from the iron gate. he’s shouting in your ear, cradling your uninjured cheek, but everything sounds like you’re underwater.
her face—round and childlike in its innocence—does not match the picture you’d created of her in your mind. she does not resemble the evil witch of your childhood fairy tales. she’s just a child, a little girl with a heart full of love for someone she cannot have.
your faceless friend is pointed out by the girl with the newspaper, and someone—maybe theater security, maybe queen security, maybe a good samaritan—drags her away.
roger grips your chin harder than he should considering the circumstances, but it brings your attention back to him. his eyes are ablaze with fury, and you suddenly feel the urge to cry.
“are you all right?” he demands. “are you hurt anywhere else?”
only my pride, you think.
“no,” you manage with a shake of your head. “no.”
“come on.” he slips his arm around your waist and pushes your head into the curve of his neck, away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. “we’re going home.”
the trip home is silent. your head moves back and forth across the passenger window, in time with the bumps and dips and curves of the road. there’s a fast-food napkin pressed against your cheek to stem the blood. you aren’t sure if it helps. roger keeps his hand firm on your thigh.
once inside the house, he forces you to sit in the middle of the bed as he scurries to retrieve the first aid kit. while he roots around in the bathroom, muttering to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for fast enough, you strip yourself of your dress and return his old t-shirt over your head. you lift the collar to your nose and inhale his scent. when you draw the collar away, crimson blood and fresh tears stain the fabric. you sigh.
“fuckin’ hell.” roger drops to sit in front of you, his legs skewed to the side. a white, plastic box sits in his lap, and when he opens it, the contexts spill onto the bed sheets. “i’ve had this thing for ages. i think brian got it for me when i moved in.”
his hand returns to your chin; only his touch is gentle now. he looks over your wound, frowning at the sight.
“this is gonna sting, angel,” he warns.
it does. the antiseptic hurts, and you wince, but he keeps you from drawing away, his grip on your chin firm. he unwraps a butterfly bandage and presses it over the shallow scratch on your face. then he shakes his head, his face drawn tight.
“what is it you weren’t telling me?”
“there is—was this girl… and she kept calling, saying things.” you twist and unearth the pad of paper from under the bed. rubbing your eye, you hand it to him and watch his face darken as he reads the words.
he looks up, and you can’t bear to see the anger—the anger directed at you—in his gaze. “why didn’t you tell me?”
your first instinct is to shrug, to obfuscate, but he deserves the truth.
“you never wanted a wife,” you say. “you certainly didn’t want a wife who brought a stalker into the house. i figured—” deep inhale. “i figured i could live with it until our year was up.”
“oh, baby.” roger presses his forehead to yours. he cups your untainted cheek. “fucking up in montreal was the best thing that ever happened to me. it brought you to me, didn’t it?”
“you’re just saying that ‘cause—”
“no.” he draws back and grabs both shoulders in his hands. “i mean it. i never was one for marriage. didn’t make sense. but i get it now. it’s about partnership, yeah, but it’s about more than that. it’s about trust, too.” he smiles softly, pressing his thumb against your lip. “it’s about affection.”
he goes quiet then removes his hands from your shoulders.
“i wish you would have trusted me.”
“i’m—”
“don’t apologize. this whole arrangement is weird, and i don’t blame you for keeping quiet. i just wish you would have told me so i could help you.”
you sigh, dropping your head. “what do you want, roger?”
he lifts your chin, and you are struck by the love so firmly etched in his eyes. it knocks the wind from your lungs, leaves you breathless.
“i want you to keep my last name,” he says.
“what?”
“you heard me: i want you keep my last name.”
tears flood your vision, but not for fear or worry or regret.
you begin to smile, but the skin of your cheek pulls tight, and you wince, touching your injury. “ow,” you mutter.
roger laughs and pulls your fingers away from the bandage. he kisses each knuckle then rubs the wedding band along your ring finger. “can we give each other another chance?” he asks. “can we forget all the assumptions and just be us? i think we started on the wrong foot and somewhere along the way we switched—”
“yes.”
he stops mid-sentence, his brows drawing together in confusion. “what?”
“i said yes. i’ll keep your last name. i want your last name, roger taylor.”
he grins, and the happiness in every line on his face outshines even the sun’s rays. “god, you’re perfect.” he kisses you hard, and you laugh as you drop against the pillows, pulling him with you. he stops attacking your neck with his lips long enough to prop himself up and stare down at you. “but don’t you ever pull something like that again! if someone starts nagging you, tell me first thing. promise?”
you nod, stunned by his firm tone.
“say it.”
“i promise.”
he smooths the hair on your forehead, and your stomach somersaults to watch him examine you so openly “good girl,” he mumbles before lowering his mouth to yours again.
you lose yourself in him. he loses himself in you. somewhere along the way, you find one another, and all is bliss.
in the morning, legs tangled in the sheets and steady rain pelting the window, roger adjusts his hold on your waist. he’s still asleep, his chest rising and falling in time with his gentle breath. you pull his arm tight around you and smile into your pillow.
your cheek is still sore, and you’re sure there’s some poor nun who remains scarred for life after witnessing roger’s montreal incident.
but this morning you cannot find it within yourself to feel bothered by your faceless friend, nor by the scarred nun. indeed, you think, you should write them each a thank you card, because in a funny sort of way, they brought you to your husband. in a funny sort of way, they gave you love of your life. and for that, you are indebted to them.
you twist at the sound of roger’s yawn. taking his face in your hands, you smile at him. “good morning, husband,” you whisper.
he grins back. “good morning, wife.”
now this—this you could get used to.
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taglist (italicized handles wouldn’t work): @im-an-adult-ish​ @bluewillowmom​ @deakygurl @aprilaady @dancingdiscofloof​ @six-bloodyminutes​
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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago
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Stark Spangled Banner
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Ch46: Just A Formality
Intro: Emmy gets into a spot of trouble at school, which leads the family to make a joint decision that will change their lives forever. And together with their friends they celebrate Jamie’s birthday, will a little surprise for Emmy too. 
Warnings: Bad Language words. Slight angst (teenagers) and Steve being a very overprotective dad…
Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark
A/N: Yeah, I love this chapter. I hope you all do too. And thank @angrybirdcr​ for the edit...it mushed my insides!
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
Chapter 45
Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist
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 February 2021
“So what do you think?” Rhodey asked as he stood, arms folded, looking at the screen. Natasha was stood next to him, nervously chewing on her nail and Steve was looking at the rather gory photos that they had been sent through from the Mexican Authorities.
“Is it definitely him?” Steve sighed, looking at the screen again. In a million years he would never have expected Barton to be capable of such out and out gore and violence, but then again the man had lost his entire family- wife and three kids. Steve wasn’t sure how he would react should anything happen to Katie, Emmy or Jamie.
“Yeah.” Nat sighed, pressing another button. This time it flipped to some CCTV footage of the incident. They three of them watched as Clint took down six gang members, brutally, and with a final swipe of the samurai sword he was holding almost severed one man’s head completely from its shoulders. “Same MO, same fight pattern, and the facial recognition software caught him about five miles north of this town less than two hours before this happened.” “He’s getting more and more vicious.” Rhodey spoke. “I suppose we should be grateful in a way he’s taking down people that we should be stopping but how long till someone gets caught in the cross fire?” “Clint wouldn’t-” Natasha began but Steve cut her off.
“Once I would agree with you.” he sighed, looking at her “But now, well, Nat, he’s…” “Lost it.” Rhodey concluded
“So would you if you’d seen your wife and kids turn to dust.” Nat’s voice was fierce as she turned to look at him.
“I know.” Rhodey held his hands up “I can’t even imagine what he went through.”
Steve looked at Nat, recognising the pensive look on her face. “What you thinking?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m gonna fly out to Mexico. Rhodey, can you come with me? We’ll see if we can dig anything up?” Rhodey nodded. Steve was about to offer his services too, but then his phone started ringing.
“Hey beautiful.” He greeted Katie, but instead of the usual response of either hello handsome or soldier, he was met with an exasperated sigh.
“Emmy’s Principal has just called me.” She groaned “She’s been in a fight.”
Steve frowned. “Really? What for?” “No idea. He didn’t say much other than he’s excluding her for a week and wants us to go collect her as soon as we can. Thing is, I have a call in twenty with the Health Authorities, President Ellis has asked me to give them some guidance on how we regrouped at SI, and I can try and rearrange but if I can’t it means she’s gonna be sat outside the office for at least an hour and a half. Is there any chance you-”
“I got, course I’ll go. I’m done here anyway so you do what you need to do and we’ll see you at home.”
“Thank you.” She sighed “Between this and Jamie screaming blue murder when I dropped him in at the Day Care this morning It hasn’t really been the spectacular return to work I was hoping for.”
Steve wrinkled his nose. “He didn’t take it well then?” “No.” Her voice cracked “God, Steve, Leaving him there whilst he was screaming, fuck, it broke my heart.” Steve took a sigh and walked a little further away from Rhodey and Natasha, dropping his voice. “Honey, he’ll be fine. You know what he’s like. Ten minutes after you left he will have forgotten why he’s so upset and will have settled.”
“I know, I just, well Mom and Dad used to palm me and Tony off on our Nannies all the time and-”
“This is completely different.” Steve cut her off. “First off, you’re leaving him for what, five hours a day, maximum. Second off, he’s being watched at a crèche, twenty floors down from where you are, in the same building so you can see him whenever you want.”
“I was advised by the Staff not to do that today.” She sniffed. “It could unsettle him more.”
“I’m sure they know what they’re talking about.” Steve soothed her gently “Look, try not to worry. Jamie will be fine, I’ll go sort Emmy out and we’ll see you at home this evening okay?” “My hero.” she said and Steve smiled.
“Love you, see you later.”
Cutting the call he turned to Rhodey and Nat who were still looking at the screen. Walking back towards them he picked up his jacket where he had tossed it over the back of a chair, reaching for his keys at the same time.
“Guys, I gotta go.” He informed them and they looked up. “Emmy’s in trouble at school and I need to head in and see the Principal.”
“Trouble?” Nat frowned.
“Fighting.” Steve rolled his eyes as Nat and Rhodey exchanged a glance, Nat smirking slightly. Steve gave an exasperated sigh. “What?”
“Nothing.” Nat grinned. “Just don’t punch the Principal in the face…”
*****
It took Steve little over thirty minutes to reach the school. He may have broken a few speeding laws on the way, but Katie was right, it was too easy to do in the Camero. To be honest, it was pretty easy to do in the new Audi they had bought just before Christmas too, but Katie had that as it was easier to get Jamie’s seat and stroller in. The Camero was not child friendly, at all, but she had insisted on keeping it as a second car, despite Steve’s protests that they didn’t need it.
With an easy tug he pulled open the doors to the reception of the school and strode inside. The woman behind the desk handed him a visitor’s pass and led him down to the office as he brushed a piece of fluff off the front of his long sleeved blue top. Steve followed the white haired lady through the corridors in silence until he reached the office and spotted Emmy was sat outside it, slumped in a chair. At the sight of her father she jumped up and ran into his arms, crying.
“Hey,” He looked down as he smoothed her dark, ebony hair out of her face, cupping her face gently in one large hand. “What’s going on, Em?” “He started it.” She sniffed. “He was saying things, about you and mom and that my birth parents and that…that…”
She was starting to have a panic attack, Steve could see that instantly. She’d suffered from them a lot when she had first started to live with them and he knew that if he didn’t help her get it under control now it would escalate.
“Deep breaths.” He spoke gently, steering her back to a chair. She sat down and he tilted her head with his hand so that she was looking at him. “Count to ten, just like we practiced ok?”
She gripped onto his forearms, her eyes screwing shut as she took deep inhales and exhales, counting along as she did. By the time she got to seven she’d managed to ground herself again, and Steve encouraged her for the remaining three numbers, them just reaching ten as the door to the office at the end of the corridor opened.
“Mr Rogers.”
 Steve stood up to greet the Principal, John Stevenson, who he had met once before when they had enrolled Emmy into the school. He was a tall, lean man with round glasses and a kind face, but an air of authority perfect for that of a headmaster “Mr Stevenson.” Steve smiled, shaking his hand “I don’t mean to be rude, but could you give me a second with my daughter please? I want to hear her side of the story and then I’ll be right with you.”
“Of course,” the man nodded, giving him and Emmy a little smile. “Just come in when you’re ready.”
Once the door to his office was shut, Steve sat on the spare seat next to Emmy. “So you wanna tell me what happened. Who ya been fightin’ with?”
“A boy a grade above. And I wasn’t fighting. Not really, I mean I hit him but he fell over, he didn’t hit me back.” Steve bit his lip. “Seems the stuff your mom and Auntie Nat taught you came in handy, huh?”
Emmy shrugged.
“What did you hit him for?”
“Because he’s a jerk and a bully” Emmy’s hands were wringing together. “He was picking on a few of the kids who lost their parents all through last year and then last month when I told him to shut up, he decided to start on me”
Steve took a deep breath “What was he saying?”
“The usual, stuff like ‘you don’t have a real family’, said that you and mom only look after me because you feel guilty that the Avengers fucked, sorry, messed up.” She glanced up at Steve, but he merely arched an eyebrow, letting the curse word slide. “And he says that once I’m old enough you’ll throw me out, and then he called me a, and I quote ‘fucking orphan rat’.” She shrugged. “Sso I punched him.”
“Alright.” Steve took a deep breath, his jaw ticking as he supressed the feeling of annoyance and anger that had flooded his system at Emmy’s explanation. “We’ll unpack all that when we get home, with your mom.”
“Are you mad?” Emmy blinked up at him, her eyes wide.
“Well, punching him probably wasn’t the best way to deal with the situation.” Steve sighed, and instantly his wife’s voice popped into his head at how hypocritical he felt. 
“Hello Kettle, this is Steve Rogers, you’re black…”
“But if what you’re telling me is true-“   “It is Dad I swear!”
“Then no, I’m not mad. At you.” He gave her a small smile. “But I’m mad as hell he said those horrible things to you though.” He looked at Emmy as she smiled softly. “Now, I best go speak to your principal. I won’t be long, and then we’ll go home and talk properly okay?”
She nodded and Steve dropped a kiss to her head as he stood up and walked to the door. Rapping on it twice, he pulled it open and stepped inside the room, shutting it behind him. Principal Stevenson stood up, shook his hand before gesturing down at the chairs on the opposite side of his desk.
“So did she tell you what happened?” The man asked, leaning back slightly in his chair.
Steve nodded. “She said that a boy, I didn’t get his name…” “Josh Gemmil.” “Yes, well, she told me that this Josh had been picking on a few kids and when he started on her, she didn’t take kindly to it. And to be frank, I can’t say I blame her. The things he was saying to Emmy were disgusting.” “Yeah, and that may be the case.” Mr Stevenson sighed heavily, “but the issue is, Mr Rogers, we have a strict zero tolerance to violence policy, so, given Emmy did punch him in front of pretty much the entire school in the yard, I’ve no alternative but to suspend her for a week.” “Are you suspending him?” Steve asked.
“Sorry?” The man opposite Steve frowned. “I’m not…” “The boy who Emmy punched. Are you suspending him for what he said?”
“No-one has corroborated her story, well, other than Brooke and I know how close they are so she could be-” “Woah, hold up.” Steve interrupted, holding his hand up to cut that man off as a flash of anger surged through his chest. “Are you insinuating Emmy is lying?” “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” “So if she’s telling the truth, then surely the boy deserves punishment as well. Emmy isn’t the only person he’s been saying things to.”
“She’s the only person who has punched him.” “That may be, but either way-.”
“Mr Rogers,” the Principal sighed, cutting him off,  “for what it’s worth Josh’s parents will be coming in later and I will be consulting them about his behaviour, but unfortunately Emmy has broken his nose.” “Well, I’d like to say I’m sorry about that but I’m not.” Steve was too far gone now to be rational, his instinct to protect his daughter had well and truly kicked in and the guy in front of him was really pissing him off. “I don’t like bullies,” he continued, levelling the man with a look and he visibly recoiled back into his seat, “and I’m not gonna punish my daughter for standing up to one. If you deem it fit to suspend her then fine, that is your prerogative, and of course I will tell her that violence is not acceptable, but I would expect some level of punishment to be extended to the boy in question and not just her.”
The Principal nodded. “Mr Rogers, I can assure you, if it was up to me I wouldn’t be suspending her at all, but my hands are tied by the governors and policies. I make an exception here, I have to do it for others and before you know it…” he trailed off. Steve took a deep breath, he could understand that perfectly, didn’t make it any easier for him to swallow though. “But that’s why the suspension is only for a week and not the two.”
Steve nodded. “Okay, do I need to sign anything or…”
“No.” the Principal shook his head. “Emmy has her log on to Workspace, her class notes and homework will be detailed on there as usual so she doesn’t miss out. If there is anything she doesn’t understand or needs help with, she can catch up when she gets back. She’s a very, smart kid so I’m not too concerned about that aspect of things.” Steve nodded, and stood up. He took a deep breath and stepped back into the corridor to find Brooke was sat with Emmy now, her arm round her best friend.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” Steve asked, shooting the red head a look.
“Hey Mr R, don’t sweat it. Told em I was going to the bathroom.” Brooke shrugged and Steve rolled his eys.
“Well scoot before you get into trouble too.” He gestured with his head to the doors that led back to the reception area.
“Can Brooke come over later?” Emmy asked, timidly, “Or am I grounded?”
Steve took a deep breath “Not tonight, we need to have a chat. But over the weekend then, sure.” “’kay.” Emmy nodded, standing up. She reached for her rucksack but Steve took it from her, carrying it in his right hand, his left gently between Emmy’s shoulder blades as he steered her towards the exit. As they walked into the reception, Emmy stopped dead and he heard Brooke who was walking along at his other side mutter an ‘uh-oh’.
“This her?” A short, squat woman with a very short hair cut was stood a few feet in front of him, a boy by her side, a few inches taller than her, dressed in a bloodied T-shirt glared at Emmy and nodded. Instantly Steve moved forward a step so he was level with his daughter, his hand dropping to her shoulder.
“Your daughter broke my son’s nose.” The woman glared up at him.
“So I understand.” Steve nodded. “She has been suspended and we’ll be dealing with it appropriately.”
“You know, kids like her, they shouldn’t be-”
“Kids like her?” Steve blinked at the woman, and shook his head. “Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” Steve’s voice was low. “So, please, explain.”
“I mean with violent and aggressive tendencies, they should be locked up not in a school with normal kids-” “Woah, now hang on.” Steve held his hand up as he looked at the woman. “Your son isn’t exactly innocent in all this.” “I don’t see your daughter with blood all over her shirt. He didn’t hit her…” “I would hope not, seeing as he’s a boy and half a foot taller than her.” He shot back and the woman’s mouth snapped shut. Steve turned to Emmy and handed her the backpack and his keys. “Go and get in the car, sweetheart, I’ll be with you in a minute.” Emmy glanced up at him, one look on his face told her he wasn’t to be argued with, and she nodded and took them from him, before leaving.
His attention then turned to the teenager and woman and he folded his arms across his chest, glaring at them both. The boy had a sharp face, slicked back blonde hair and for some reason he reminded Steve of a younger Gilmore Hodge. Which was never a good thing. He looked at the woman and spoke again, his voice level but full of that Captain Authority he could never help turning on in situations like this.
“Your son said some very nasty things to my daughter, and in normal circumstances he should be apologising. However, given what happened I suggest we leave it at that and they agree to stay away from one another in the future.” “Him apologise?” The woman practically shrieked. “She punched him, if anything she’s the one that should be saying sorry.” Steve gave a huff of a laugh “I can assure you that won’t be happening. Besides,” he turned to the boy, “do you really want an apology from a ‘fucking orphan rat’?”
He heard a snigger followed by a mumble of “mic drop…” to his right and turned to see Brooke was still there.
“What are-” he shot her a look, pointing towards the class rooms, “-scoot.” “Later Mr R.” Brooke shot him a salute and he raised an eyebrow as she headed off back to wherever she should have been in the first place.
“Did you say that?” The woman had rounded on her son.
“No…I swear.” “He said he didn’t.” Steve shook his head, his hands dropping to the buckle of his belt. “I’m not interested in whether he admits it or not. Fact of the matter is I believe my daughter and according to her and her friend, Emmy isn’t the first kid he’s picked on but I’m sure as hell hoping she’s gonna be the last, especially now he’s had a punch in the face to make him consider the consequences of his actions.” His lips quirked a little at the side as he delivered his final line. “I’d hate for him to get antoher.” “How dare you threaten him?” The woman was now talking in that high a pitch it was making Steve’s ears hurt.
“That isn’t a threat.” Steve shook his head “Merely an observation. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He turned to the door when the woman spluttered after him “You know, we do know where you live. That big, fancy house in Clinton Hill.” “Then by all means feel free to call round later.” Steve laughed as he turned to grin at the woman of her shoulder. “But I really don’t fancy your chances against my wife.” ****** “He said WHAT?” Katie spluttered once Steve had explained what had gone on. “The little fucking shit!” “His mother wasn’t much better either.” Steve shook his head as he raised Jamie up higher in the air above him, the tot screaming with laughter. “She threatened to come round later.” “I’ll kick her fucking ass!” Katie folded her arms across her chest and a wry smile crossed Steve’s face as he brought Jamie back down to his chest.
“Yeah I told her I didn’t fancy her chances.”
“Where’s Emmy now?” Katie asked.
“In her room, she said she wanted to be alone for a bit.”
Katie pondered for a moment, before she moved and walked out of the kitchen, calling up the stairs, “Emmy? Can you come down for a minute please?”
Katie came back into the kitchen and it wasn’t long before Emmy appeared, her eyes red. Katie sighed and pulled her into a hug.
“I’m sorry, I just, ” Emmy sniffed. “He was so rude and…” “Sweetie, we’re not mad.” Katie shook her head, steering the girl across the hall “We just want to talk to you, about what he said,” she gestured at one of the seats by the breakfast bar, “sit.”
Emmy did as she was told and Steve placed Jamie in the pack and play at the corner of the room. There was a minute or so silence before Katie slid a mug of hot chocolate, containing marshmallows and cream across the counter to Emmy, then passed Steve a coffee, picking up her own drink before she rounded the counter and sat on a stool next to Emmy, Steve staying where he was, the base of his back leaning against the worktop opposite them.
“So your dad told me what happened.” Katie began “And we want to talk to you about what that little jerk said to you.”
“I shouldn’t have let him get to me.” Emmy shrugged “I know what he was saying was crap but…” “If your dad had a dollar for every time he had reacted to something he shouldn’t have done he’d be richer than Tony.” Katie smiled and Steve gave a scoff.
“You’re a fine one to talk.” He raised an eyebrow at his wife and she grinned.
“And as for throwing you out once you’re old enough,” Katie shook her head, “you’re with us for as long as you wanna be. And then even when you don’t want to be, and you move out, we’ll be keeping tabs on you, annoying you, like Tony does to me.”
Emmy smiled and wiped at her eyes.
“You said he’s been picking on you for a while?” Steve asked “What made you snap today?” Emmy shrugged “I guess I was just fed up with it and when he was laughing about my name on my test paper, and he called me an orphan rat I saw red.” Katie took a deep breath, she was furious but before she could say anything Steve spoke, a frown creasing his brow.
“What do you mean he was laughing at your name?” “My surname.” Emmy shrugged “On stuff like the register and things at school its Rogers but on my official test papers for my grades it has to be McKellen, because Rogers isn’t my real name. And he was laughing saying that I didn’t belong anywhere.” Steve and Katie locked eyes and Steve was the first one to break away.
“Does it bother you, that your name isn’t Rogers?”
“Not normally.” She shrugged
“What if we made it so?” Katie asked.
“What, like change it legally?” “That’s one way of doing it.” Steve shrugged.  “The other is we adopt you.” Katie looked at her husband and smiled. This was something they’d mentioned in passing to one another a few times but never really talked about in any detail as, well, to them things were fine as they were. But now, well, it just felt right. The next step for them all. Making her status as their daughter official.
“Adopt me?” Emmy’s voice was a whisper.
“Yeah.” Katie nodded. “Look, Em, as far as we’re concerned you’re already our daughter, and not just a foster one either. It’s merely a formality. But it’s up to you.” “Do you want to think about it?” Steve asked.
“No.” Emmy shook her head as she looked up tears in her eyes. “No, I don’t want to think about it. I’d love it, I really would.” Katie smiled as the girl threw her arms round her shoulders and began to sob. Steve put his mug down on the counter next to him and strode round to wrap his large arms around both his girls until a loud screech form the corner of the room made them all look up. Jamie was stood gripping the side of his play pen, clearly disgruntled at being left out of the hug.
“Alright pal, point taken.” Steve picked him up and carried him back to where Emmy was now wiping her eyes. He handed the tot to his older sister and Katie grinned.
“Family hug?” She opened her arms and Emmy laughed, as the four of them snuggled together in a huddle.
*****
March 2021
Despite Steve’s best attempts to ignore it, there was something in what that little shit had said to Emmy that had really bothered him.  The Avengers fucked up. It wasn’t an alien thought, he often found himself thinking back to how they had failed but he normally shook himself out of it. They’d done the best they could, they simply hadn’t stood a chance.
The thing was, not all of the public saw that. On more than one occasion the remaining Avengers had all experienced some kind of vitriol from the public, Natasha still receiving hate mail for them all at the compound. Whilst people he met understood, it was always the ones that didn’t which stuck in Steve’s mind, but he’d never had anything more than the odd whispered insult or dirty look come his way, that was until a few day’s after Jamie’s first birthday.
He was in the store with Emmy, picking up a few bits and pieces for the family gathering they were having to celebrate Jamie turning one and he could feel someone’s eyes on him, which wasn’t unusual. What was unusual, however, was the tap on the shoulder her received as he tossed a few items from the list Katie had given him into the trolley.
“I thought it was you.”
Steve turned to see a dark haired man, the same height as him looking back.
“Can I help you?” Steve asked politely.
The man snorted “I thought at one point, yeah, but you didn’t, this…us…what the world is now, it’s all your fault.” Steve took a deep breath, and spotted Emmy returning to the aisle he was in with an armful of snacks he had sent her for.
“Sir-” Steve began, trying to placate the man but before he could do anything the guy had punched him straight in the face. It wasn’t a hard blow, but Steve hadn’t been expecting it. Or the subsequent blows for that matter.
He was vaguely aware Emmy was screaming, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a security guard hurrying towards him. Before he reached them, Emmy had kicked the man hard in the shin and was shouting at him, as he hopped on his good leg. Steve doubled over, the ringing in his ears subsiding as he pinched at his nose which was streaming blood.
“Oh my God.” A female voice said “Billy, what…” she looked up at Steve and paled “Captain, oh God, I’m so sorry…he’s…” Steve waved away another member of the public who had come to help, insisting he was fine. Taking a deep breath he looked up and saw the man was now crying, his head buried into his wife’s shoulders.
“We…we lost our son.” The lady continued, with a choked voice. “He hasn’t dealt with it so well.”
“I’m sorry.” Steve bowed his head, it was all he could think to say.
“It isn’t you fault” The lady shook her head. “And he doesn’t think that, not really, it’s just we never got a proper explanation, you know, bar official government statements. No real help to come to terms with anything.” “That doesn’t mean he can just punch the crap outta my dad!” Emmy blazed, indignantly and Steve lay a hand on her shoulder. “Emmy.” He shook his head gently before he turned to the woman. “I’m sorry that no one was there for you and I’m sorry that we couldn’t do more. But we tried.” The last three words were almost a plea to her, trying to make her understand they had tried, boy did they try. She cast him another sad look before she led her husband away.
“You ok?” Steve looked down at his daughter.
“Me?” She frowned “What about you?” “Had worse.” Steve mumbled, gently touching his nose “Let’s get out stuff and get home before it starts to set. I don’t fancy having to re-break it.”
**** Katie was sat smiling as Natasha was holding Jamie up, his hands curled round her fingers as she guided him round the living room.
“Won’t be long until he’s doing this himself.” The red head smiled, and Katie grinned.
“He’s growing so fast.” 
“Think you’ll have another?” Nat looked at her.
Katie shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, Steve would have a football team full if I let him but, who knows.”
Nat smiled and Katie’s attention turned back to her son who was toddling in front of his Auntie. He was looking more and more like his father each day and was now a substantial little chunk who was pretty strong and robust too. Small bumps and knocks didn’t seem to phase him at all, and the other day he’d been playing with a tonka truck and had fallen onto it, flattening it completely. He’d screamed blue murder, more over the fact his toy was broken than he had been hurt, but it had made both his parents realise that he was definitely half Super Soldier and wasn’t inheriting any of Steve’s pre-serum ailments, much to Steve’s relief.
Their attention was taken as all three of them heard the car pull up the gravel drive and Jamie gave an excited giggle and started moving his legs even faster at the sound, understanding it to mean his father was back. Smiling to herself, Katie watched as he giggled and started trying to run to the door, and when it opened she looked up fully expecting Steve to grin and swoop his boy up into his arms, except what greeted her made her hand fly up to her mouth. His shirt was covered with blood and his nose was out of shape.
“Shit.” Katie stood up and headed straight to him, gently reaching up to slide a finger to his face, tilting it so she could see. “Are you ok?”
“I’m fine sweetheart” he said gently.
“What the hell happened?” Nat asked as she picked Jamie up, who was still squirming to get to his father, completely nonplussed by what was going on.
“Some guy in the store punched him.” Emmy explained, and Katie looked at her daughter, whose eyes were swollen, she’d been crying.
“What? Why?” she frowned. “Em, can you grab me an ice pack out the freezer?” Steve asked before she could answer, she was upset enough as it was and he didn’t want her seeing or hearing what was coming next. She nodded and headed off.
“Steve.” Katie watched as he sat down on the sofa, shaking his head.
“Just reset it before it starts to heal anymore.” He grumbled. “Quickly before she gets back.”
Katie sat next to him and reached out gently. He grit his teeth as she snapped his nose back into place. Across the room Nat flinched at the crunching noise it made.
“Fuck.” Steve cursed softly before laying his head back against the cushions of the couch steadying his breathing as his eyes began to water from the pain. He knew it would heal quickly but that didn’t stop it hurting like hell.
“You gonna tell us what happened?” Katie asked, looking at him.
“Some guy at the store recognised me and started screaming that it was all our fault, the Snap, and hit me.”
“Must have been a pretty hard swing.” Nat said gently, bouncing Jamie up and down, distracting him with the Cap teddy bear she had grabbed off the floor. Jamie grinned at the bear and grabbed it, sticking the ear of it into his mouth.
“He didn’t just hit you once, Dad.” Emmy said gently as she returned, passing him the ice pack.
“How many times was it?” Katie frowned.
“Four ,maybe.” he shrugged
“Try Six” Emmy muttered.
“Six?!” Katie’s voice grew loud
“And you just let him?” Nat’s snorted. “What else could I do Nat?” Steve sighed, “I couldn’t hit him back…” “Yes, you damned well could!” Katie seethed. “Fuck!”
“Language.” Steve chastised playfully. “Besides, wasn’t really going to hit him once Em had kicked him in the shin.”
“You kicked him?” Katie looked at Emmy who shrugged.
“He was screaming and punching so I kicked him, real hard, and then told him that he was an asshole, and everyone had lost, and that he should try fighting Thanos in a field in Wakanda himself if he could do any better…” “Then the guy’s wife appeared.” Steve sighed, pressing the ice pack to his face.
“Yeah, she was nice.” Emmy nodded. “Said they had lost their son and she was so sorry.” “But they’d never really had a chance to ask questions or had an explanation other than what the Government had said.” Steve’s voice was muffled slightly from the pack. “But it got me thinking in the car about how many other people out there like that.” “So we had an idea.” Emmy nodded “Support groups.” “Support groups?” Katie frowned.
“Yeah, we have them at school.” Emmy said “Somewhere for people to go and talk about their issues and feelings.” “That’s actually not a bad idea.” Nat mused and Steve nodded.
“I know. Surprised we didn’t think of it sooner.”
“Well we’ve had other things on our minds.” Katie popped a shoulder, gently.
“I’m gonna help.” Emmy smiled. “We’re gonna brainstorm ideas later after the party.”
“Yeah, on that, do me a favour and no one mention this to Tony when he gets here.” Steve groaned as he stood up, ice pack still on his nose. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”
Leaving Emmy to watch Jamie, Nat and Katie unloaded the car and took the supplies to the kitchen. Steve showered quickly and came back to help them, and it wasn’t long before the food was sorted, Katie’s ability to cook how easily she did never ceased to amaze Steve. Before long the gang arrived and Morgan toddled in, holding Tony’s hand before he let go and she bee-lined for Emmy who was sat on the living room floor where she had been sat looking at a book with Jamie.
“Hey Moo!” Emmy grinned at the younger girl who sat with a soft thud next to her, leaning into her older cousin for a hug.
Tony watched them for a short while before he asked if Emmy was okay and then headed into the kitchen to find Pepper already clutching a glass of champagne. Katie handed him a beer as she pulled him into a hug and he shook Steve’s hand.
“You’re in the same room as usual.” Katie looked at him. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted Moo in with you guys or not so there’s the travel cot in there or she can have the room over from you…” “She can stay with us.” Tony nodded, taking a pull from his beer.
“Where is she?”  Natasha asked.
“With Emmy. She adores that kid.”
“Have you told her the paperwork has been finalised?” Pepper asked looking at Katie and Steve who both shook their head.
“No, we’re gonna surprise her with that later.” Katie smiled.
“We got her a little something.” Tony swallowed his beer. “You know, just to welcome her officially to the mad house.” “What is it?” Steve asked suspiciously.
“Nothing Iron Man or Tony Stark related.” Pepper looked at Steve. “I promise.” Tony shrugged. “Spoil sport.” The five adults all headed into the large living room, Jamie grinned up at his uncle and crawled over to him. Tony swung him up in the air and smiled, that is until Jamie head-butted him by accident.
“Oww…shhhhhhhhugar!” The billionaire corrected his curse before wincing. “Man, Rogers, this kid has your knuckle head.” Steve smirked. “He’s still half Stark.”
“Mind you, you should be grateful he doesn’t take after his mom. She was a horror.” “Was not.” Katie shot back indignantly. “Kiddo, you were a pain in the ass.” Tony sniggered. “You stuck bread in the VCR. Dad hit the roof.” “I thought it was a toaster.” Katie shrugged as the room laughed. “Mind you, not like we have to worry about that now seeing as VCRs went out in the stone age.” “Was that an age joke?” Tony smirked. “Do I have to respond with one about your husband or…” Steve rolled his eyes “Go ahead, be original.” “You know you’re almost as sarcastic as she is now.” Nat but in, pointing at Katie who grinned before she looked at Tony.
“You remember what dad used to say?”
“Sarcasm is a measure of potential,” Tony imitated their father’s voice. “And if that’s true…” “You’ll be a great man someday.” Katie finished, the two of them laughing.
Despite the crappy start to the day, it was a nice afternoon surrounded by their family. They drank, ate and eventually it was time for the cake which Katie and Steve were excited about, for good reason. Katie placed it down on the coffee table in the middle of the lounge, complete with candles. For the first time the group got a look at it, and Steve heard Emmy gasp. Half the large cake was iced in blue, the other half was lilac and across the top the word ‘Happy’ spanned both halves, before the next line read birth on the blue side and adoption on the other, before the word day sat underneath.
Emmy glanced up at her parents, her eyes filling with tears. “You mean…” Steve grinned and handed her the envelope he’d retrieved from the kitchen, which she took in shaking hands. “Signed, sealed, done. You’re officially a Rogers, Em.”
“Poor thing.” Tony mumbled, earning himself a slap round the back of the head from Natasha.
Together the Rogers’ children blew out their candles (well, Katie blowing Jamie’s out on his behalf before the boy could grab one of them and burn himself) and then Emmy turned to look at Steve and Katie before throwing herself forwards, her arms round both their waists. Steve’s arm fell to her back and he pressed a kiss to Katie’s cheek before Tony stepped forward and handed Emmy a small gift bag.
“It’s just a little something.” He smiled. “Just to say welcome to the family, officially we mean, because you’re already part of the…” He rolled his eyes as Emmy blinked up at him. “Just take it, kid.”
Emmy took the bag and opened it, her eyes widening as she looked at the box, emblazoned with the word Pandora. Katie peered down as Emmy opened it and smiled at the charm bracelet which was inside. It held charms, the letters EJR for her initials, Emily Jayne Rogers.
“Thank you.” She whispered before she gave Tony a hug, then Pepper. She stepped back and turned around, her eyes brimming with tears. “This is the best day ever!”
And despite the shitty start to it in the store, Steve was inclined to agree it hadn’t been that bad at all.
Chapter 47
 **Original Posting**
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karlnapity · 4 years ago
Text
Welcome Home, Theseus.
Chapter 3: You’re a Conflicted Person, Not a Bad Person. [Tubbo]
(tws: emeto, rather graphic alcohol withdrawal. very mild injury (bruising).
Tubbo does not betray Schlatt.
It’s not like he doesn’t plan on it, at least in the beginning. He’s hesitant, going into Schlatt’s presidency. Exiling his best friend and mentor isn’t a great opening, not for any of them.
Schlatt doesn’t do much to improve this image, not at first. He’s aggressive and mean, barking orders and shouting when things don’t go his way. Not long into his term his drinking ramps up, only serving to make matters worse.
All the same, it doesn’t take Tubbo long to start second-guessing himself. Quackity sees something in the man, saw enough to marry the guy, and Fundy was willing enough to throw away his relationship with his own father in his favor. So… Tubbo is willing to try too.
It’s hard. Schlatt denies any attempts he makes to get to know him. Maybe once or twice, he gets a celebratory pat on the back or even a kind remark if he’s lucky, but Schlatt holds him at arm’s length without fail. But Tubbo doesn’t give up. Not on people, and not on anything.
… Which is why he’s currently holding back the jewelry hanging from Schlatt’s horns while the man hacks up what seems like his entire guts into a trash can. He’s not quite sure how he got here, but it’s not exactly what he thought he’d be doing with his night.
He’d been hoping to go and visit Wilbur and Tommy tonight, but what with Wilbur’s recent turns towards insanity he’s really not sure it would be any better than this.
Schlatt groans and Tubbo helps him lay down on the office sofa. He sits down on the carpet in front.
“On your side, I don’t want you choking,” he says gently. He’s only seen Schlatt this drunk a few times before, and it never becomes any less disconcerting.
He’s not sure why he starts talking. Maybe it’s to help distract himself, maybe it’s because he wants Schlatt to know.
“When you first showed up- not when you came to visit, but when you came to campaign- you were so threatening. Wilbur was so angry you decided to show up. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him that mad before, honestly.” While he talks, he gently pulls the jewelry from Schlatt’s horns. He chuckles a bit. “You were terrifying. You seemed like a genuine threat, when you exiled Wilbur. What happened to that?”
Schlatt coughs, wet and violent, but doesn’t answer. His eyes are closed, and Tubbo’s not quite sure if he’s even conscious.
Tubbo sighs. “I mean, it’s not really like I want to see that. But you had power, and authority, and it was cool as shit.” He draws his knees to his chin. “Now you’ve just left it to the three of us, and we’re not suited to run a nation at all.”
Schlatt sighs, and when Tubbo looks at him his eyes have slid open, just barely. His ram’s pupils are unfocused. Tubbo keeps talking.
“I guess… all three of us wanted to be involved in this. Quackity wanted power, Fundy wanted control, I wanted to be important… but now that we’re here, it’s not really that great.” He sighs, running his hands over his face. “Maybe it was like that for you, too. Is that it?”
Schlatt puts a hand on his shoulder, and Tubbo looks at him, smiles. “Thanks.”
Schlatt promptly passes out.
>
It’s not an epiphany or anything. Schlatt is still an asshole when he’s not passed out at his desk, Quackity still shouts 24/7, and Tubbo still tries his best to get out from under everyone’s feet and stay out of the way. Just because he understands the man a bit better doesn’t make him any less of a dick.
After the shouting at the White House threatens to make him pull his hair out, he decides instead to hide away at Pogtopia for the night.
 There’s a horse outside that he’s never seen before. He’s not even sure Tommy knows how to ride a horse. Whatever.
It’s only once he gets inside that he realizes. Sitting around a little fire is Tommy, Wilbur, and Technoblade. He grins.
“Techno?” He calls down to the group, and they all startle. Wilbur stands from where he was seated, looking incensed.
“Tubbo,” Techno greets as he makes his way down, giving him a small smile. Tubbo laughs.
“I didn’t even know you’d come to the server!” He exclaims. “Should’ve sent me a whisper.”
“Tubbo? Why’d you come?” Wilbur asks, eyes narrowing. The mood tangibly darkens. “Do you have anything?”
Tubbo holds up his hands placatingly. “No, I just wanted to visit, is that ok?”
Wilbur visibly bristles, hands making their way out of his pockets and into his hair. After a second, he leans forward and grabs Tubbo’s wrist, hard. “No, that’s not fucking ok! You put us at risk!”
He looks fucking crazy. Tubbo takes a step back, wrenching his wrist free. Thankfully, Tommy steps in.
“Woah, dude, it’s fine, it’s not like he comes very often. He knows to be careful, it’s fine. Don’t worry.” He almost seems to be saying it more to himself than Wilbur, who doesn’t look at all convinced.
“Don’t do it again,” Wilbur mutters, turning his back on the group and making his way deeper into the ravine.
Tommy sighs, visibly relaxing as the figure disappears. He shoots Tubbo an awkward smile. “Sorry. He’s been like that a bit, recently. It’ll be fine.”
Tubbo rubs his wrist with a placating smile. That’s going to bruise.
Techno, who’s been standing off the side, huffs and throws Tubbo a healing potion. He fumbles it in his hands a bit before catching it. He looks between it and Techno for a few seconds before saying, “I don’t really need this.”
The piglin shrugs. “Whatever, just take it.”
Tommy looks a bit concerned before shaking his head as if to clear it. He beckons to Tubbo. “Come on, I wanna show you Techno’s potato farm.”
 Tubbo sips as they walk. He doesn’t want to drink too much, only enough to heal the bruise. He’s not sure whether healing potions would work for alcohol poisoning, but he’s willing to give it up for a good cause.
“How’s the tyrant been?” Tommy asks, kicking at rocks while he walks. Tubbo chuckles.
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” When Tommy shoots him a look, he rushes to defend himself. “I mean… it’s not too bad, right now. We’re managing.”
Tommy stops in his tracks. “When did it become ‘we?’”
“No, no,” he exclaims, motioning with his hands and threatening to spill the potion. “I just mean like. Me, Fundy, and Big Q, that’s it.”
Tommy’s eyes stay narrowed for a few more seconds before he makes an angry exclamation, hands finding their ways to his head. He groans, turning away from Tubbo. Tubbo frowns, a bit concerned. “Tommy?”
“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he murmurs, whipping back around and pulling him into a hug. They stay like that for a few moments before Tommy pulls away. He motions for them to keep walking.
“Listen, Wilbur’s been fucking crazy lately. He keeps telling me I can’t trust anyone, and, like.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “I guess it kinda got to me for a minute. How are you doing? What’s it like in Manberg?”
Something pushes Tubbo to tell the truth. “It’s not too bad. I mean, Quackity and Fundy and I are basically running the country, but Schlatt’s been doing better lately.”
“What d’you mean?” Tommy asks, pulling out a loaf of bread and ripping it in half. He extends a half to Tubbo, who takes it eagerly.
“He’s drunk, like, most of the time,” Tubbo confesses quietly. “But he’s really been making an effort lately.”
“Huh,” Tommy says. He stares out at the sunset.
They’re quiet for a long, long moment, silently passing loaves of bread and apples between them.
“... Do you reckon Schlatt’s doing better than Wilbur?” He finally asks, almost whispering like he’s worried Wilbur will pop out from the shadows. He leans against a wall and wrings his hands in a nervous action.
Tubbo feels his heart stop. He stammers for a minute before he decides to be as honest as he can.
“Yes.”
>
“Promise me something,” Schlatt says quietly, one night. Tubbo jumps. He’d been puttering around the office while Schlatt laid on the sofa, and he hadn’t even known Schlatt was awake. When he turns around, Schlatt has pulled himself into a sitting position, his eyes strangely clear.
“What is it?” Tubbo asks nervously. Sure, it’s been months since he’s been frightened of Schlatt in any capacity, but it’s still worrying when he looks like this.
“Promise me you won’t drink. Not ever.”
Tubbo’s heart drops to his stomach. He nods, feeling strangely like he wants to cry. “I promise. Not ever.”
Schlatt nods back, chewing his lip. His ear flicks and he seems to analyze Tubbo’s expression for a few more seconds before he lays back down. Tubbo watches him for a few more minutes, listening to Schlatt’s breath even out. Every once in a while he lets out a wheeze and Tubbo stiffens again.
Once Tubbo is certain he’s asleep, he lets himself cry.
>
“Can we talk about the exile?”
It’s a bit of a spur of the moment decision. He and Schlatt have just finished with the paperwork and it’s reached the part of the night where Schlatt’s hands are shaking so much he’s having a hard time doing much of anything, where his eyelids have started drooping. Maybe it’s wrong of Tubbo to ask him when he’s already exhausted, but it can’t wait.
“What d’you mean?” Schlatt asks, barely tilting his head towards him. He’s staring at a spot on the desk, some sort of stain from a spilled drink.
“Um.” He fidgets with his hands a bit. “I want to let Tommy back in the country.”
That leads to a raising of the eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Not Wilbur, I won’t fight you on that one. Just Tommy. I know you don’t like him, but…” he chews his words. “I don’t think he’s safe with Wilbur.”
Schlatt seems to mull it over, and Tubbo’s not sure whether he’s thinking or out of it for a few seconds.
“Does this have something to do with your trips out of the country?”
Tubbo freezes for a long second, but after a few tense moments he regains his composure. “Um. What do you mean, sir?”
“I know you’ve been visiting them.” He catches Tubbo’s eye, strangely lucid for a man who was slurring so much a few minutes ago. He waves a shaking hand. “Well?”
Squeezing his fists, he decides to be honest. No point in pretending. “Yes. I’ve been visiting them. In the beginning, it was to betray you, I’ll admit.
But I’m on your side now. I am. Wilbur’s… He’s not doing well. And Tommy’s caught in the middle. I want to bring him here. Without Wilbur.”
Schlatt looks at him for a long moment. For once, he looks like a president.
“I’ll think about it.”
>
In the end, it isn’t much of a fight. Schlatt agrees, Tubbo talks to Tommy, Tommy talks to Techno, and they leave, Wilbur screaming at their heels.
Tommy’s shaking, but Schlatt and Quackity are waiting at the remains of the wall. Tubbo catches Schlatt’s eye and Schlatt fixes him with a soft expression he’s never seen before.
Tubbo grins. The president is proud.
>
Nothing’s perfect. Alcoholism isn’t solved overnight, and neither is a country built on nothing but pride. But sometimes, when Tommy and Tubbo are running through the White House after stealing some sort of way-too-expensive chocolate from a president, he thinks it’s ok.
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jesus-otaku · 3 years ago
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Title: Peculiar Familiarity (part 6)
Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug
Pairing: Marichat
Word count: 2241
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
A long-overdue update for a giveaway prize for @kwiibi-blog​. I feel so bad about this just sitting in my folder for so long. (I typed this part up like 2 years ago during the time I was away from Tumblr and completely neglected to post it.) I really hope the long wait has been worth it.
I mentioned this when updating the fic on AO3 so I’ll mention it here as well: I am no longer nearly as active in the ML fandom as I used to be. There is so much fandom salt and drama that it has been hard to find the same initial joy I had for creating ML content. Most of my writing lately has been for original projects rather than fanfic. But because I hate leaving things incomplete, and I think everyone reading my fics deserves to get the endings they’ve waited for, I am trying very hard to regain my lost motivation. My goal is to at least wrap up the multi-part fics I started, even if I don’t necessarily write the other fics I originally had planned. Any questions about this can be directed to my ask box!
“Something about Marinette was off tonight. Something beyond the mess of deciding whose hand he was going to kiss.”
________________________
“You've been keeping secrets from me, Princess,” Chat Noir sang as he dropped through the trapdoor into Marinette's room.
She whirled away from her desk to look up at him, and her face was white as a sheet. “S-secrets? What secrets?” Her lips were twitching up in an attempt at a smile, but it was very obviously fake. “I—I'm not keeping any secrets, don't be silly! I mean, why would I not have told you that I was—I mean—that is, if I was—I mean—nope, no secrets here!” She broke into nervous laughter. “None whatsoever.” Then, hesitantly, she asked, “Why do you say that?”
Chat was a little taken aback. That was a much more…intense reaction than he had been expecting. He climbed down the loft ladder to join her at her desk. Leaning on the desk with one hand, he replied, “You never told me you and Ladybug were in touch with each other.”
Marinette gaped at him. It must not have been what she had thought he was going to say, because some of the color slowly started to return to her face. “That's—I—you never asked.”
“No,” he agreed, “but when you said I should talk to Ladybug about the whole hand-kissing thing, that—you could have just told her yourself.” It would have spared him a lot of embarrassment, that was for sure.
She fidgeted uncomfortably. “I think it was better that she heard it from you,” she replied. “Otherwise it might have made it seem like you were avoiding her.”
He hesitated. She did have a point there. And embarrassment or not, his conversation with Ladybug had cleared up a miscommunication he hadn't even realized they'd been having. “Still,” he said, “you could have at least said something.”
“You never asked,” Marinette countered. She leaned forward, propping her hands on her knees. “So, um, what did I—I mean, Ladybug say? About the hand-kissing thing, that is?”
Chat gave her a thumbs up with a smile. “She gave it the all-clear. Hand kisses are now exclusively yours, Princess.”
She grinned back at him. “Lucky me. But that wasn't exactly what I meant.”
He frowned in confusion. “What?”
“I never said you had to ask her permission,” she pointed out. She folded her hands in her lap. “I just said you needed to tell her you were going to stop kissing her hand. Did she say anything about you stopping?”
Great. Not only was Ladybug going to kill him by asking about his relationship with Marinette, now Marinette was going to kill him by asking about his relationship with Ladybug. He was so, so doomed. “She said I didn't have to,” he answered slowly, watching her to see her reaction. “She would have been okay with me kissing both your hand and hers. But I didn't want to do that to you after saying I would make it a you-and-me thing only.”
All of the color had returned to Marinette's face now, and if it hadn't been for the fact she had been so white just a minute ago, he would have thought he saw a dusting of pink on her cheeks. He quashed it instead as the act of an overactive, hopeful imagination. She'd been so pale that the natural flush of her face probably just looked overly pinkish by comparison. “Thank you,” she mumbled. A little clearer, she added, “It means a lot, you know. That you would change your dynamic with Ladybug just for me.”
Feeling suddenly very embarrassed, Chat looked around the room at just about everything except for Marinette. His eyes locked with the little black stuffed cat that perched on the shelf above her desk. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “You don't have to thank me for anything. It's not like things are going to change between me and Ladybug, not really.” But then he remembered that odd look of resignation that had been in Ladybug's eyes last night, and he had to wonder if things wouldn't change even the tiniest bit. She'd almost seemed upset.
As if she could read his mind, Marinette asked, “Are you sure about that? We—You two seem pretty close.”
“We're still going to be friends,” he replied, hating that word—friends—just a little less than he would have expected to. His friendship with his lady had always come first, no matter how badly he wanted to be something more. That priority had somehow become clearer the more time he had spent with Marinette. He waved a hand dismissively, as if her concern were a minor one. “A little thing like kissing your hand won't change that.” Oh, but that look in Ladybug's eyes last night…
A tiny smile made its way onto her face. “Ladybug is really lucky to have a friend like you. I would've been a lot more worried about things changing than you are.”
He braced his baton against the floor and leaned forward on it. “Maybe you can put in a good word for me, then, Princess. Since you're friends with her, too.” God, what was coming out of his mouth? He was going to be the end of himself, pursuing a conversation like this. But still, he couldn't stop himself from continuing. “I'm sure if you sing my praises, she'll reconsider my romantic advances.”
The statement startled a laugh out of her. “Okay, I take it back,” she giggled. “She's lucky, but she's not that lucky.”
Well, ouch.
Even though he knew Marinette meant it only in good fun, and that she would never intentionally say something to hurt someone else—out of all the people he'd met, she was one of the most well-attuned to preventing akuma attacks—her reply stung. So much so that his heart may as well have physically ached. The amusement he'd allowed to creep onto his face was gone in an instant. “What's that supposed to mean?”
Her expression dropped into horror. Had she not realized what she was saying? “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like that—I was just—you're great, but—um, you and Ladybug are—we're—I mean—ugh, I don't know what I mean anymore.” She buried her face in her hands, and there was a definite pink tinge to her cheeks now beneath her fingers.
Something about Marinette was off tonight. Something beyond the mess of deciding whose hand he was going to kiss. He was stunned it had taken him this long to realize it. Chat Noir tucked away his baton and went to kneel in front of her chair.
“Hey, Princess,” he coaxed softly. She peeked out at him from between her fingers. That much, at least, was encouraging. “What's wrong? Forget about me and Ladybug for a second. Did something happen?”
Her eyes scanned his; for what, he wasn't sure. Slowly, her hands slipped away from her face, and she set them back in her lap. She sighed as if resigning herself to something. Her gaze dropped to the floor between the two of them. “It's just—well, I have this…friend. And he's a great friend, don't get me wrong,” she added hastily, before he could have even thought to comment. “I'd trust him with anything, no matter what.”
“But…?” he prompted. There was obviously a “but” coming.
She gave a halfhearted sort of shrug. “I don't know. It just feels like things are…weird between us right now.” Her eyes were still glued on the floor as she began twisting her fingers around each other in her lap. “Like he's…I don't know, distant?”
He hoped she wasn't talking about him as Adrien. He'd done his damnedest to get closer to her, to make her feel more comfortable around him, to see at least some inkling of the way she acted around Chat in her interactions with Adrien. Those attempts had so far only ended in more pronounced stammering and occasional awkward laughter. It wouldn't have entirely surprised him if she was referring to him as Adrien.
He just really, really didn't want to be the one she was referring to.
Marinette seemed to take his pensive, anxious silence as a sign to continue, because she kept talking. Almost like she couldn't stop herself. “And I guess I just can't help wondering if maybe there's something that I did, or if there's something else going on in his life that I don't know about, or if he's just sick of hanging out with me.”
Chat took one of her hands in his before she could wring her fingers white. Her eyes finally snapped up to meet his again. “If he's sick of hanging out with you, then he's an idiot,” he said, with far more feeling than he had originally intended to put into his sentence. “You're amazing, Marinette. Anyone would be lucky to call you their friend.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I know I am.”
That tiny little smile made its way back onto her face, just enough to lift the corners of her lips out of miserable worry. So gently that he almost thought he imagined it, she squeezed his hand back. “Thanks, Chat Noir.”
Kneeling there with her hand in his, he almost kissed her hand before coming to his senses and shooting her a wink instead. Even with both her and Ladybug's permission, he couldn't just go around kissing her hand willy-nilly. “Anytime. It's a knight's sworn duty to protect his princess, even from her own self-doubt.” The comment made her smile spread wider, and the weight of worry lifted from his chest.
And it was strange, how much this reminded him of another time, with another girl, begging her to believe in him and in herself when she hadn't thought she could be enough.
Then Marinette was getting to her feet, her hand was sliding away from his, and the moment of familiarity was gone. “So,” she said, “are you up for being walloped at Ultimate Mecha Strike 3 tonight?”
He wanted to say yes so very badly. Wanted to prove that he'd meant what he'd said, that anyone who didn't want to hang out with her was an idiot. But curse it all, he had a photo shoot tomorrow morning at eight and he would never hear the end of it from his father if he showed up at his photo shoot with anything less than a full night's rest.
“I wish I could stay,” he said, trying to infuse as much regret into the words as possible. Her smile still dropped. He cursed the name of photo shoots everywhere in his head. “Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement with my bed. I've got someplace I have to be early tomorrow, and I need my cat nap or I'll never make it through the day.”
Her nose scrunched up in distaste at the prospect of getting up early during a weekend. “On a Saturday?” she asked incredulously. “That just sounds like some form of torture.”
Chat grinned. At least they were of the same mind on that point. “It probably will be, but a commitment is a commitment. I'm a cat of my word.” He stood and began to back his way towards the ladder to the trapdoor. “I can come back tomorrow night,” he added hopefully. He didn't usually visit two nights in a row, but since this visit was so short, maybe… “And you could wallop me then.”
“Bring plenty of fighting spirit, because I've been practicing,” she replied, smiling once again. He was struck for the hundredth time by how very familiar the teasing tone of her voice was, and not because he had heard it from her so often now as Chat. When he took another step back towards the ladder, she asked, “Aren't you forgetting something, Chat Noir?” Her smile had turned impish.
It took him an embarrassingly long moment of staring to realize what she was referring to. By the time he had put two and two together, she had already stepped closer to him and offered her hand. “Oh. Right. How foolish of me.” He took her hand in his and couldn't help marveling at how well their hands fit together. Almost exactly like his and Ladybug's did.
But Marinette wouldn't push him away from the gesture, not tonight and not in the future. That wasn't who the two of them were together. Marinette wasn't Ladybug, and he was a little bit of a different Chat Noir when he was with her. Not as flirty, not as hopeful, not as self-aggrandizing.
If he thought about it, maybe he as Chat Noir acted the way he wished he as Adrien could act with Marinette.
Minus the hand-kissing, of course.
He pressed his lips to her hand, lingering just a moment longer than was really necessary. Her skin was warm beneath his touch, and there was the faintest scent of the bakery clinging to her. It almost made him not want to pull away.
He did still have to get up early in the morning, though, so he forced himself to straighten and release her hand. She had already agreed that he could come back tomorrow. This was only goodbye for a day. He'd survived longer than that without her before. Chat swept her a bow. “Until tomorrow, Princess.”
Her smile spread into that glimmer of sunlight that had nearly made his heart stop last time. It almost made his heart stop again now. “Until tomorrow, Chat Noir. And thank you.”
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artificialqueens · 4 years ago
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Maybe You're My Enemy (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega
a/n: hey, hi, hello! welcome to the first canon compliant thing i have written since 2017, i am *~ petrified! ~* . i had to write something to fix these two though after the events of episode 8 because i just love them dearly (and the fact in the subsequent episode Lawrence just dropped in the fact they’d shared a bed didn’t help this at all). thank you so much to @purecamp for reading it over and reassuring me it’s not a heap of shit (so if it turns out that it is then just blame her xo). also the song it’s set to is enemy by Charli XCX in case u want to get the immersive vibes!
fic summary: On one side of Scotland, Lawrence disappears from social media. On the other, Ellie reflects.
***
They say, “Keep your friends close”
But you’re closer, I love when you’re here
I’m so far away sometimes, I’m distant, yeah
The sky is grey. The clouds are grey. The stagnant water of the quay is grey, and so’s the metal rail that Ellie’s holding on to as he narrows his eyes, tries to stop the wind from hitting them and making him tear up.
As if the wind would be the only reason.
He brings his gaze into focus on the HMS Unicorn, sat in the water in front of him like some massive whale that’s been planted in a bathtub. It’s a fucking ugly ship; a glorified tugboat on steroids with a big bowsprit sticking out at the front all out of place, but he likes the little bust of the once-white unicorn that sticks out from under it. Ellie remembers getting brought here for a school trip in Primary 3, pointing to the unicorn all excited and getting laughed at by the boys in his class that he knew were going to grow up to be the ones that gave the teachers lip and got suspended in high school.
He remembers that Bryce made up the fact that one of the boys had “said the f word” in the gift shop later that day, just so Ellie could have the satisfaction of watching them get screamed at by their teacher. Ellie still fucking loves him for that.
Ellie thinks the unicorn is out of place in all this grey. He remembers the time he did his unicorn mix when he opened for Willam, how nervous he’d been and messaging Lawrence about it and getting a “this you coming out to me as a furry?” in return which made him laugh and forget why he’d even been nervous in the first place. He can’t help the smile the memory brings to his face even if he wants to.
And he wants to.
Lawrence always could make him smile, get a laugh from him even when he didn’t feel like it. He remembers with a blow to his heart what Lawrence had said on the show- “you’re not terribly funny? Like you don’t have…zinger-y punchlines?” - and how Tia had laughed and Ellie had wanted so much to bite back but didn’t.
Because he always could draw a laugh out of Lawrence. Granted he was usually laughing at him rather than with him, but Ellie could still put a smile on his face by acting dumb, saying things that Lawrence would subsequently repeat in a screech of disbelief that would always make Ellie laugh harder anyway. He’d always self-impose ridiculous dares on himself in front of him: in Hive, “here, what if I did the entire shot rainbow?”, in Nandos, “d’you think I could do the wing roulette by myself?”, in Glasgow on the Subway on the way to a gig, “dare me to get off at Ibrox and I’ll go to the Louden Tavern dressed like this?”. Ellie had been used to being the class clown for Lawrence, the jester for the queen.
Or maybe just a fool.
Ellie’s always hated the colour grey.
You might help me, intimacy
I’ll admit, I’m scared
Maybe, maybe you can reach me, yeah
His surroundings turn to silver as he shoves his hands in his pockets, heads towards the V&A museum that’s still glinting despite the lack of sunlight. He’s stopped by two teenage girls that are polite and shy and squeaky-voiced as they ask for a photo- he supposes that’s what he gets when he goes out wearing the pink and purple fur coat with the hearts on it. Ellie forces a smile and thanks them for supporting him and they tell him he’s their favourite in return.
After they walk away he thinks they must have been lying, but then he feels the frown etch itself onto his face as he shakes his head. The self-doubt is a hangover from filming that he needs to shake off.
He squints at the museum as he walks past, fleetingly thinks about going in and looking at some of the old fashion to cheer him up. A’whora’s promised to go with him when he’s eventually allowed to come up to visit, and Ellie snorts at the idea of the fashion queen of the London scene in Dundee. The thought of A’whora’s reaction to the Wellgate shopping centre- the Credit Union, the B&M, the Jobcentre Plus- puts the first smile on his face he’s had in days.
Lawrence had gone round the museum with him too, when Ellie had dropped him off at the train station the day after a gig and they’d been killing time. It had been weird to just dick about like that together the first few times. Weird the fact there was no makeup, glue and wigs, no alcohol or gay anthems to yell over. Just two boys walking around a museum together. Like a date.
Ellie makes a face before he even realises. Not this.
The first time they did all of it together was weird. Just like everything Lawrence had written. Nandos, cinema, staying at his. That last one especially. Ellie can still remember the way he’d stared up at the bumpy ceiling from his position on Lawrence’s couch in the pitch dark, street lamps from outside casting shadows through the blinds. The room was too cold and the blanket was too small and he hadn’t slept a wink but he’d still do it all over again.
The first time they’d both lain on Lawrence’s bed the morning after the night before, cracking up at Scottish You Laugh You Lose compilations on Youtube and Ellie being unable to help the tears that streamed down his face at Lawrence imitating “big shoe, big shoeeee!”. The way they’d been close and the way their arms had touched and the way Ellie had felt ridiculous for the way his heart was hammering. Just a friend.
The first time they’d found each other under the dark lights of CCs when they’d both been through in Edinburgh to support Alice by chance. The way Ellie’s heart had lit up like a firework when he saw him. The way they’d laced their fingers together without even having to ask permission first, the way everything just seemed to be as simple as tequila rose shots and pink lights and leaning against the wall as they smoked outside.
The way everything else had just happened so easily.
Ellie squeezes his eyes shut before he can realise what he’s doing. The memories have forced their way in, kicked down a door in his head that he’d been sure he’d bolted shut.
He needs to change the locks.
Maybe you’re my enemy
Now I’ve finally let you come a little close to me,
Maybe you’re my enemy
You’re the only one who knows the way I’m really feelin’
Ellie is in the same Stitch onesie he’s been shrugging on since the last episode aired. It stinks. He’s joked to A'whora that he can probably smell him through the phone, and A'whora’s asked if he just sweats out Mango Loco Monster. Ellie makes some joke about wringing out his clothes into a pint glass if he did, which makes A'whora retch on camera.
He’s glad they made up at least. They didn’t have too much of a choice, to be fair. Apart from the way they get on so well, their bond and their friendship, A'whora’s the only other one who knows what it’s like to be in Ellie’s situation.
Except A'whora never stabbed Tayce in the back.
“You should talk to him,” A'whora insists, bringing the whole sorry situation up in a pause where Ellie must have looked as if he was about to make a vodka bleach mixer.
Ellie looks pointedly back at him through the screen. “I’ve been telling you to talk to Tayce for months.”
He watches A'whora pull an awkward face and he’s satisfied he’s hit a nerve. “That’s different though. You and Lawrence don’t live together.”
“Yeah. Least I wasn’t stupid enough to move in with someone I fancied, how’s that going for you?”
A'whora splutters a laugh that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Ellie feels guilty all over again. He feels like that’s his default these days. “Sorry, chick, I shouldn’t have-”
“No, I mean. It’s fine. Just have to act as if I’m not in love with the bitch every time I’m around her, it’s not hard,” A'whora deadpans.
Ellie frowns. “You know Tayce feels the same. Everyone knows it.”
“No I don’t,” A'whora says instantly back to him, shaking his head and dissolving momentarily into pixels. “Besides, even if she did, like…it’s easier if she didn’t, y'know? All this…publicity, every move getting analysed. It’s easier to just…not.”
Ellie narrows his eyes. “You’re doing a smashing job making the case for me and Lawrence.”
“You know what I mean! You don’t get people asking where Lawrence is in every live you do. You don’t get people going through the show fucking…frame by frame and then editing every time you breathe around each other together and setting it to a bloody Little Mix song.”
Ellie bursts out laughing and starts singing Black Magic down the phone to him, which makes A'whora look pointedly at him before clearly being unable to hold it for long and instead laughing with him.
Both their laughter dies down and Ellie watches as A'whora smiles sadly, sincerely. “He’s worth the risk, Els.”
“Oh my God, prison. Who the fuck are you, Nicholas Sparks?”
The reference flies over A'whora's head and Ellie starts explaining the plot of the A Walk to Remember, steering the conversation out of the waters it had become marooned in, the captain of his very own HMS Unicorn.
He feels more like he’s aboard the Titanic with every message that goes unread.
Now it’s really clear to me
You could do a little damage, you could cut me deeper
“It didn’t get you a badge though, was it worth it?”
Ellie’s asked himself that every day since the episode aired. Since he made the decision, pretty much. Financially? Yes it was. It’s pretty well-known at this point in the grand scheme of Drag Race that with each week you’re on the likelihood of securing more bookings is increased, and now with his slot at Drag Fest he feels as if he’s hit the jackpot.
Everything else? Not so much.
Ellie still feels his stomach drop if he thinks enough about that untucked, which he does all the time. Too much, in fact. The aggression in Lawrence’s voice which Ellie knew all too well was a manifestation of hurt on so many levels. The way Lawrence chose the conflict that Ellie wished he could have avoided. The way Lawrence left his feelings bare while Ellie couldn’t trust himself to do the same in case he said something he might regret.
The fact Lawrence had thought Ellie had set him up to fail was maybe what hurt the most, though. Ellie had wanted to ask him how he thought he’d be able to do that after everything they’d been through together. He’d tried to tell him he didn’t think it was possible for him to fail at something he shines at. He’d wanted to grab Lawrence’s pink fucking headpiece and bash him over the head with it until he realised that he’s Lawrence fucking Chaney, he is the Scottish drag queen. Lawrence is the one who will say something at a gig one week and it’ll be common drag parlance across the country by the next. Lawrence is the one getting booked by the BBC Social to make educational videos. Lawrence is the one on posters across Glasgow, for fuck’s sake.
Ellie might not have been thinking about the worst case scenario in that moment, but only because he genuinely didn’t think there could be one.
After all, he’d had his opportunity to sabotage Lawrence. Ellie remembers the first day when the producers had wanted to set up the Scottish queen rivalry, asked for something shady they could use as a soundbite. The way he’d sought out Lawrence on a smoke break and told him about the situation and reassured him that he hadn’t given them anything, and the way Lawrence had just smiled back at him, softly and genuinely, and told Ellie he’d done the same. The way they’d minutely linked pinkies together before breaking them and walking back inside as if they’d barely shared so much as a glance, neither of them wanting to draw any suspicion their way.
And he could’ve been harsher in that untucked if he’d wanted. Could’ve said how for someone that was meant to care so much about friendship and sisterhood, Lawrence had been doing a great job shitting on him from a great height about his lack of challenge wins and his run on the show.  
But he didn’t, because…well. He knows why.
Because the knowledge that he’d hurt Lawrence and lost his trust had done more damage than any joke Lawrence made at his expense could ever do.
Ellie goes live on the Tuesday afternoon. A comment on the chat reads, “are u A’whora and Lawrence still friends???”
“Yeah, me and A’whora are still friends!” Ellie bats the comment away with a fake smile.
He’ll blame his lack of comprehension skills if he’s asked about it.
I feel guilty, I feel nervous, I feel certain now
Maybe, maybe you can reach me
He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it.
Maybe it’s when he wakes up on Friday and Lawrence’s Twitter isn’t loading. Maybe it’s when he reads the other Scottish girls condemning the fans, the word fatphobia leaping out, grabbing Ellie’s heart and wrenching it tight.
Surely not this?
Ellie searches Twitter and what he finds makes him feel ill. He doesn’t know what he had expected- he’d known the frantic tweet urging the fans to be kind that he’d typed out before he went to sleep hadn’t exactly been going to create world peace overnight- but he hadn’t expected any of this. Everyone loves Lawrence, surely.
Although perhaps he’s just talking from experience.
Maybe it’s when he shoots Lawrence a message that goes unopened. In all honesty Ellie doesn’t blame him. A flimsy sentiment about hoping he’s okay that clocks in at under 250 characters isn’t going to cut it, and he’s grateful when Bimini, with all their empathy and ability to read a situation as clear as day, texts him and tells him that Lawrence has replied to them and he’s…well, he’s managing.
Maybe it’s when Ellie goes live with A’whora and he manages to mention Lawrence entirely too many times. A cry for attention or an old habit that’s dying hard? He can’t tell. Perhaps it’s both.
It’s definitely got something to do with the Facebook post.
Whatever it is, Ellie finds himself stuffing any old random items of clothing in a backpack and hoping it makes an outfit, shoving the spare key into the soil of the plant pot outside his front door and texting Anne to tell her where it is in case…fuck knows, the flat goes on fire while he’s away or something. He looks up the train times as he’s on his way to the station; a terrible decision, really, as when he’s still fifteen minutes away he discovers there’s one in ten. Somehow he manages to make it to the station with just a minute to spare and his heart lifts to find that the ticket barriers are open, so he dashes through them and hurtles onto the train that’s waiting at the platform. He catches his breath as he slumps into a table seat, having to take his mask off for a couple of seconds just so he can breathe properly. The way his heart is going at the rate the train’s about to isn’t helping.
The chimes of the train announcement cut through his attempts at slowing his heart down, and the little robotic woman’s voice confirms that his ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment decision is actually happening.
“This is Dundee. This train is for Glasgow Queen Street.”
Because this is all so last minute, but he needs to see Lawrence. He’s apologised probably ten times by now but he knows he needs to make it eleven. He knows (he hopes) that Lawrence needs that eleventh time too. He knows that Lawrence needs Ellie’s persistence, knows that it’s all just an attempt at self-preservation. Lawrence’s attempts at shutting Ellie out are just inviting him to bring a battering ram. At least, he hopes. But like A’whora had said…he’s worth the risk.
The train starts moving, and even if he wanted to back out now he couldn’t.
So cold at the surface, I’m scared of nothin’
Underneath, I’m nervous
Can you reach me?  
Ellie waits for the subway at Buchanan Street and his glazed-over eyes focus on a massive poster of Lawrence on the platform opposite. He briefly considers throwing himself under the next train.
The journey down had passed somehow in the blink of an eye and also agonisingly slowly. Too much time to sit and stare out of the window but not enough time to figure out what he’s going to say. He still doesn’t know. He’d said it all those months ago, he’s said it through texts and DMs. This time feels different, though. This time is different. This time there’s no cameras or runners or pink tables, or distance between them or tension at the fact nothing had aired yet.
It’s going to be the pair of them and Lawrence’s flat. Just like it’s been so many times before.
Ellie thinks he’ll probably just open his mouth, say whatever gets there first and hope it hits the right notes; a terrible decision arrived upon as a result of the lack of any other option. His mind is a messed up ball of television static, a knotted yarn of white noise that he can’t find the end of. He feels as if it’s made of the noise the train makes as it screams into the station, metal on metal and the low whoosh of the wind through the tunnel and the rickety shaking of the doors as they slide open and people stream off.
He picks up his bag and sinks down into the horrifically patterned upholstery of the seats, settling himself in for the journey. The little metal tin can of a train doesn’t take long to fire through the seven stops before Govan and with each one that passes Ellie can feel his nerves spiking and his mouth growing dry.
What if Lawrence isn’t even in? What if it’s all got too much and he’s gone back to Helensburgh for the foreseeable? Ellie could get a train up there, he supposes; he’s already on this side of the country, although he doesn’t know if Lawrence would appreciate the gesture or call the police on him.
Ellie concludes it would be worth it anyway.
He emerges from the Subway and the grey seems to hit him all over again, seeping into his clothes and forcing him to fight through the sadness that hits him like a wave. There’s a little beam of sunshine fighting to escape the clouds though, and Ellie hopes it’s some form of pathetic fallacy. Or whatever that one about the weather matching your feelings was. Fucked if he ever paid attention in Nat 5 English.
The streets of red brick tenements feel like pens of hostility as he passes windows that serve as frames for Union Jacks and Red Hand of Ulster flags. Even being raised in a Christian household doesn’t equip him to identify with this form of religion; where the disciples are football players and the gods are flags and the hymns are about killing Catholics. Ellie has always worried about Lawrence living here, told him as much, but he’s always been met with a bark of a laugh back and some comment about how he’s only saying that because he’s lived such a sheltered little life in Dundee and wouldn’t last five minutes trying to inhabit Glasgow and all its cheerful sectarianism. Lawrence has always had a very blythe attitude to the whole thing, and Ellie remembers when he’d held his hand on the way back from the Subway in full drag after a gig like it was nothing, the way some dick in an orange and blue scarf had shouted at them from across the street and Lawrence had just yelled back with an “awrite, babes?” as if he had a death wish.
Which is what makes this whole thing so grim. The Lawrence who drunkenly and sarcastically greets bigots at three in the morning from across the street doesn’t marry up with the Lawrence that’s holed up in his flat in the face of negativity. Ellie supposes that one homophobic Rangers fan is one homophobic Rangers fan, but Twitter can seem like the whole world’s population, and if Lawrence thinks the world hates him just because he’s reacted to something that was Ellie’s fault…
He feels his gut wrench.
Ellie turns into Lawrence’s street and feels ill. He could always go home. Turn and walk back to the Subway, train back to Queen Street, back to Dundee, back to the flat. Like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t even consciously made the decision, like it was all a dream.
He sleepwalks to Lawrence’s close door anyway, just like he knew he would.
His hand shakes as he presses the buzzer too hard, and the panic rises in his throat as the seconds pass agonisingly slowly. When there’s a crackle from the intercom, he freezes in fear.
“Hello?”
It’s Kiko’s voice. Of course his flatmate had to be the one to answer, drag out the humiliation of the whole thing. Ellie can hear the shake to his voice as he replies.
“Hey, it’s Ellie.”
“…Ellie?”
He chooses to ignore the disbelief, acts as if it’s normal for him to have travelled across the country to turn up on Lawrence’s doorstep in the middle of a pandemic when there’s a travel ban in place. He’s considering this essential travel anyway.
“Is Lawrence in at all?”
Kiko, for her part, seems to pick up on the way the whole visit is masquerading as routine. In the split second before she replies, Ellie finds himself holding his breath. He steels himself, prepares for a “no, he’s actually…”, to send him back to Dundee like a crumpled sheet of paper tossed into a bin.
So Ellie feels like his throat’s going to close up when Kiko replies down the intercom. “Yeah, two secs. I’ll buzz you up.”
The dread settles in his gut like a weight as the buzzer rings out into the street, harsh and loud and doing nothing for Ellie’s derailed train of thought. He pushes on the door, takes his first step into the close and the echo seems to hit him deep in his chest. He finds himself wishing Lawrence lives four up but he’s only on the first floor, and as Ellie puts his foot on the first step of the staircase he keeps his eyes trained on the stairs because he knows the moment he looks up he’s going to see somebody standing there holding the door open and even though he’s had hours to prepare himself, weeks even, he’s not ready for that in the slightest.
And when he finally brings his gaze onto the front door with four steps to go, he’s not ready for the way the sight of Lawrence almost knocks him straight back down again. He’s slumped against the doorframe and has very clearly not slept- since when, Ellie couldn’t guess. A black hoodie is swamping him and a pair of navy sweatpants are doing the same, making him seem smaller than he already is. The sight of his hair up in that tiny bun hurts Ellie’s heart because it makes him want to smile, reminds him of the Lawrence he’d dick about in the workroom and the smoking area and the hotel corridors with before it all went so wrong. His arms are folded and he’s looking at the tiles on the landing floor until Ellie reaches the doorway, shifts awkwardly.
“Hi.”
Lawrence doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It’s a minute detail that hurts Ellie more than he would have expected. He doesn’t reply for a second, then seems to relent. “Hey.”
Another pause. The atmosphere makes Ellie wish he’d worn a thicker jacket.
“You’re not meant to be here, you know. Wee Nicky’s probably had snipers trained on you since you got off the train,” Lawrence says, delivering the quip with a bitter, barbed edge that makes Ellie think it’s less of a joke and more wishful thinking.
“Wouldn’t be any less than I deserve, I’m sure,” Ellie smiles sadly, unable to make it meet his eyes. Lawrence’s expression remains unimpressed.
“So why are you here, then,” he not so much as demands an answer but disinterestedly inquires. Ellie bites his bottom lip before he replies, as if he’s forcing himself to make sure his words are perfect.
“I just came down because…well, I wanted to see how you were. I know the past week must have been shit for you.”
Lawrence raises his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide as if to really drive home to Ellie how much of an understatement he already knows he’s made. “Yeah.”
Ellie sighs, wanting desperately to get the next part right. “And I felt like I needed to say I’m sorry. Y’know, in front of you.”
“You said sorry back when we filmed. We’re over it, it’s fine,” Lawrence says flatly, conveying that everything is not fine.
“It’s not fine, though. I wouldn’t have come down if it was fine. Things haven’t been fine since that day, and like…I miss you, Lawrence, I don’t want to lose you as a friend, or as a sister, or as…” Ellie stumbles, looking to the floor as he tries to articulate the other facet of their relationship. “…whatever else we are. Whatever else we were. I’m sorry for fucking everything up.”
There’s a silence in which the pair of them freeze and hold their breath. Time could very well be standing still for all Ellie knows. He immediately regrets bringing up all of…that. He should’ve kept it to friendship, shouldn’t have added anything on. Before he can overthink any more or begin to backtrack, a small sigh from Lawrence makes him look up.
“I thought you hated me,” he says. His voice is small and the words are unexpected. There’s so much Ellie could say in response. He settles on a joke.
“No, I think you’re a cunt. There’s a difference,” Ellie smiles tightly, the joke tentative. The snort it gets from Lawrence makes his smile grow without him being able to help it. “Was that a good one? Thought I was the unfunniest person on the planet?”
“We weren’t talking about your Bake Off improv,” Lawrence raises his eyebrows as he smirks, and Ellie fakes a wounded laugh.
“Shady cow.”
“I’m sorry,” Lawrence says out of nowhere, his smile gone all of a sudden.
Ellie tries to drag the joke out a little longer, hold onto the sparks they’ve just created. “Nah, it was shit, you’re right.”
“No, Ellie…” Lawrence shakes his head, worrying his lip between his teeth a little. “I am sorry.”
Ellie feels the panic wash over him when he clocks the glisten in his eyes. “It’s fine, girl.”
“It’s not fine. I was a dick to you so many times, no fuckin’ wonder I thought you’d set me up. I would too if I had somebody talking down to me like I did to you,” Lawrence says gravely. His gaze is fixed on his floor and just as Ellie is about to speak he catches sight of two tears that fall onto the red carpet, the darkness akin to blood. His horror grows as Lawrence finally snaps his head up, tears shining in his eyes as he sighs helplessly in a shaky voice. “You’re amazing, Ellie, you’re such a talent, and…fuck, I missed you.”
His words mean more to him that Ellie had expected them to. He doesn’t want to let that show, though, because that’s too much, that means too much for the situation just now and he can deal with that realisation at a later date. For now, Ellie points at him in mock-accusation. “Hey listen, I’m the one that got the train down to come and make a big speech to you and say sorry. Buy your own damn train ticket for that.”
Lawrence’s voice is thick with tears as he lets out a short laugh. “Sorry.”
“Wee bitch. Always have to make everything about you,” Ellie rolls his eyes, getting another teary laugh out of Lawrence and raising his hopes that maybe they’ll be okay.
And then the banks break and Lawrence makes a little choked-up noise, a sob that’s not fully a sob. His eyes meet Ellie’s and they’re full of so much sadness and regret that just looking at them creates a crack in Ellie’s heart, one that matches the crack in Lawrence’s voice as he speaks again.
“This has all been shit to do without you.”
Ellie doesn’t think before opening his arms out, shaking his head affectionately. “Don’t be silly. C’mere.”
When Lawrence immediately opens out his own and they meet each other in the middle and hug tightly, Ellie feels like a balloon that’s been let go and is floating up to the sky.
The clouds aren’t grey.
The way they’re holding each other brings back too many memories. Seeing each other at gigs and feeling butterflies take hold of his stomach. Coming off stage after a number and conveying his pride in him without even having to say a word. Saying goodbye at train stations with disappointment lodging itself in his heart. All the nostalgia makes Ellie want to cry, but he can’t start now. Instead, he breaths a shaky sigh, shakes his head before he speaks.
“You’ve always had me, okay? You’ve always got me. We’ve said sorry now, that’s the end of it. Periodt,” Ellie murmurs against his shoulder, adding on his trademark at the end. The laugh he gets muffled against his chest in return makes him feel lighter.
“I’ve not showered. I definitely stink. You don’t have to keep hugging me, you know.”
“You don’t. I want to,” Ellie says back. He means it.
It’s Lawrence that slides out of the hug first but he’s still standing close as he quickly wipes away his tears, looks Ellie up and down with a smirk on his face. “So where’s your Travelodge, hen?”
Ellie’s sheepish when he makes eye contact with him again, shrugs one strap of the rucksack off before replying. “You know damn well I’ve not booked anywhere.”
“Fuckin’ hell. Right, come on,” Lawrence shakes his head affectionately, stepping back into his hallway and letting Ellie finally cross the threshold to drop his bag like an anchor in the flat. It’s the physical manifestation of the burden finally being lifted off of him, the guilt and the regret melting away in favour of the flutter of his heart and a few small sparks that he wants to put in resin. “I get to choose the film later as reparations. Don’t trust you since you made us watch Cat In The Hat.”
Ellie gives a shocked gasp, genuinely offended. “It’s good!”
“Is it fuck. In fact, just for that I’m going to make you sit through something sci-fi and geeky and you’re gonna hate it,” Lawrence smiles with genuine glee, and Ellie can’t even bring himself to be mad about it. As the pair of them walk through to the living room, Lawrence jumps onto the sofa and fixes Ellie with a look that is clearly meant to be serious but that simultaneously Lawrence can’t commit to and Ellie can’t believe. “You’re sleeping here tonight, by the way.”
Ellie raises his eyebrows as he fakes his agreement, going along with the charade Lawrence is beginning. They both know they’ll end up curled up together on the sofa with neither of them having an explanation for how it’s happened, but at the same time knowing they don’t have to explain themselves. They know that Ellie will end up falling asleep slumped against Lawrence and that he’ll have to gently shake him awake, that he’ll wordlessly offer Ellie a hand to drag him off the couch with and that they’ll go through to Lawrence’s room like always. They know that they’ll wake up tangled together like the sheets and that Ellie will be there for him, that he’ll help Lawrence piece himself back together and they’ll go back to the start. Well, maybe not the start. Perhaps somewhere better.
Ellie keeps his friends close, but Lawrence is something a little bit more. Something a little bit closer.
Baby, you’re my enemy.
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be-the-spark-flyboy · 4 years ago
Text
Invisible String (1/3)
A/n: This was supposed to be a drabble requested by @spider-starry​ for the cliche prompts list. But then my hand slipped, so damn fking hard, so ya oops.
Pairing: Poe x Reader (modern au)
Warnings: Swearing, angst, nightmares, brief mention of dead parents
Prompts: There's only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling + We dated in high school but then you moved away but now you’re back in town
Word count: 4k~
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---
So I talked to the manager. We have a slight issue,” Rey grimaced, wringing her hands. “We’re short of one room, and they said that they’re fully booked. No spares.” She sighed, throwing herself back onto the couch.
“What? How did that happen?” You asked her, taking a seat beside her.
“I may have miscounted the number of rooms we had to book,” Rey winced, “I mean, planning a wedding is so stressful, why is it so stressful?”
“Okay, okay. So what do we do now?” Guests were just slowly starting to arrive. You hoped Rey already had a solution to the problem.
“Um, Finn suggested, since you have a room to yourself, maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing with someone?” Then she quickly added, “No pressure, only if you’re comfortable, or I can find some other solution.”
You had been helping Finn and Rey plan their wedding for months. The beach resort you had booked for the wedding had been a popular one. Of course, they were fully booked. There was no other solution.
“Fine, I guess, if the other person is okay with it?” you shrugged.
“Oh, that’s great! You’re a true lifesaver,” Rey exclaimed.
“Who is it?” You asked.
“Um, about that,” she hesitated.
“Rey?” You narrowed your eyes at her. Who could it be that she’s so reluctant to tell you?
“It’s Poe,” No.
“Rey,” This was not happening. Share a fucking room? With Poe motherfriggin Dameron? Your fucking ex-boyfriend? Was Rey out of her goddamn mind?
“You can still back out! I’m not forcing you to do anything. It's just that, you know my grandfather. He’s going to make a big deal out of this if he finds out we have problems with the lodgings.” Rey launched into a full-on rant which you knew could last for several minutes if you didn’t stop her. ”Oh god, why did I even send Palpatine an invitation? I don’t even like him!”
“Rey, it's okay,” You sighed, interrupting her ramble. “I’ll do it,” Of course you’d do it. It was your best friend's wedding. You’d do just about anything to keep her happy.
This time she threw herself on top of you, tackling you with a hug. You had worked way too hard on this wedding for someone like Palpatine to spoil the event nitpicking at everything. If the price for that was to spend two nights in the same bed as your ex, you’d do it, for Finn and Rey.
“Great! Finn said Poe should be reaching in an hour or two,” Oh gods, that was fast. But it's better to get it over with right?
“Have you told him yet?” you asked her.
“Oh, not yet. I wanted to get your approval first,”
“What if he isn’t okay with it?”
“Nah, I don’t think that would be a problem,” She assured you.
—-
Poe hesitated before your door. Would it be too late to turn around and run? He was absolutely terrified of facing you. You agreed to share a room with him, so you didn’t hate him right?
Three short raps to the door then Poe waited for you to open it. He raked a hand through his hair, shorn to a length that would be considered neat. So unlike the unruly curls flopping onto his forehead and the full beard he was sporting just last week, dangerously toeing the line between sexy bed hair and caveman. It didn’t feel right to show up to a wedding like that. Especially since he was the best man.
Poe felt his chest tighten like a rope was tied around him, twisting tighter with each passing second until he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. The door swung open and the remaining air emptied from his lungs. There you stood, looking at him. It was you, really you.
Those eyes he hadn’t seen in more than a decade. It really shouldn’t have affected him that badly after so long but he had no control over the way his heart threw itself against his ribs over and over again. No control over his hands as he white-knuckled the backpack slung across one shoulder, trying to stop the shaking. He definitely shouldn’t have felt lightheaded just looking at you.
If he wasn’t so lost in his own emotions, he would’ve noticed that you weren’t doing so well yourself. You were pretty sure you were hearing the dial tone playing somewhere. Or was it just in your head? Your mouth worked but not a single word came out. What could you possibly say to him? It was Poe, but at the same time, he looked nothing like the boy you knew more than a decade ago.
The teenager who had so carelessly shrugged off the love you offered him, leaving everything behind in search of something better. But that was more than a decade ago and the man who stood before you had changed. Just like you were no more the eighteen-year-old too heartbroken to leave your room for weeks. No, you weren’t the same people anymore.
“I um, need to go check on the catering. M-make yourself comfortable,” You threw a forced smile at him, pushing past him before he can react.
No, you didn’t have to check on the catering, it wasn’t arriving until next morning, but you just threw the first excuse that popped up in your head before you were forced to make small talk with the last person you ever wanted to talk to.
Poe watched you almost sprint to the elevator, too dumbfounded to act. Your first words to him in years was you brushing him off. Good start.
He could’ve just asked Finn about you, but Poe felt like that would be prying. If you wanted him to know you would’ve told him, right? If you wanted him, you would’ve spoken to him. Poe sighed, walk into the room sitting on the edge of the bed, yanking off his boots and socks.
A lot had happened over the last decade, from joining the air force against his father’s wishes to watching his best friend get shot out of the sky and being honourably discharged, a broken man returning home with the horrors of battle and loss etched into his being. But Kes was there with open arms, ready to put his son back together, no matter how long it took. If he ever had the chance to raise a child of his own, Poe wanted to be exactly like his father.
There was once when Poe had thought too little of the simple routine of a normal life. How could anyone settle for doing the same thing over and over again for decades? But now he yearned for any type of normalcy in his own life.
He wondered if you had it. A normal life, going to work in the morning, returning to loving boyfriend at night. Date nights in the weekends, planning vacations to get away from it all. You came here alone, that was saying something, right? Or did you have someone waiting for you back home?
Poe should really be paying more attention to his surroundings, because he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking, for five whole minutes before he realized it. He really should’ve seen this coming. The room was supposed to be for one person. So there was one queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, staring back at him, mocking him.
Why did he agree to this? Why did you agree to this? It wasn’t that he had any problems keeping his hands to himself. He’d more sooner bite his own fingers off than laying one on you without your consent.
There weren’t any other options for him. The only other furniture in the room was a table and a chair, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let you sleep anywhere except the bed. He’d slept in worse places, a chair wasn’t that bad. Or perhaps he would forgo sleep for the night. He needed a shower, and maybe just a few minutes of sleep. Then he would get out of your way.
---
It was late when you decided to return to your room. It had been hours since the sun had set and your feet hurt from all the standing. You were more than ready to go back to your room and crash in that bed that looked so damn inviting.
There was only one problem. One that you couldn’t just ignore so easily, because you had to share a bed with said problem. In all honesty, you had no idea how you felt about Poe. Surely seeing him after all these years felt a tiny bit weird and very nerve-wracking, especially since the last words you had exchanged with him weren’t very kind. You didn’t hate Poe Dameron. That was for sure. But you had absolutely no idea how he felt about you.
You found an empty bench, facing the midnight sea, watching the waves crashing into the sand. A calm settled in your bones, the kind that made you wish you could be in that moment forever. No wonder people were willing to pay so much for a few nights here.
You could hear the soft strumming of a guitar from a distance and that caused your thoughts to propel straight towards the one person you were trying not to think of. The goofy little songs he would sing to you, strumming his guitar with deft fingers like he was born to make music.
Poe Dameron was born to do a lot of things. Apparently, loving you was not one of them.
You sighed heavily into the crisp night air. It was getting late. And as much as you loved it there, you still had to go to sleep soon if you wanted to be up in time the next morning.
You were surprised to see that the lights were still on in your room, but when you stepped inside you saw Poe curled up in a fetal position, fast asleep on one side of the bed. His curls looked a little damp and the smell of soap lingered in the air from the shower he took. A small mercy, at least you didn’t have to make small talk until the next morning.
Poe looked so calm and at peace when he was sleeping. You definitely didn’t share Poe’s sentiments about prying into your personal life. You were aware of everything that happened in his life since he left. Finn had told you about the state he was in when he returned after being discharged from the air force almost two years ago. You will never admit it but you still cared about him after all these years, you never stopped caring about him.
Silently, you padded around the room, careful not to wake him as you changed into your soft t-shirt and sleep shorts and slid into the bed beside him.
---
Poe jolted awake, shirt soaked in sweat, gasping for air as the image of a blazing cockpit remained seared into the back of his eyes. The disorienting darkness wasn’t helping in the least as his vision blurred with tears. The only thing he could feel was a warm hand on his chest and another on his face. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears and a voice calling out his name in the distance like he was miles away.
The only light was coming from the glass balcony doors. It took Poe a few long seconds to recognize where he was. He flattened his palms on top of the sheets, the soft cotton cool and smooth beneath his palms, as he forced air into his burning lungs.
He wasn’t there anymore, he was safe.
“Poe?” your voice came clearer as you smoothed the tears off his face. Your face came into view above him in the dark, eyebrows pulled together in worry. Poe felt your fingers in his hair, running through the damp strands fingernails lightly scraping his scalp. You didn’t realize it, but that helped more than anything to ground him as the panic finally released its hold on him.
“I'm okay,” Poe croaked out when he felt like he could breathe again, but his whole body still felt tense. He wasn’t okay by any means, his hands still shook when you handed him a water bottle from your side table, but at least the worst was over. Poe pulled himself up by his wobbling arms, sitting against the headboard.
“Nightmare?” your voice cut through the heavy silence in the room as you joined him. He nodded, head downcast, staring at the bottle in his hands. “Wanna talk about it?” Poe looks at you like that was the last thing he ever expected you to say to him. You were offering to help him? After what he did to you? Sure, that was years ago, he was young and dumb, but you two never really had the chance to talk about it. He was under the impression that you hated him, he surely deserved it.
But you didn’t look like you hated him and he couldn’t help but notice how adorable you looked with your hair all mused up, swaddled in an oversize t-shirt. The urge to wrap his arms around you, lay his head on your chest and never let go threatened to swallow him whole. How could he have been so stupid to ever let you go?
You tilted your head to the side in question as the silence stretched between you. Oh god, he had been staring the whole time. He looked away from you, clearing his throat.
“No, not really,” he replied. He’d done enough talking, he just wanted to forget about it. Going back to sleep was definitely not an option and he didn’t want to keep you awake any longer. “Sorry I woke you up, you should go back to sleep,” his voice was barely a whisper by the end of the sentence. He was just so tired.
“It's okay,” you settled back into your side of the bed but Poe made no move like he had any intention to go back to sleep. “You’re not going back to sleep?” you ask.
“No, I don’t think so,” He answered truthfully. He didn’t want to risk getting pulled into another nightmare. The room fell silent again, the only sound the barely audible distant crashing of waves. Suddenly the thought of you going back to sleep and leaving him alone with his thoughts didn’t seem so ideal. Poe felt his chest constrict in barely contained panic when you spoke.
“How have you been, Poe?” You quietly asked in the dark, almost like you didn’t expect a response from him. Poe swallowed the lump in his throat and burrowed deeper into the covers until the two of you laid facing each other.
“Not too bad,” he shrugged, his voice barely holding as he spoke, but he carried on nevertheless. “What about you?”
“Same, I guess,” you replied. Poe could make out your eyes glinting in the dark, suddenly thrown back into his childhood bedroom when you would sneak in late at night. When you were best friends, you’d spend the night in each other’s company chatting and laughing in hushed tones, careful not to wake up his father. Then you grew older and talking turned to other activities. If Kes knew, he never spoke of it.
“How is Kes doing?” you asked as if you were thinking the same thing. An admittedly large part of him hoped you were. Those memories got him through so many nights when he was bunking with his squadmates but never felt more alone. They weren’t easy to forget. You weren’t easy to forget.
“He’s doing fine. Great, actually,” The thought of his father made him smile. Maybe that was your ploy. “You know, he actually managed to finish that motorcycle restoration he was working on. A few years ago, but he wouldn’t let me touch it,” That made you chuckle, and oh how he missed that sound.
“He still doesn’t trust you after you broke the taillight,” you recounted.
“It was an accident, for goodness sake,”
Silence slowly took hold again as your laughter died down, and it hit you more heavily than ever. You missed Poe so much. Sure, he hurt you when he up and left so easily as if you meant next to nothing to him, but he meant everything to you. You shouldn’t have let the bitterness and resentment get the best of you. You missed so much of his life.
“Mom’s sickness got worse after I graduated,” you spoke again. “I couldn’t stay in the house after she died so I sold it. And college wasn’t great either, I almost dropped out,”
You shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal. It couldn’t have been easy moving to a different state all on your own, with no one to lean on, no one to go to for help. At least you had Finn and Rey.
“But things worked out, and everything is okay now,” you smiled at him. Poe reached out and took your hand in his, shuffling closer to you.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The words felt too heavy, too shameful to even say out loud.
“For what?” You asked.
“I should’ve been there,”
“Poe,” you sighed. “You know, I was so upset after you left, I refused to even talk about you for like almost a year after that,” He looked like he was going to interrupt with another apology but you stopped him. “Senior year was hell after you graduated, even with Finn and Rey right there. But you know what? I understood why you wanted to leave so desperately.” Oh? This wasn’t where he expected this to go but he let you continue anyways.
“I mean, it was a great place to grow up and all but there really wasn’t any future there. I saw it when I finally graduated the year after. I’m not saying I supported your decision to just throw away everything and leave so suddenly like that. It’s just that, neither of us was mature enough to handle that decision properly,” Poe nodded slowly. Looking back, there were so many things he would change if he could. You were right, you were both so young and dumb.
“You know how sometimes you feel like if you don’t do take an opportunity when its right there, you’ll never see it again? That’s what it felt like,” He sighed. “I just really wanted to follow mom’s footsteps so badly. Dad wasn’t too thrilled either. He said I should take more time to think about something so life-altering,”
Did he regret it? The question hung heavily in the air between the two of you, lying on the tip of your tongue, rattling around his head and not for the first time. Some part of him didn’t want to answer.
He didn’t want to regret it. Didn’t want to voice out that the biggest ambition of his life was the reason he laid there a broken shell of a man in many ways. But one thing he knew was that if he hadn’t chased after that desire, if he had let himself take the ‘safe’ option, he would’ve hated himself.
I missed you. Those three words he held back. What right did he have to say it when he was the one that left when he was the one to cause you so much hurt?
“Can we just-” You hesitated. Was it too much to ask for? “Can we just be friends again?” You asked meekly.
Just a few hours ago, he was under the impression that you wanted nothing to do with him. He was still reeling from the fact that you even considered talking to him. You wanted to be friends again? There was nothing more he wanted.
“Yeah, okay,” he replied, very eloquently.
---
Poe woke up to the soft scent of flowers. And then he realized that it was because his face was buried in your hair and he was smelling your shampoo. Poe rubbed the remaining dregs of sleep from his eyes as he fully awoke to you laying almost completely on top of him.
Your form gently rose and fell with every breath you took. Poe considered shifting away from you before you woke up but your arms were tightly wound around him and your weight was settled over him, so warm and soft. He didn’t want to move.
Shit, how did you two end up like this? The last thing he remembered was talking to you, catching up on the decade he had left you behind for. Did you fall asleep like this? How were you going to react to it? He sure as hell didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But the way your face was buried in the crook of his neck gave him the impression that you weren’t exactly uncomfortable.
He was probably thinking too much about it. He was just thinking that he should go back to sleep and deal with it when you wake up when you slowly stirred awake. Poe froze as you lifted your head and blinked at him blearily.
“Mornin’” you rasped before you realize the position you were in. You were so close to him, you could feel his breath fanning against your cheek and your face heated.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” The pet name earned a soft, sleepy smile from you which sent his heart violently thundering in his chest. Hopefully, you didn’t hear it.
You planted a palm on the mattress beside his head, trying to lift yourself off him, but the only thing you managed to do was position yourself right above him as if your previous position wasn’t awkward enough.
You felt Poe’s hands on your hips steadying you on top of him as your elbow came down on the other side of his head, unintentionally caging him under you. Your mind was too sluggish to let you move, you decided, because you stayed there hovering above him unable to move.
Or maybe it was because he was looking at you like that. The heat in eyes robbed the oxygen from your lungs and you watched his throat bob as his grip on your waist became just a fraction harder. You should have moved but you felt frozen in place. He was so close. So close that you could kiss him if you tilted your head just a little-
The shrill sound of your alarm popped the small bubble the two of you found yourselves in. You jolted away from him, pawing at the side table as you reached to grab your phone.
The previous tension melted into an awkward silence as you set your phone back onto the side table. Did you almost kiss him? Christ, what were you thinking? Poe slowly sat up beside you.
“Um, sorry I kept you up for so long last night,” he gave you a small sheepish smile.
“No, it’s not a problem. I’ll be fine,” you assured him. “I um, I should go get ready,” you awkwardly gestured before getting out of the bed.
You had a long day ahead of you.
---
The Dameron taglist (open): @writefightandflightclub @arkofblake @yougottakeeponkeepinon @multifandomlife22 @skymerons @smol-peter-parker @rae-rae-patcha @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @hkmultifandom @cloud-leader @elmoakepoke @staringmoony @valhallavalkyrie9 @the-cry-of-youth @liadamerondjarin @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @takemepedropascal @xremember-me-notx @softly-sad @loserbelle
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thatbloodymuggle · 5 years ago
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the one with the release
Tongue Tied (jj maybank) 11/?
masterlist
word count: 3.5k
warnings: violence blood ‘n shit
playlist
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“I’m so glad that they're still doing this! Keep calm, carry on, back to OBX life."
Rosie walked alongside Kiara towards the scattered crowd of people all seated in front of a large movie screen. She nodded along to her friend while Pope and JJ trailed a few paces behind. John B had been MIA since they failed to find the gold in the Royal Merchant earlier that day, but Rosie just figured he'd want some time alone.
Kie had gathered the rest of the group to attend the OBX Summer Movie Series. Rosie wasn't hard to convince. She agreed with her friend-- they needed some normalcy in their lives with recent events. Pope and JJ on the other hand, were reluctant. Pope had been very on edge in the past couple of days, and it was obvious the two boys knew something that the others didn't.
"You know?" Kie broke Rosie's train of thought, "Aren't you guys glad we made you come?"
Rosie grinned and turned to the boys behind her, who looked less than thrilled.
"Ecstatic," Pope deadpanned.
"My couch was pretty comfy, I'll be honest," JJ grumbled alongside his friend.
The group stopped at a good spot to set up their blanket. Rosie set to work laying it out while Kie walked off to buy some drinks.
"We're out of the green zone, man," Pope spoke lowly to JJ.
"Dude, tranquillo, okay?"
Rosie furrowed her brows. She stopped laying out the blanket and looked up at the two boys. She faced their backs, so they must not have realized she hadn't left with Kie.
"We're in the middle of Kooklandia, this is the last place I wanted to be."
JJ turned around to lock eyes with Rosie. His widened immediately.
"Shut up," JJ grit at his panicking friend, but it was too late. Rosie had already heard.
"Okay, what's going on? You two are hiding something" the girl stood up and crossed her arms.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum looked at each other nervously but didn't say anything.
"Well?" she tapped her foot, growing impatient, "Spit it out!"
"Nothing, we just-" JJ started, but was cut off by Pope.
"We're guilty! Okay? We're guilty and I'm gonna lose my scholarship and the Kook's are gonna kick my ass and--"
"Hold up," Rosie tried to silence Pope who had cracked under pressure. She sat down on the blanket and the two boys followed. "Guilty of what? What did you do?"
Rosie shot a pointed glare at JJ who rolled his eyes.
"What happened to deny, deny, deny," the blond mumbled, hitting Pope upside his head.
"If you two don't spit it out right now-"
"Rafe and Topper jumped him, okay?" JJ spoke aggressive whisper, pointing at Pope. "So we got them back. They had it coming."
"Had what coming?" Rosie hissed.
"We sunk their boat," Pope blurted, earning an elbow in the gut from JJ.
Rosie's jaw dropped, "You did what? Do you two have any idea how dumb that is? If they find out it was you two-"
"They already know!" Pope cried. Rosie and JJ hushed him. The last thing they wanted to do was draw attention.
Before Rosie could question them further, Kie came walking back with three Pepsi's in hand, "I just saw Rafe and he said, and I quote, tell your boy that we know what he did."
Rosie's eyes widened, but she remained silent. Pope looked frantically around the area, and JJ attempted to remain calm.
"Where is he?" the blond coughed.
"Right there," Kie nodded behind them.
Pope whipped around in his seat earning a nudge from Rosie. He couldn't have been more obvious. Rosie and JJ also turned to look where, sure enough, Rafe, Topper, Kelce, and a few other Kooks stood.
"Great! The whole death squad," Pope cried. JJ forced his head back around.
"Just warning you bro if they corner me, I'm come out swingin', okay? Slice and dicin'," the blond mimicked punching.
Kie had caught on that they were hiding something. She looked at Rosie with questioning eyes. The shorter girl sighed and shook her head as if to say, you don't wanna know.
"If that doesn't work," JJ continued, "I got this right here," he held up his back and metal clanked inside, signaling he had brought the gun.
Rosie opened her mouth to scold him, but Kie beat her to it.
"I'm sorry, JJ, please tell me you did not bring a gun here. JJ, there are kids!"
"Kie, I didn't bring the gun. Everything's fine, okay?" the blond put on a very unconvincing act.
She glared at him, "Wow! Thank you. That's really convincing. I love that, JJ."
The other three shifted awkwardly.
"No secrets among Pogues. What is Rafe talking about?" Kie's glare hardened.
Pope grabbed her shoulder and pulled her close, "Kie, it might go down tonight."
"What does that mean? What did y'all do?"
JJ mumbled under his breath, "Deny, deny, deny."
"Their dumbasses sunk Topper's boat," Rosie rolled her eyes, sick of the boys' stalling.
JJ and Pope shot up to glare at her, but she glared right back. "What?" she shrugged, "I'm just relaying what you spilled."
Pope began to argue but was stopped by Kiara.
"Can we all just shut up? We came here to watch a movie, not to indulge in any more drama. We just need a normal night," she groaned, slumping back in her chair
The other three nodded and got themselves comfortable, but Pope was still ridden with nerves. Rosie pulled her legs up and shrunk into her chair. She and Kiara silently passed a bag of popcorn back and forth as the movie started. JJ and Pope sipped on their Pepsis, Pope occasionally glancing back and JJ with his foot protectively over his bag. They sat like this as the movie played and the sunset. Rosie tried to indulge herself in the black and white movie, but frankly, she found it rather boring.
About an hour into the movie, Rosie could hear JJ and Pope rustling beside her. She tried to ignore them, but they only continued. She turned her head to the side to see them stand up out of their seats and begin to stalk off.
"Where are you going?" Rosie hissed.
JJ looked at her as if she was stupid, "We gotta wring it out!"
Rosie narrowed her eyes, "What, you gonna hold it for each other?"
The two boys ignored her and ran off through the crowd, ducking down so they wouldn't be seen. She looked to her left at Kie who had ignored the ruckus and was still focused on the movie. Rosie watched the two boys until they disappeared behind a tree. It suddenly dawned on her. The Kooks were blocking the bathroom.
Rosie turned around in her seat to glance at Rafe and his buffoons, but their seats were empty. She looked frantically around the scene until she finally spotted them walking towards the screen on either side; they were going to corner JJ and Pope.
"Kie, we need to help Pope and JJ, they're getting cornered by the Kooks," Rosie frantically slapped her friend.
"Doesn't JJ have his peacemaker," the taller girl spit in annoyance.
Rosie looked down at the bag he'd left behind.
"No, dumbass forgot it. Come on! I'll take right, you take left."
This seemed to catch Kie's attention. The two girls swiftly shot up from their seats and weaved through the crowd. As Rosie approached the area, she could hear grunting and yelling. She broke into a sprint. Rosie caught sight of Kie approaching from the other side. As the two girls turned the corner, they took in the scene before them.
Pope was on the ground fighting off Topper near Kiara. Kie’s expression morphed into one of horror as she ran forward to yell at Topper.
Rosie was seething. Her blood boiled at the sight before her. Kelce was holding JJ back while Rafe beat him, punch after punch, to a pulp.
"2 on 1, real fuckin' classy, huh Rafe?"
Rosie caught the boy off guard. He looked up at her just as she swung her arm back and punched him as hard as she could.
She felt a crack underneath her fist. The Kook stumbled back, holding his nose in shock. But the look of surprise quickly morphed into something much more menacing.
"You fuckin' bitch," Rafe spit.
"Rosie, run!" JJ groaned, trying to shake out of Kelce's grip.
She didn't listen to the blond. Instead, she swung her arm back to hit Rafe again, only for him to catch her fist with one hand. Rosie realized what was about to happen, but it was too late. Rafe swung his fist at her with full force.
The pain hit her like a truck. She stumbled back, and before she could fight back, he hit her with another. The force of his punches sent her flying onto the ground. Rosie clutched her eye. Her body screamed for her to stay down, but she ignored it. Rosie tried to pull herself back up, only for Rafe to kick her in the gut. Another wave of pain. She rolled onto her back with a groan. She squinted her good eye open to look at JJ who was screaming at Rafe.
"Don't fuckin' touch her!"
Kelce's grip had loosened in shock of his friend beating a girl. JJ used this to his advantage and wriggled out of his arms. The blond lunged at Rafe, hitting him as hard as he could. Kelce quickly regained his grip on JJ.
Rosie forced both her eyes open, but immediately squinted the right one closed at the liquid coming down her face. She rubbed it clear, and held her hand out to see it was covered in blood. Rosie forced herself back up, ignoring the stabbing pain above her eye. She reoriented herself to see that JJ was struggling against Kelce and Rafe was about to hit him again. Before Rosie could lunge at him, something else diverted everyone's attention.
A fire was rapidly spreading across the movie screen. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce dropped their victims and ran from the scene.
"Shit, Pope!"
Kiara sprinted back over to Pope, Rosie, and JJ. She hauled Pope up, whom Topper had been choking.
"Oh my god, Rosie!" the taller girl turned to her shorter friend.
Kie ran over to Rosie to hold her but was shoved off.
"I'm fine," Rosie insisted.
Kie nodded and rushed back over to Pope to support him as they walked off, assuming JJ and Rosie would follow.
Rosie took a step forward but immediately stumbled. A pair of arms wrapped around her to steady her, but she shoved them off.
"I'm fine!" Rosie snapped, meeting JJ's glare.
"Clearly not!" he shouted back, gesturing to her beaten state.
“Good thing it’s not your problem to worry about, then,” she growled.
“You makeyourself my problem!” the blond yelled. Fury laced his darkening eyes.
Rosie ignored him and began to walk in the direction Kie and Pope had left, but was stopped.
"Don't pretend like you can't hear me!" JJ seethed.
"I'll do as I fucking please," she hissed and continued walking.
He chased after her, "So you'll get in fist fights just for the hell of it? Don't be fucking stupid, Rosie!"
"Funny coming from you," Rosie scoffed. The blood boiling in her veins was getting hotter by the second. She continued her swift pace, not looking at him.
He spoke in an eerily low voice, "That was Pope's fight. That was my fight. Not yours. You shouldn't have gotten involved."
"I was saving your sorry ass!" Rosie shrieked, walking faster.
"And that worked out so well," JJ scoffed.
His face was becoming redder than the blood covering it. In all their years of fighting, JJ had never been angrier at her. He roughly grabbed Rosie's arm and yanked her back, forcing her to turn around and face him.
"Haven't you noticed that every time you try to help me you're the one who ends up hurt?! And then I'm the one who has to help you, all because you have this—this savior complex!" JJ fumed.
Something inside Rosie snapped.
"Then stop helping me! I don't need your help, JJ! If I get hurt just leave me alone! I don't need you, I never asked you, so just Fuck. Off."
She began to storm away, but was immediately turned back around.
Rosie and JJ stood like this for a second. Her wild eyes bore through his. His hand clasped around her wrist like a lock and key. Their chests heaved and they exhaled off-beat. The blood painted across both their faces came together like a work of art. Because that's what Rosie and JJ were. A masterpiece.
In one swift motion, JJ pulled Rosie flush against him and crashed his lips onto hers.
Fireworks didn't go off. But the fire burned bright behind them.
Rosie's eyes shot open in shock. Her arms hung stiff by her side. His travelled up to hold her face. She tried to resist, but instinct was stronger. And this time, Rosie gave in to her desire. Just as JJ pulled away, sensing her stiffness, she pulled him right back. The metallic taste of blood danced across her lips, but it only fueled her on. Her arms snaked around his neck, and JJ's gripped her waist. She ran her fingers through his messy locks, tugging just hard enough to remind him she was still pissed. His fingers dug harshly into her skin. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to return the favor.
It was a kiss full of anger, confusion, and the unbearable tension that had been building up for so long. And the release was so sweet. For once, Rosie and JJ letfeelingtake over. It was so easy. So unfamiliar, but so right. And as Rosie's lips moved against JJ's, she realized it was a high she never wanted to come down from.
JJ reluctantly broke away and rested his forehead against hers. They stood there, nose to nose, chest to chest, neither wanting to be the one to pull away.
"Let me help you," JJ breathed. Rosie could smell Pepsi and mint in his breath.
"Only if you let me help you," she whispered back, her voice buttery like the popcorn she'd eaten earlier.
JJ squinted his eyes shut and forced himself away from her. Rosie's gut told her to pull him back, but she knew they couldn't stand there forever.
Instead, they walked slowly, shoulder to shoulder, back to their spot on the lawn. Their anger had subsided, and Rosie was dizzy from everything that had just happened. They collected their things, her blanket and his bag, and set off towards the parking lot. Kie and Pope must've left by now, but luckily Rosie had brought her car.
The pair loaded the Mini-Cooper quietly. They sat in a comfortable silence as Rosie drove to her house. Nothing needed to be said. Not in that moment, at least. Both of their minds were still reeling from the kiss, and they needed some time to process it.
The drive back home was too short for Rosie.
Before she knew it, she'd cut the engine and was unbuckling her seatbelt. JJ led the way into the small house and headed straight for the bathroom. Rosie followed a few paces behind. The bright light of the small room shone, giving them a clearer view of the injuries they'd acquired. Rosie frowned up at JJ, whose cuts and bruises were worse than she'd imagined.
She gasped as she caught her reflection in the mirror. A bruise was rapidly forming around her right eye, and there was a nasty cut above her eyebrow. The blood had smeared across the right side of her face and dried, leaving her with a rather horrific appearance.
"Jump up," JJ instructed, giving her a boost with his hands around her waist. She seated herself on the edge of the counter.
She watched silently as JJ wet a washcloth and brought it up to her face. The warm fabric felt nice against her skin as he softly wiped away the blood. Rosie stared into his eyes, which were back to their normal shade of blue, as he worked. He rubbed some sort of disinfectant on her cut and placed a large band-aid over it. JJ cautiously grasped the end of Rosie's shirt, silently asking for permission. She nodded and he lifted it just enough to see the large bruise forming on her ribs.
"Do you have any ice?" he mumbled as he examined her purple and blue skin.
"Machine's broken.”
He nodded and pulled her shirt back down. Rosie hopped off the counter and raised her eyebrows expectantly at JJ. With a sigh, he took her place next to the sink. Rosie frowned as she took in the damage done to his face more clearly. He had a matching black eye along with a nasty cut on his lip, and various smaller ones littered around his face. She mimicked JJ's movements from earlier. She wet another washcloth and cleared away the blood and dirt. Rosie took her time doing this. She worked meticulously, not wanting to miss a spot.
Rosie applied some disinfectant on the cut right above his lip. She reached her hand up and slowly rubbed it in with her thumb. Her hand lingered on JJ's face, and she let her thumb trace his lips. Her fingertips moved along his jaw, taking in all the ridges and imperfections. She touched him softly; as if he would break if she pushed too hard. JJ watched with curious eyes.
He reached his hand up and clasped it over Rosie's, which was resting on the side of his face. She moved her eyes to meet his, and the same magnetic feeling from earlier urged her forwards. Rosie slowly leaned closer and pressed her nose against his. She waited there, too scared to move any further.
JJ bridged the gap, and his lips were on hers for the second time that night. This time was much different than the first. It was softer, slower, and Rosie took her time taking it all in. His lips were slightly chapped as they rubbed against hers, but it was a nice contrast to her own smooth ones. She'd smelt the mint in his breath earlier, but now she could taste it. JJ brought his right hand to caress the back of Rosie's neck up to her ear, while the other rested on the small of her back protectively. She felt herself melt into him even further. But just as her muscles relaxed, they tensed again.
Rosie pulled away with a sharp inhale. They locked eyes, inches away from each other.
"What are we doing?" she whispered.
JJ stared back. Rosie could tell a million thoughts were running through his mind.
"Going to bed."
Ignore the impending conversation, it is.
He hopped off the counter and tossed the bloody towels into the hamper. The pair moved silently towards Rosie's bedroom. She rummaged through her drawers for a clean shirt to sleep in, as well as something for JJ. She grabbed a pair of sweatpants too large for her and tossed it to the blond boy. He caught it in the air and stripped off his dirty shirt and shorts. Rosie grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a tank for herself. She padded towards the bathroom to change.
When Rosie returned to the room, JJ had already gotten underneath the covers. The moonlight flooding into the room reflected off of his bare chest.  He laid on the edge of the bed, leaving almost all of it for Rosie. Neither uttered a word as she climbed onto the bed and settled herself underneath the covers beside him. After a few more moments of silence, Rosie sighed and turned to face JJ.
"You were right, you know."
The blond furrowed his brows, "About what?"
"The other night. When you said that we're more similar than we think. You told me that I'm too impulsive for my own good," she spoke in a low voice.
"I wasn't sure if you remembered any of that," he mumbled, turning his head to look at her.
Rosie inched forward, "How could I forget?"
"You were wrong about something else though," she continued.
"'M? What's that?"
Rosie waited a beat before answering, "You're not a lost cause."
His blue eyes bore through hers. They were riddled with an emotion Rosie couldn't decipher. He tried to formulate a response, but it wasn't necessary.
Rosie scooted closer to JJ and rest her head on his chest. He tensed at first before instinctively wrapping his arms around her. The pair released a sigh of relief as they gave in to the burning itch to hold each other.
Rosie would be lying if she said that she wasn't worried about what all of this meant; that she wasn't scared about what the next day would bring. But, for once in her life, she embraced the uncertainty with open arms. She let herself melt into him. And she let him lull her to sleep with the steady rise and fall of his chest.
JJ and Rosie were both scared shitless. But they'd finally collided, and there was no going back now.
Sweet release.
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taglist:
@tangledinsparkles @lovelymaybankk @my--heroine​ @thelonelyumbrella @floretsoleil @flick24 @books-netflix-and-pizza@dad-ee-drea @dolanfivsosxox​ @anahgiedd @love-bean​ @maleriefay @mrs-maybank @shawnssongs​ @downbytheouterbanks​ @lostwnoah @2410slb​ @daygiowvibe​ @thesailbells​ @outrbank​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​ @wicked-laugh​
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if u think the angst is over... honey, you’ve got a big storm coming
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stones-x-bones · 4 years ago
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Pretty Weird Problems || Milo and Bex
TIMING: Last Night PARTIES: @wickedmilo and @inbextween SUMMARY: Bex runs into Milo on a midnight walk and the two decide to stop skirting around what they both already suspect. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mentions, internalized homophobia, Medical blood
Bex was having a good day, and good days usually led to good nights. She’d opted to go for a walk through the Commons, enjoying the fact that it was no longer so flooded. They’d even managed to get the fairy lights that lined the gazebo working and Bex cut across the field to stroll over to it. Mina was busy this evening and Bex had needed a distraction, and what better way to distract herself than taking a nice, long walk. She’d...walked really far, actually. It was strange how free she felt. She’d rode the ferry across the canal and walked all the way from the station to here, without missing a beat. Being normal felt so-- normal. No aches in her body, no fear about being seen, no worries about having to go home and wondering which set of hands was waiting for her. No, she could just go out and do what she wanted, live her life. Live the life she’d always wanted. She finally had everything she wanted. 
She wondered if it would all go wrong at some point. That was something that would happen, especially here, especially to her. But, for now, she’d enjoy it. She circled back around the gazebo to the little rock archway and started down, when she heard a familiar voice. It was hazy through her drunken mind, but she recognized it. Moving quickly through the brush, she turned and came upon the boy that had helped her out not too long ago, by swiping a bottle of alcohol for her. She beamed, she couldn’t wait to tell him she was normal. And if she could get what she wanted, maybe he could, too. “Milo!” she called out, waving, “It’s Bex. What’re you doing here?”
Milo had been on the phone to Rio, talking about next to nothing as he cut across the common in a bid to make it home. There was plenty of time before the sunrise was due, but sometimes it was a nice change of pace to sit in the apartment he shared with Harsh. They would cook together, or watch tv, or even pay Summer and Quinn some attention. The older vampire had become a comfort, though he would never admit that out loud. When things were beginning to overwhelm him, he felt safe with Harsh. He felt capable. White Crest, as always, had other plans for him though. And despite having just left Orion’s home, he begrudgingly said goodbye, ending the call as he turned to face whoever had called his name. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, it didn’t take him long to notice Bex. She looked decidedly more upbeat than the last time he had seen her. He wasn’t sure whether that was due to the lack of alcohol in her system, or something else entirely. Glancing up at the sky, as though double checking it was dark, he caught her eye again with a quizzical grin. “How could I forget?” He teased, crossing the distance between them both so that she would no longer feel the need to shout. “What are you doing here?” He countered. “Isn’t it a bit late for a walk?” 
“No, I don’t really think so,” Bex said, shrugging. She looked back up and to the sky, fading quickly from sunset oranges to nighttime blues. “I mean, maybe, but the Common is pretty well lit and safe at night. Usually. Back when the portals were open, it sure wasn’t, but that’s all over now! Just a strange bit of gravity fluctuations and occasional snowfall,” she pointed out, grinning. “And I guess the constellations are all whacky, but there’s not much we can do about any of those.” Even if everyone else she’d talked to had been rather distressed about it all, she was finding it hard to be. Not when everything felt good, great. She brought her eyes back down level with Milo’s and smiled. “If you’re worried about me, you don’t need to be. And I uh-- never properly said thanks for last time.” It was still a blur in her mind, stumbling drunk in the park, then being walked back to his apartment and laid in a bed. When she’d woken the next morning, she’d crawled out of the apartment, wincing under harsh sunlight and pretending like she wasn’t curious about his ‘don’t look in the fridge’ rule. Her curiosity had always seemed to be a bane, but like this, it felt more like a boon. Asking questions didn’t get her in trouble anymore. At least, not with her parents. “You never answered my question-- are you just out for a walk, too?”
It wasn’t the first time Bex had said something Milo struggled to keep up with. He only knew about the portals through the experiences of others. Whatever was happening with gravity, and the weather hopefully wouldn’t affect him. Deciding not to ask too many questions, lest he accidentally tempt fate and start floating up towards the sky, he laughed quietly. “White Crest can be really fucking weird.” He muttered, glancing up at the stars himself to see if he might notice any difference in their arrangement. “I mean… it’s probably better to just ignore it, right?” He was only half serious, but it had proven to be a rather efficient coping strategy. Especially when he was faced with the supernatural, things he still didn’t understand, or feel familiar with. Turning his attention back to Bex he was glad to see she seemed to be taking the same approach of acceptance. If something happened to them, they could deal with it. Until then, how was worrying going to help? Returning her smile, he hurried to brush off her thanks. Taking her home to sleep off the alcohol had been far easier than first anticipated. As predicted there was human food in the fridge which he had encouraged her to eat before sleeping. And she had been more than respectful of the boundaries put in place to stop her from finding anything distinctly vampiric. “We’ve all got our shit to deal with.” He shrugged, letting her know he wasn’t about to baby her because she used alcohol to deal with her baggage. Wasn’t he guilty of doing the very same? 
“And I trust you.” He added. “If you say you’re okay, you’re okay.” It was the very least he could offer her. He had been told so many times that he had problems, even after adamantly denying the fact. It was important to feel heard, to know you could trust the person you were with. “I mean- you look okay. Good-” He corrected himself. “You look good.” He caught her eye, his smile growing in response as he properly took her in. There was something different, a weight that seemed suddenly absent from her shoulders. “Your question? Oh-” He laughed, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “I actually just left a friend’s house, so kind of? I’m supposed to be walking home, but if you’re up for some company I wouldn’t mind a midnight stroll.” He prompted, secretly hoping she would take him up on his suggestion. He wanted to know why she looked so content, what had compelled her to call out his name. “You can tell me about how miserable it was trying to get home with your hangover. That can’t have been fun.” 
“I don’t think ignoring it is really the right answer, no,” Bex said, wringing her hands together, “but knowing what you can and can’t handle is probably a good idea around here.” Her eyes went back up to the stars, and the distress they’d originally caused her was still there, floating just above their heads, millions of billions of miles away. Stars didn’t move. But she had to remind herself that that also meant she wasn’t capable of moving them, either, and therefore nothing could be done. Especially when she didn’t have magic anymore. And she didn’t want it anymore. She smiled. “True, we do, but, like, sometimes we can help each other out with our shit, you know? At least, I’d like to be able to be someone who can help others out, like how you helped me out. It was-- nice, not having to go home for a night.” And it was nice, now, to be able to go home to a life that didn’t threaten her every moment she did something wrong. “Well, thanks, then. For trusting me.” Not many people did, in that way. She’d always been too naive, too ignorant, too “out of the loop” as far as the supernatural was concerned. 
She let out a gentle chuckle, in stark contrast to the ridiculous laughter that had consumed her while she’d been drunk. “It’s fine, I know what you mean. I feel good, too. But sure! Yeah, I wouldn’t mind the company. I was just gonna kinda walk around here, maybe towards the lake. Where the night takes me.” Even if she’d been reminded several times that the lake was dangerous and now, without her magic, maybe even more so. She didn’t really care, though. “Oh, god, please don’t make me recount that tale. It was miserable. More so because it was so damn sunny out. I’ve never hated the sun more so than that morning. Or...afternoon. I don’t remember what time it was, just that once I got home I slept the rest of the day.”
Milo laughed, unable to help himself. Despite strongly suspecting Bex was more than human, or at the very least somebody who knew about the supernatural, the idea of her being able to help him with his problems didn’t quite feel believable to him. Even his closest friends couldn’t take away the pain or the trauma. And apparently there was nothing he could do about the constant thirst for blood. “No offense, but I’m not sure what you could do to help me with my shit. Ignoring it has proven to be a pretty reliable mechanism.” Maybe not always, but on the few blissful nights he had been able to drink and forget, he almost, almost felt normal. Human again. And that was as close as he seemed to get to being genuinely okay. A smile tugging at his lips despite the bitter nature of his thoughts, offering Bex a place to stay had been the obvious course of action. He hadn’t considered the fact that he might be helping her beyond ensuring she was safe. “Oh, I- it wasn’t a big deal, you know?” He brushed off her comment with a shrug. “I just- you didn’t want to go home so… I wasn’t about to make you.” 
Watching her carefully, curious to understand why trusting her was something she felt the need to thank him for, his smile began to grow. He really did enjoy her company, he wanted her to know that. “You don’t need to thank me for trusting you.” He insisted. He figured he should probably thank her for trusting him too, for not going through his things, or trying to look inside of the fridge. But that would only draw attention to the strange rules he had put in place, and he wasn’t sure that would be a very smart move. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He added, hoping she could see he was being sincere, while simultaneously diverting the conversation. It didn’t take a genius to realise she was going through a lot, and everyone deserved a break from their struggles, regardless of how they managed to achieve that temporary escape. He laughed again at her reaction to her hangover being mentioned. But this laughter came easily, it was a product of good company. Of memories that were tinged with underlying emotion, but happy on the surface. He could look back on them with a strange sense of fondness. “Yeah, me and the sun don’t exactly get along.” He admitted. “I’m sorry about the blackout curtains, I guess they can make it pretty disorientating when you leave the apartment during the day…” Shit. He realised too late that he had essentially done exactly what he had been trying to avoid. Maybe he hadn’t drawn attention to the fridge, but he had just reminded her the entire apartment existed in a perpetual state of darkness. Nice one, Milo. 
Bex had never thought that she was all that good at making friends, but that was back when fear had dictated her every move. Fear of if people might judge her for how she was born, fear of if they would find out about her magic (although she hadn’t called it that back then), fear of if she might hurt them or them her. Fear of if her parents wouldn’t approve and they’d get taken away before she even got a chance to grow close. But that was before, and this was now, and maybe she liked the idea of being friends with Milo, because he was sweet and he was helpful, and she liked that she could make him smile in a way that seemed almost relaxed. “Well, if you ever do think of a way, anything, really, just lemme know. I’d like to, you know, pay it back somehow. Even if it’s just a small thing.” She was quiet for a moment, her face drawing pensive for a moment. “It was a big deal, for me, at least. Even if it wasn’t for you.” She smiled again-- whatever the situation was back then, it didn’t exist now. “But we don’t have to talk about it.” 
She perked back up, smoothing her hands along the fringes of her dress. It was one of her dresses that her mother rarely approved of, except at gatherings where she could catch the eye of some rich politico that could help the family. Bex liked it because she felt nice in it and she looked good in it and she’d wanted Mina to see her in it. “Thanks. I hope things are going well for you, too. There seems to be a bit going on around town, huh?” She shrugged, trying not to less the curious questions in her stomach bubble up. Her tendency to run her mouth and ask too many questions had been a downfall for her quite a few times. “Do you like, work overnights or something?” she found herself asking before she could stop herself. She didn’t want to automatically assume anything, but not being out in the sun, having blackout curtains, and an aversion to people looking in the fridge gave Bex a few too many questions. 
Milo wasn’t necessarily touched by the sentiment, many people had said similar things to him in the past. He was touched by the fact that Bex obviously meant what she was saying. There weren’t many people he felt like he could genuinely approach with his problems, but despite only knowing each other for a night, and maybe half of a day, Bex was quickly becoming one of those people. A rather impressive feat, all things considered. “I’m not making any promises.” He teased. “I have, uh- some of my problems can be pretty weird.” His smile faltering as he noticed his company’s expression shift, he fell silent again, giving her the space she needed to feel comfortable. “Oh…” He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting her to say, and the rush of emotion that followed her words was unexpected. Not for the first time he felt the unusual urge to protect her, to keep her safe. Was this the way Dani used to feel about him? Before he changed? Before she stopped loving him? He cleared his throat, feeling awkward in the face of such unguarded honesty. “You know the offer is always there… I mean- if you ever need a place to stay. You know where I am.” He might be taking a risk but he almost didn’t care. Her wellbeing was suddenly far more important to him than being sensible. 
Not failing to notice the way she brushed herself off, seemingly putting the conversation behind her in preparation to move on, he nodded, taking a moment to contemplate her question. “I didn’t notice for a long time,” he scuffed his feet as he spoke, feeling ridiculous for being so oblivious now that he knew how obvious the Weird of White Crest actually was. “But yeah, there always seems to be a lot going on in this town. The chaos has become pretty hard to escape these past few months.” Would he ever be able to escape it again? He tried not to dwell on the question. “But you know… I guess it is what it is.” Lowering his gaze, the phrase never really helped him to feel any better, but every time he uttered it he found a part of him was secretly hoping it might. He only looked back up again when Bex mentioned the blackout curtains, and he cursed himself for being so stupid. Of course she was going to pick up on that. Of course she was going to be curious. “Oh, I… my roommate does.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Harsh worked nights more often than not, only sneaking out for the occasional day shift when the weather was dark, and gloomy. “I think it’s easier just to leave them up, his schedule can be pretty unpredictable so…” 
“Good, you shouldn’t make promises,” Bex said, perhaps a little too excitedly for the topic. It was hard for her to not be happy right now, really. She had everything she ever wanted, and while it wasn’t much, it made her entire life different. Better. “Especially to people you don’t know-- know well.” She caught herself, giving a chuckle at the end of her sentence to try and cover up the slip. “Just cause, you know, sometimes people get weird about that stuff. Especially here. Speaking of which, I was kinda like that, too. Technically I grew up here, but I didn’t ever notice how--” she chewed her tongue a moment-- “strange the place really was until recently.” Until she started leaving her home regularly. Until she’d met Nell in that computer lab. But those details weren’t important. She didn’t even remember telling Milo about Morgan and Nell last time they’d been together, drunk in the park. “And thanks, for the offer. I won’t say it’ll never happen again, but I think I’ve got a good thing going now, so hopefully I won’t have to crash your pad again any time soon.” But in a town like this, she supposed it was a ‘never say never’ sort of situation.
“The offer is there for you, too, you know,” Bex said suddenly, noting the way the conversation shift had turned a bit tense. Maybe not tense, but sometimes people had secrets that they didn’t want to share, and Bex’s curiosity could be seen more as nosiness or digging into things she shouldn’t be digging in. She hated that idea, but people were allowed their secrets, no matter how bad she wanted to know. “Does he? That’s cool. It’s nice that you don’t mind the curtains, either, then. I’m such a morning person. And a night owl. Actually, I don’t really sleep much, but I definitely have never been able to sleep long in the mornings.” Even when she was laying next to Mina, wrapped in her arms. “Are you like, more of a night person, then? The two times I’ve run into you have been at night, which technically isn’t enough for a pattern, but it could be leading to one. No judging if you are! Of course not. It’s just that this place is kind of-- you know, dangerous at night.” 
Milo had only been suspicious until now, but after hearing Bex warn him about making promises he would be willing to bet almost anything on her knowing about the supernatural. But how? She didn’t strike him as a hunter, although Dani had always presented herself as caring, and kind. If she was a slayer, wouldn’t he already be dead? So what? A witch, a mara, a werewolf? Or maybe even a human in the know? He wanted to ask, to sate his curiosity, but he forced himself to hold his tongue. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.” He said carefully, wondering whether she might out herself if he hinted at being a part of her world. Raising his eyebrows when she mentioned taking a while to notice the truth of White Crest, he ran over the implication behind her words. Had she been turned too? Was there any way for him to uncover that information without actively asking her? “I know how that goes.” He admitted, framing his words as casual. “Waking up and realising everything is just… different. It’s not an easy thing to navigate but… we’re still here.” He smiled at her, hoping she was right. He had never been the type to judge others but the idea of her being happy enough to no longer need her crutch was a genuinely nice one. One he was willing to root for. 
Surprised to hear his own offer echoed back to him, he felt his demeanour soften. Every instinct in him was telling him he could trust Bex. It was so hard to remind himself that those instincts could possibly be wrong. “They don’t… they don’t bother me.” He said, debating how far he could conceivably push the conversation before he was being too open, before he was putting himself at risk. “I don’t really sleep anymore… but I used to sleep until noon when I could.” Not that he hadn’t tried more than once to do so again, the best he could achieve was a strange, trance-like lack of consciousness. He hated it. “Oh, yeah… I’m definitely a night person. I always have been… before I started partying I used to study at night.” He laughed quietly at the contrast in activities. “My life would be very different if I didn’t abandon academia.” A soft sigh escaping him, he caught his friend’s eye when she told him the town could be dangerous. He could still remember what it felt like, living in blissful ignorance. He missed it. “Believe me, I know. I kind of found out the hard way… but I appreciate the heads up.”
“Really? Well, that’s good.” Bex nodded slowly. Her suspicion was slowly being confirmed-- Milo knew something about the supernatural. She didn’t know how he fit in, but she assumed he had the same thought about her. How did they both fit in? And who would break first? It would be Bex, she knew that. Being a witch wasn’t as precarious as being something like a zombie or a werewolf. Something that people actively hated and hunted. Witch hunters, for all she was aware, were a rare and unnecessary occurrence. She wasn’t in danger of them. “You should listen to that advice, then. And also maybe even hold off on saying ‘thanks’ too much. My girlf--” the word stuck in her throat, like it always did, and she swallowed it, “--one of my friends told me to try and replace ‘thanks’ with ‘I appreciate that’ or ‘I’m grateful for’. They’re better to say, anyway.” Smiled, trying to brush off the mishap. It was strange to her that possibly telling someone she had magic was easier to swallow than telling someone she was dating a girl. “I think, for me,” she started off, brows knitting together a moment, “it was less waking up and just realizing it and more...finally admitting to myself that things here were different. Like, I’d always known, but pretended I hadn’t. But then things happen and you can’t really deny it anymore, you know? And so I admitted it,” she shrugged, “I think things technically got better after that, although sometimes it doesn’t seem that way.”
She examined his face as they walked and wondered what the strange curve of his brow meant as he answered her. She’d never been good at reading expressions on people, unless they carried anger. She tilted her head in contemplation. “You know, you can always go back,” she said, “to school. College doesn’t have an age cap.” Sometimes she’d wished she’d been able to wait to start college, but not because she was disinterested. But because her life had been messy back then, and maybe if she’d been smarter, had known more about the world, she wouldn’t have fallen into bed with the first girl who cast her an empathetic glance. She turned away, cheeks slightly tinged. “Yeah, me, too. I-- I take it you’re okay now? It-- I mean, physically? Whatever happened. Was it--” had something attacked him, too? Did he also have the sting of scars on his body from an ignorance that had left him vulnerable?
“I guess my friends are much smarter than I am.” Milo was only half joking. Even after suffering at the hands of the supernatural, he was reckless in his behaviour. Without Rio constantly pressing him to stay focused, to pay attention, he would probably be in a lot more danger, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that. “I try.” He admitted, being entirely honest. Trying meant he failed more often than not, but the warning was always there in the back of his mind. A knowing smile tugging at his lips as Bex stumbled over the word girlfriend, it was an act he had seen many times before, and one he knew not to interrupt. That didn’t stop his eyes from shining as he wondered who this ‘girlfriend’ might be. “My friend told me the same,” he thought back to his conversation with Orion. It was the first night he had ever spent in his house, and he held the memories very close to his heart. Falling silent to listen again, he dissected the explanation he was given in his mind. If she hadn’t woken up to a different White Crest then maybe she had been born into it. Surely it took Dani a long time to realise the way she was being raised wasn’t normal. Could it have been the same for Bex? “They did?” He asked quietly, hope lacing his tone as he wondered whether there was a chance for things to get better for him. Maybe one day he could fully embrace being a vampire. It could become what he was and not what someone had made him. 
“Go back?” It took him a few seconds to realise what his company meant. He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “I don’t need to,” he explained. “I got my degree, you know? I did what my parents wanted me to do, even if it wasn’t in the way they wanted me to do it.” Hiding whiskey in his coffee during exams, and skipping out on morning lectures because he was hungover from the previous night definitely wasn’t a part of their plan. Neither was a degree in English Literature. But as far as he was concerned, it was an achievement, all the same. What would he study if he did decide to return? And how would he work around the schedules when the majority of classes took place during the day? Furrowing his brow, he forced the thought to the back of his mind. He had chosen his path, and it had led him here. There was no going back. “Oh- I-” He wasn’t prepared for the sudden change in direction, and his hand absentmindedly moved to rest against the scars on his neck. “That kind of depends on your definition of okay.” He murmured, thinking about Dani, how she saw him as a monster. Then Harsh, who told him he was dead, but being dead was simply an opportunity to start anew. Then Macleod, who insisted with vehement conviction that he wasn’t dead, he hadn’t died. Only changed. Evolved for better or for worse. “How did you find out?” He asked, uncharacteristically bold in his question. They had been dancing around the subject, but he wanted to know now, far more than he wanted to protect himself. Even if he wasn’t quite ready to give up his secret. “That White Crest was different?” 
“They did? Oh, well, then, you should definitely listen to your smarter friends,” Bex nodded. Had she said too much? Did Milo know about the fae? Was Milo’s friend a fae? Oh, she hoped she hadn’t just exposed someone, even if she was curious. But the tone in his voice stopped her short of any other thoughts on the subject, when he gave the smallest response to her announcement that things had gotten better for her. It was hope, and it felt like it might strangle Bex. Should she tell Milo about Erin? Was that her place to? Was his pain anything like hers? Did he need saving like she had? She swallowed. “They did. Get better. But not easily. Not out of nowhere.” She lifted a hand to her ribs-- the injury was gone, but she could still remember the pain. Still remembered what it felt like when her head had hit the dumpster, over and over and over again. “I had help, too. So, if-- just, you know, so you know...it’s okay to accept help, if you need it.” Maybe that was the best answer she could give for now. She clasped her hands together behind her back as they walked and watched her feet a moment, shoes brushing against grass under the rubber soles. 
“Well, you know, you could always go back and do what you wanted to, you know,” she pointed out. “Instead of what your parents wanted of you. But only if that’s something you want to do.” She didn’t much like his answer to her question, either. Things didn’t seem as at ease as she’d thought they were when she first spotted him. She bit her lip, then sighed. “I blew up a computer lab with my mind,” she blurted, suddenly. “Well, not my mind, technically. Maybe? I’m still not sure what magic actually comes from. My mentor says it’s from the soul or the energy inside of us, but if our bodies are our minds, then I guess technically it is my mind. From my mind. So, yeah-- I blew up a computer lab with my mind and after that, it was hard to deny all the things I’d known for so long but never wanted to accept.” She looked over at Milo. “What um...what about you?”
Milo laughed, nodding in agreement with Bex. “I don’t think I would be here if I didn’t.” He admitted. Maybe there was an element of exaggeration to his words, but the information provided by people like Rio, and Macleod was invaluable. There was no doubt in his mind that it might save him one day. Fingers still pressed against the base of his neck, he could feel the scars beneath them. A frown creasing his brow as he listened to Bex explain things were difficult, they hadn’t miraculously changed for her overnight, it was impossible for him to understand what she meant without a little extra context, so he nodded quietly. Letting her know she still had his full attention. “Help?” He asked, curious to know what kind of help. “Do you mean your friends?” Lowering his hand, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip, he wondered what things would look like for him if they did get better. It was a vague concept, it could mean so many different things. “I don’t need help-” He insisted, breaking off as he reminded himself she wasn’t talking about his habits. Repressing the instinctive response, he forced down any part of himself that was becoming defensive. Bex clearly wasn’t about to order him to walk into an AA meeting. She was talking about something else. “I mean… thank you. But I think I’m okay… kind of, anyway. I have some good people in my life… when things get weird, they’re usually there waiting for me to freak out.” 
Thinking for a moment, allowing a few beats of silence to pass, he realised with a start that he didn’t know what he wanted to do. For so long he had told himself he was content with working in the comic book store, couch surfing to avoid any form of genuine commitment. Even English Literature had been the easy choice, not necessarily the choice he would have made if he was a different person. If he had more motivation, a determination to do well. “Even if I knew, I don’t know how possible it would be to just go out and do shit.” He shrugged, brushing off his honesty before it could hurt him, before he could dwell on it for too long. But then Bex was distracting him with her own honesty, honesty he had prompted, but definitely not been expecting from her. It took him a few minutes to fully process what she was saying, but when he did he faltered to a halt, eyeing her with an even mixture of disbelief, and satisfaction. “Wait- what?” So not only was she supernatural, she had totally caved first. Was it wrong to feel so smug about that? “You’re a witch?” He asked, despite her just having confirmed the fact. “I…” He trailed off as she turned the question back on him, not prepared to answer it himself. But he owed her, he couldn’t exactly walk away after she had put herself in such a vulnerable position. A soft sigh escaping him, he steeled himself to tell her his own story. Or a part of it, at least. “Someone with fangs decided I looked like a snack… I guess they overindulged because…” He offered her a hesitant smile, revealing his fangs in the way Harsh had taught him to. He tapped one absentmindedly, wrinkling his nose. “Well, I woke up with these.” 
Bex was a little perplexed at his immediate denial of needing help, clearly he needed help-- anyone in this god forsaken town needed help, if she was being honest. But just as much as she’d needed to understand that she couldn’t do things alone, so did he. She wouldn’t push it, it wasn’t a lesson she had the right to teach anyone, when she was still learning it herself. She nodded slowly. “Okay, well, if you do ever need it, just know I’m here. Don’t hesitate to ask. And--” she looked at him sincerely, genuinely hoping he understood that, even if they’d only known each other from two run-ins, she would help him. It was really all she wanted to do, help people. Understand things better so she could do that better. Understand this world. “I’m glad you have people there to help you. Having a support system is always good.” She wouldn’t have survived this town without hers, that was for sure. A subconscious hand ran across her chest. Kyle’s life would have been ruined had he actually killed her that first night. She wanted to make sure something like that never happened again. And it wouldn’t, now that her magic was gone.
“Why not?” Bex asked, not understanding the restrictions Milo might face without knowing what he was. She didn’t want to push, though. She turned away, even as he stopped in his tracks, and shrugged. “I prefer the term spellcaster,” she said, picking at a seam on her dress. And the proper wording would’ve been was a spellcaster, thanks to the wish. She didn’t feel like explaining that part yet, though. His hesitation brought her gaze back up. “I-I’m sorry! You don’t have to answer, I understand--” but then he was answering. Someone with fangs. A vampire. Bex felt her chest squeeze and she swallowed, trying to remind herself that vampires were people, too, and her one run-in with the woman outside the library wasn’t representative of all vampires. She had no reason not to trust Milo. What would Mina say? She shook her head. “Oh,” she answered, finally, “I-- that must be difficult, to-- to adjust to.” A pause. “But,, you know, night school is a thing. And there’s plenty of overnight jobs here. And-- I have a friend who’s also undead. They go to the butchers here to get food and they’re really good about it. And being discreet. Do you-- I mean the blood thing-- do you have enough? Do you get enough food? You drink animal blood, right?”
Milo looked at Bex as she paused, somehow everything she wanted to say was conveyed in her brief moment of silence, and he knew. He understood. “Thank you.” He said, his voice gentle and sincere. They hadn’t known each other for long but he felt as though they had more than a few things in common. Coping mechanisms, and trauma. The kind of things you could bond over. The kind of things that made you want to protect each other. When he had helped her into the bar, when he had stolen her that bottle of vodka, he had recognised something in her. Something that reminded him so deeply of himself. Even without the alcohol it was still there. He could still see it. “Do you have one?” He asked, remembering her mention of Morgan, and Nell. People she had been so sure she would never be able to see again. “A support system?” Making a vague gesture with his hands, brushing off her question as to why he wouldn’t be able to follow his non-existent dreams, he offered her a smile instead of an answer. “Spellcaster?” He echoed, using her correction as a way to move the conversation forward. Away from the things he could no longer do. “Is that personal preference, or just a general rule?” He was reminded of Macleod, the way she hated any terminology that referred to her as dead. 
His smile growing somewhat as she hurried to insist he didn’t have to tell her what he was, keeping the information to himself would feel incredibly unfair, but he appreciated her attempt at making him feel comfortable. “No, no- it’s okay…” He did his best to assure her. “You were honest with me… it’d be kind of a dick move if I wasn’t honest with you too.” His hand moving once again to rest over the scars on his neck, he heard her heart rate elevate, but she made no outward move to imply she was nervous. He didn’t enjoy the idea of scaring people, and hopefully it wouldn’t take long for her to realise he wasn’t a genuine threat. But it still hurt, jut a little. “It was.” He agreed. “It is… I mean- I was thrown into this world I didn’t even know was real. The guy who did this to me, he left… I literally didn’t know anything.” A quiet laugh escaping him at the mention of night school, he shook his head. He couldn’t even begin to imagine going back to school. What would he achieve? What would he gain from doing so? This was his life now, and there was no escaping it. “I assume you mean Morgan?” He asked, at the mention of a friend being dead. “You mentioned her when you were pretty out of it… but I know her. I’m pretty sure she hates me.” His eyes shining to let Bex know he was half teasing, he thought back to his last conversation with Morgan and wondered whether there might be some truth to his words. They didn’t exactly see eye to eye. “Oh-” He was pulled out of his thoughts by the mention of blood, caught off guard by what felt like an incredibly personal question. “For a while…” He admitted. “I got lucky. I don’t want to out anyone but I have a friend with a habit of taking a blood bag or two from the hospital... It’s enough to keep me going.” Maybe more than enough, but he didn’t want to make Harsh sound like more of a deviant than he technically was. If he got the man into trouble then their collective supply would be in danger. “Everything kind of worked out…”
“I do have one, yeah,” Bex answered with a nod. For a while there, she hadn’t. Or, well, she’d rejected it, because she thought they’d be hurt by her family if she’d kept trying. They’d all been hurt, anyway, though, so it hadn’t mattered in the end. She’d made the wrong decision. But that was the past, and she couldn’t change that past anymore than she could change the way she grew up. “It was...rough for a while, i tried to do it without them, but it was a mistake. There’s--” she took in a breath, wrapped her arms around herself, “--I learned the hard way that I can’t protect anyone by keeping them away. Even if keeping close means they might get hurt, it-- it’s better that way. It really is.” And she was still learning that, too. Even now, with a normal life, a regular life, she was learning to accept people back into her life, despite the possible threats she’d be introducing them to. She shook her head, grateful for the change of conversation. ‘Nope, just a me thing.” She glanced over at Milo. “I think it’s all kind of the same meaning, but I just-- witch carries a weird connotation for me, I guess. I’m not pagan so I just...don’t feel right being called that.”
HIs next words made Bex’s heart constrict a bit. He was right, it was really only fair of someone to be honest with another if they shared something deep and personal. Her thoughts jumped to Eddie and his confession to her and she bit the inside of her cheek. She needed to tell him. He deserved to know, even if she could barely admit it outloud still. “Oh, I-- i did? So you know about her?” she was surprised, but not too surprised. She loved Morgan, of course she’d talked about her while wasted. She rubbed her hands together. “I-- I don’t think she hates you. I think it takes a lot for Morgan to hate someone. I’d probably know if she hated you, she’s not subtle about it.” It was her turn to falter and pause, and she felt herself take a small step backwards. “You-- so you--” her eyes went to his fangs, then his eyes, his hand still pressed over his neck, presumably where his scars were. She had some of her own, even if they hadn’t turned into a reminder of death. “You drink human blood?” ethically sourced, at least. Well, more ethical than getting it from a warm body itself. Stealing blood from the hospital wasn’t exactly the most moral thing to do, but morality, she reminded herself, was skewed in the supernatural world. She rubbed her neck. “I-- I should probably um, head home, though. It’s getting late and Mina is expecting me back soon.” She didn’t want to things to suddenly feel tense, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t know how she felt about a vampire who still drank human blood, and she didn’t think figuring out here was the best idea. She liked Milo, she didn’t want to ruin that.
“That’s good.” Milo smiled, remembering how insistent Bex had been when she was drunk, determined to believe she couldn’t let people in. The fact that she seemed to have changed her mind felt important, and he was reminded of her telling him things were better now. Better how? What was suddenly so different? “I think there’s always a risk of getting hurt… or of other people getting hurt. Isn’t that just the nature of friendship?” And romance, though he could hardly say he was experienced in that particular area. “What matters is that you care, and that these people care about you too… that’s all you can ask for, really. Isn’t it?” Staying silent as his company began to explain why she preferred using the term spellcaster, he hadn’t been expecting to understand her logic, even he was determined to respect it. But he did understand. It was so similar to Macleod, and sometimes even the way he felt. Vampire had connotations too, dark ones, and ridiculous ones. Honestly, there was something appealing about the theatrics of sleeping in a coffin. He was almost sad that wasn’t a legitimate thing. 
“I do, yeah. And you might have mentioned her.” He teased, catching her eye with an easy grin. “Only in passing, don’t worry. You didn’t tell me anything you shouldn’t have. You made it pretty clear you were friends, that’s all.” Laughing at Bex insisting Morgan didn’t hate him, he shook his head, remembering some of what was said during their last meeting together. If she didn’t hate him then she was about as close as a person could get before crossing that line. “Ask her about me, see what she says.” He wasn’t being entirely serious, but he had a strong suspicion the zombie wouldn’t have anything positive to say. Not that it mattered. If she wasn’t going to help him then he didn’t give a shit what she thought. Faltering at the sudden shift in the way Bex was looking at him, he saw her gaze flicker from his fangs, to his hand, and he realised he was still touching his neck. Lowering his arm, he retracted his fangs with a surprising level of ease, his own expression shifting too. “I do,” he said quietly, watching her with open concern, trying to ignore the way his heart was sinking. Maybe he was wrong, maybe she didn’t trust him in the way he thought she did. “I- what?” He cursed himself for being so emotional, but he couldn’t stop tears from stinging at his eyes. “I’m not- I wouldn’t hurt anyone... I swear…” He swallowed, unsure what he could say to make her believe him. If she was uncomfortable, he wasn’t about to force her to stay. But did she really want to leave because of what he was?
“Yeah,” Bex admitted quietly, “I guess it is.” Even if she still hated the thought of people getting hurt because of her, for her. But they returned the sentiment, and wasn’t rejecting their help hurting her? It was still confusing, but the one thing Bex did know was that being at Morgan’s, even if it put her and everyone in that house in possible danger, felt better than being alone, trapped in her room where people got hurt because of her anyway. She rubbed her palm against her cheek before folding her arms across her chest again, nodding. “Yeah, it is. And it’s-- a lot. But I know now I can ask for that. And-- I think everyone deserves that.” Even people others deemed bad or evil. No one deserved to suffer alone. She wasn’t even sure she believed her mother deserved that.
“Oh, good. Good. I...can run my mouth sometimes. I’ve been told it’s very unbecoming of me, but I don’t really care anymore,” she said, the last words bitter on her tongue. She swallowed it. Her heart clenched again, at the way Milo was looking at her. She was caught between her own trauma and her want to change, to accept people, to accept this world, and it felt sticky. She hated it there. But she’d forgiven Kyle, and he’d been the one to directly attack her. Fuck, she probably even forgave the wolf that attacked the Moose Caboose, even if everyone around her seemed to think that was wrong to do. “No, no! It-- I don’t mean it like that. I swear it’s not because--” she stopped herself, trying not to let the shame crawling up her throat tinge her words, “I just-- something happened to me. With a vampire. And I don’t want that to, to affect how I feel about you. I really don’t. But it’s-- you know, hard? I don’t think you’re going to hurt me, Milo. And-- and if you did, I know it would be an accident. I promise it’s not because of you. I promise.” She’d promise to a fae, too, but there were none around, and she knew Mina would chastise her for it. She offered a hand out to him, instead, in a show of faith. “I really do need to be home, though.” She held up her phone, “they get worried if I’m late.” Because of the one time she’d been kidnapped by Frank, but that wasn’t important to mention. He was dead, now, and her life was normal. Things like that just didn’t happen anymore. 
Milo had a feeling Bex was talking more to herself than to him, so he allowed her to speak, listening patiently until she fell silent once again. It wasn’t something he considered very often, so wrapped up in the chaotic nature of his life. Friends used to come and go, aside from Dani who had stood by him for so many years. Only now was he beginning to realise how badly he had taken her for granted. Though he had new friends now, friends who weren’t about to abandon him because of something he couldn’t help, a part of himself he couldn’t ever hope to change. She was right. Everybody deserved to be cared for, to be surrounded by friendship, and unwavering support. Offering her a smile when she told him she had a habit of saying too much, he could definitely relate to that. His love of bitter quips, and sulking petulantly about his new state of being had resulted in him essentially outing himself on more than one occasion. “I can relate to that.” He admitted. “But don’t worry, you didn’t say anything you should be concerned about. And you’re right not to care. Screw unbecoming, just be who you are… there’s no point in trying to be anybody else. It’ll only make you miserable.” 
His expression faltering when Bex hurried to insist her sudden desperation to leave had nothing to do with him telling her he was a vampire, he wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t. “No offense, but I don’t know how else you could mean it…” He muttered, letting out a quiet huff of breath. He averted his gaze, avoiding eye contact so that he could stare down at his feet. He should let her go, he knew he should. What use was there in trying to cling to a friendship as new as this one when she was so clearly uncomfortable now that she knew what he really was? Swallowing his emotion, he frowned, hesitantly catching her eye again. “No shit... something happened to me with a vampire too.” He pointed out. “I didn’t ask for this. You think I don’t know how hard it is to get over? Try waking up as the thing that attacked you…” Feeling his shoulders drop when she assured him she felt safe, part of him still felt worried she wasn’t being entirely truthful. But the sentiment mattered, the fact that she was even trying to assure him mattered. Allowing his anger to dissolve, he knew it was too late to take back his words. So he moved on. Caught off guard by the unexpected promise, a weak smile began to tug at his lips. “You know… you really shouldn’t make promises.” He teased, unable to help himself. He couldn’t think of a better way to alleviate the tension. Ignoring the phone as it was held out to him, he gently reached out to take her hand, linking their fingers for a brief moment, hoping to convey everything he didn’t know how to put into words. He was trying. He was good. He was a victim too. “You should, uh… you should get home.” He said finally, ignoring what was left of the awkward tension. “It’s okay…” 
Bex gave a sigh of relief. At least she hadn’t outed Morgan or Nell. She never would’ve forgiven herself, even if it was to someone who wouldn’t use it against them. She’d never had problems drinking before, but those nights had been spent locked up in the library or her room while she cradled the bottle as if it were her only lifeline. She gave a short, self-deprecating chuckle before her lips curled into a thin smile. “Trust me, I know that.” She’d been miserable her entire life because she’d done just that. But things were different now, she reminded herself. Things were better.
Her heart sank, knowing that she’d already done more damage than she’d ever meant to. But Morgan had told her to not just ignore her trauma, that wasn’t good for her. And as much as she didn’t blame the vampire on campus, she still thought about the attack and what Dani had said. She wasn’t going to stop. And if she hadn’t, Bex would be standing with the same pain as Milo, or not here at all. She let him be upset, he was allowed to be upset. She hadn’t asked for any of this, either. She understood that feeling. “You’re right,” she said, “I don’t know how that feels.” But she did know how waking up after being attacked by a friend felt. She did know the fear of thinking she might wake like that, or not wake at all. She rubbed her chest. Smiled enough to try and brush off the feeling. “You can if they’re really important,” she answered. Squeezed his hand back, before pulling away. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Maybe next time we can just hang out somewhere nice. I know a few good places.” Her phone buzzed again and she glanced down at it. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” she said to him, a small tease, before she waved and headed off back towards home. She wondered what Morgan might think. She wondered what Mina might think. She wondered if, at the end of the day, it mattered. She liked Milo, and she wanted to be his friend. She owed it to him to try, at least.
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jiminniethemarshmallow · 4 years ago
Text
Fairy Dust
Pairing: Jimin x reader
Genre: adventure, fantasy, fluff
Word Count: 22k
(A/N): This is my first time writing anything like this and boy was it tough! Also I really didn’t mean for it to be this long so oops 😬
For BCC One Summer Night Project
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You follow Jimin away from your campsite off the beaten path on a journey guided by starlight, walking hand in hand and treading lightly so as not to disturb the wildlife around you. You weave through the wooded area of your night trail to a destination that your boyfriend has not yet disclosed to you. Shades of midnight blues and purples color what was once green and brown around you, blackening shapes at your feet that you step over with care.
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” You fret with a chuckle, enjoying the warmth of his fingers when they squeeze yours.
“Of course, I used to come here all the time with my family. It’s right up ahead.” He points with a finger you can barely see in the dim lighting. You trust him, shrugging to yourself as you trek on. He stops you a few steps later, looking down at his feet until you do the same and come to the realization that there is a stream in your path. “I’ll go first.”
He demonstrates by stepping on a flat stone in the center of the water source, leaping to the other side gracefully before turning to offer you his hand and a smile. Your movements are a lot more unsteady than his. A hesitant step on the stone is all you can manage before you’re grasping for his hand, stumbling to his side and nearly pulling both of you down into the water, a few bugs flying up at your rough landing. It’s smooth sailing after that, avoiding a fallen log, regretfully stepping over the corpse of a poor decaying animal, and brushing past short shrubbery before you finally reach a clearing with a perfect view of the starry ceiling above you.
“Wow,” From this vantage point at your altitude in these mountains the beautiful glow of the galaxy is not clouded by pollution or artificial light. You’ve never seen so many stars in your life, all twinkling at you in clusters of white dots that form patterns and constellations above your head. Jimin pulls a purple blanket from the bag on his back, placing it in the uncut grass at the center of the meadow. You take a seat next to him, laying back to curl into his chest comfortably as his arms come to wrap around you.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He asks in a whisper, watching the environment around you come to life from your movement. Fireflies rise above the blades of green beneath you to put on a display of light for you, creating their own pictures that rival even the stars.
“It’s... perfect.” You are utterly speechless, simply thankful that he decided to share this with you. Looking up, you discover that he is no longer looking around but is focused solely on you now, and when you lock eyes, you lean in for a kiss. You could swear that the fireflies around you begin to circle around your bodies once your lips touch, your eyes now closed and a delicious scent engulfing you. It’s easy to get lost in Jimin’s kiss, so easy that you begin to lose track of time and space and lose consciousness.
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“Why did you pick them?” A voice sounds distantly, distorted oddly in your ears.
“Uhm, well, I- uh,” The timid squeak comes from much closer, and you can almost hear the nervous way the mysterious person gnaws on their lip. A loud sigh. “We’re desperate.”
“...Fine. But you couldn’t have found someone more— I don’t know— muscular than them? I mean come on, they’re both practically splinters!”
“There was no one else around... maybe we could make this a stealth mission instead?”
Your eyes start to crack open once the grogginess fades, a soft and fuzzy fabric swallowing you in its folds. Jimin is not in your immediate line of sight and everything is brighter than you remember. Your head lifts before you’ve gotten both eyes fully open, alerting the two that now accompany you.
“Oh, one of them is awake!” The timid voice whispers, and the first thing to come into view is a flawless face, features too smooth and delicate to be real. The woman’s skin sparkles as if she had been bathed in glitter, but it seems that she’s producing her own light, an supernatural glow outlining her body and... wings? Maybe your eyes were still adjusting...
“Mm, what happened?” You mumble, your mind feeling hazy. Once your eyes fully focus, you jump at her proximity.
“W-wow, I didn’t know humans were this pretty.” She gushes, earning a slap on the shoulder from the other person she’s with. Looking to the left, you find a shorter woman whose features are just as undefined as her taller counterpart, the same glow haloed around her.
“Don’t say things like that.” She scolds.
“Jimin?!” Suddenly you think of your boyfriend, who you have yet to see, and begin to search around, finally taking in your surroundings and noticing that you appear to be lost in a sea of purple, blanket-like material, its folds blocking and trapping you as you move around to find your partner. You call out to him again, this time receiving a response.
“(Y/n)?” He sounds sleepy, probably just waking up from whatever slumber you had fallen into.
“We should help.” The taller woman says, appearing behind you to grab you under your arms and lift you. Lift you? Wait, were you flying?! Your legs dangle as you rise higher above your fabric prison, the new perspective allowing you to see that you were surrounded by giant blades of grass and that you had, in fact, been on your blanket. She lowers you next to Jimin, huffing from the exertion, and you scramble to his side. What the hell was going on?
“Did you just... Fly?” He looks at you funny, then turns his attention to the two mysterious figures who have yet to introduce themselves.
“Hello, humans.” The shorter one starts awkwardly, cringing at herself. “You’ve finally awoken! That’s good.” There’s quiet— well, not really, the atmosphere is no longer muffled sounds of the forest, but now resembles a bustling town in daylight. Everything is so much louder. “W-well, my name is Alva and that’s Laila,” She nods in the other’s direction.
“What happened to us? Why did we pass out?” You question immediately, not bothering with self-introduction.
“O-oh, well, y-you both, um,” Laila starts, unable to look either of you in the eye. “What I mean to say is... you- we kind of-“
“We sprinkled you with Fairy Dust.” Alva finishes bluntly. Your jaws drop. She can’t be serious, this must be a joke. Yet you can’t bring yourself to laugh. No, she looks too serious.
“Fairy dust?” Jimin barely cracks a smile, subconsciously touching your arm to make sure this isn’t a dream.
“Y-yeah, but it appears I was a bit heavy handed. My apologies.” Laila smiles wryly, wringing her hands together nervously. “We are the fairies that live in this forest, and we need your help to save a dear comrade.” It is only then that you actually process what you’re looking at. The two of them hover in front of you, their wings fluttering gracefully like those of a hummingbird, the movement too quick for your eyes to perceive.
“Are we fairies now too?” Jimin checks his own body, then yours, inspecting you for any differences. The only thing that has changed is your size, and he sighs in relief.
“For the most part you are just tiny humans now, but we can make you wings if you so desire.” Alva deadpans, impatiently waiting for you to come to terms with the situation. She continues before you have the chance to let things sink in. “Stink bugs have infested these lands and have made their home by the water source, blocking all creatures on this side of the meadow from reaching the water’s edge. We fairies have put up a resistance to this, and in retaliation, they have kidnapped our leader. Please, we kindly ask for your help in retrieving her.”
“Why can’t you save her yourselves? Don’t you have an army?” Jimin frowns, unsure of how he feels about being this little. You may still be in shock.
“They have fortified their home with troops that protect them from land and air. In order to enter their territory, we would need to get past them, but they attack everything that they identify as being from this side of the meadow.” A chill runs up your spine. Were you willing to embark on a dangerous mission like this?
“But t-their eyesight is pretty bad, so they might not recognize you as fairies, even with wings.” Laila speaks up when she sees you wavering. “You may be able to negotiate a way in.”
“I don’t know about this.” Your boyfriend murmurs to you as he weighs your safety versus adventure. He’s always so kindhearted, so you know he wants to help them, but how far was he willing to go if danger was involved? If it was you he was worried about, you wanted to quell his fears.
“It sounds scary, honestly. But when in our lives will we get another chance to do something like this? We get to be fairies! That’ll never happen to us again.” You smile. But suddenly your eyes shoot wide, turning to the women again. “Wait, this does wear off, right? We won’t be stuck like this forever?”
“Well, there is a spell to reverse this, but the fairy you must rescue is the only one who has mastered it.” Laila offers with another apologetic look.
“Then we have to! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, we have to take advantage. These people need our help! Plus, what else are we going to do while we’re this tiny? Might as well become hero’s while we’re at it.” You chuckle, pulling a smile from him. “If it gets dangerous we’ll protect each other, promise.”
“What if something goes wrong and one of us gets hurt?” He asks. It’s uncharacteristic of him to worry like this, but this is uncharted territory so you can understand his apprehension. But as a couple you are known for your adventurous nature— hell, he’s the one who suggested going camping in the Rocky Mountains by yourselves in the first place. You won’t let him back down from this.
“What if everything goes right?” Your hand finds its way into his, squeezing in reassurance as he looks over your face. With a second more of hesitation, Jimin finally nods in agreement and the two fairies sigh in relief.
The mission they explain to you seems very much like the objective of a video game: traverse through different landscapes and hone your skills until you reach the villain’s lair, where you will then attempt to rescue the princess (or in this case, fairy leader) and defeat the villain. Of course, you will be responsible for coming up with the plan once you reach the lair because the fairies know nothing about where their leader is kept or what the stink bug king will think of you. It is entirely possible that you’ll be able to negotiate with him to release their leader and stop blocking the waterway, but it’s more exciting to think you’ll do a bit of fighting.
“We have supplies and tools for you that will be helpful for you on your journey.” Alva is kinder to you now, advising you to come along to their home to prepare for your mission.
“We don’t have wings yet...” You point out, assuming that you would fly to their abode.
“Obviously.” She rolls her eyes at you, not bothering to explain. A high pitched whistle comes from her with little effort, followed by an intense buzzing noise approaching from behind. You and Jimin turn in horror as 3 giant fireflies appear from the sky, landing weightlessly on the surface before you with a blinding flash of light. It is then that you realize that the brightness in the sky above you isn’t from sunlight, but are actually the bulbs of the fireflies you had admired before. The three in front of you dim their lights to save your eyes, peering down at you with curiously large eyes.
Laila begins to speak with them in a language of chirps and clicks, and much to your surprise, they respond energetically to her. Although you now pale in comparison to these creatures, they are still awe-inspiring; with their red upper bodies that contrast so prettily with the luminescent glow of their yellow-green rears, the hard outer wings that protect the delicate transparent wings beneath that you’ve never noticed until now. Never in your life have you expected to see any bug from this close up.
Laila lets out a laugh that brings your attention back to her. “They agreed to give us a lift home.” She seems brighter after the interaction, though she still refuses to look you in the eye. “Ah! Let me introduce you— this is Magus,” She points to the one on the right, who tilts his head down at you in what you assume to be a bow. “This is Meri,” the one on the left nods at you two as well and you nudge Jimin in his side to offer a bow back. “And this is Garnet, named for her color.” The firefly in the center lifts her wings slightly in greeting and it takes immense self control not to step back in intimidation. She is the largest of the 3 and her color is distinctly different, her body appearing as a deep shade of red mimicking that of a garnet stone, as opposed to the pinkish shade that her counterparts take on.
“Since there are two of you, you will be traveling on Garnet because she is the biggest.” Alva explains, already in the air and mounted on Magus’ back.
“Wait, you want us to ride on its back?!” Jimin seems startled as you walk ahead of him and reach your hand out to Garnet, touching her head. Normally bugs were something you feared, but you have a newfound sense of bravery that is sparked by the novelty of this experience. “(Y/n), don’t touch it!” He shouts, eyebrows furrowing cutely when your hand makes contact with the insect.
“Babe, it’s fine, stop being so wimpy.” You snicker at his distress. “She won’t hurt us, I can tell. She’s nice.” The firefly chitters at you, causing Laila to giggle.
“She says to hop on, she doesn’t bite. But if you need a nip of encouragement she’s more than willing to give you one.” Jimin shutters and takes a hesitant step forward, following your lead with a soft pat to her head. She lowers to the ground as much as she can, and the two of you hop on with Jimin in front and your arms wrapped comfortably around his waist. He can feel your smile and it gives him a little peace of mind.
“No offense, but we don’t have time for cowardice. Anything could be happening to our leader right now and the more time we waste, the more danger we put her in.” Alva cuts in sharply with a twitch of her wings.
“Grab the ropes and hold on tight.” Directing your gaze to the thin ropes seamlessly attached to the smooth surface of Garnet’s shell— by magic, you assume— you take Laila’s advice and grab onto them from behind Jimin. “I already told her where we’re going, just tap her back twice to signal when you’re ready and she’ll take off.”
“Are you ready?” Your boyfriend asks, rolling his shoulders.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” At your confirmation, he taps his hand on the hard shell and her wings open up, fluttering loudly on either side of you before you begin to lift from the ground. You rise quickly yet carefully, and you can’t help but let out an elated squeal as the earth beneath you gets farther and farther away. The footprints you left in the grass when you arrived in the meadow have somewhat disappeared as the blades slowly return to their normal standing position, but you can still see the sheer size of them compared to how small you are now. Even from high up they look enormous, each one flattening an area that would probably take you several minutes to cross on foot. But the most amazing sight of all is something that Jimin points out with a dropped jaw.
The blanket that you had both been comfortably laying on not 10 minutes prior was now unreasonably large and you struggle to comprehend the scale. If being on the back of a bug wasn’t enough, seeing your own belongings look so disproportionate compared to you is what makes you realize just how tiny you really are. It’s almost frightening being so small and fragile, the human body does not have many natural adaptations to fend off the world making this situation that much more dangerous, but having Jimin with you eases your heart significantly. He isn’t the strongest or the bravest, or even the smartest for that matter, but you know that if you work together you’ll be alright. At least that’s what you tell yourself as you cling to him on your way up into the trees, not missing the opportunity to take in the view.
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You’re taken to what looks to be a treehouse, perched on one of the thin branches at the top of a tree. It could be mistaken for a small bird’s nest from the outside, but the home is actually complexly made with a variety of materials and innovation you are unfamiliar with. Jimin grabs your hand immediately after you dismount from Garnet, glancing down from your height with a silent warning. Of course he’s weary, if either of you fell from this distance you would be dead before you were halfway down the trunk. Even a fall to the next branch down would be life threatening, but you try not to think about it as you walk carefully to the entrance of the home.
“Do not touch anything.” Alva hisses as she holds the door open for you. The inside of the abode is cozier than you expected, sheltered from the chill of the night and decorated with art and color.
“Alva, don’t be so crude to our guests.” Laila scolds, wringing her hands again. She seems to be nervous once more without the presence of her firefly companions.
“Do you live here together?” You ask, moving to inspect some items on a bookshelf. Jimin smacks your hand when you go to lift something up, reminding you of Alva’s warning.
“Y-yes.” Laila nods, turning away from you when you meet her eyes. They say no more on the matter so you don’t press it. “Anyway, you’ll need a few things for your journey. We’ll accompany you most of the way, but we won’t be able to enter once we reach the stink bug’s territory so you’ll need disguises.”
“I thought you said they won’t recognize us?” Jimin questions, walking over to where Alva is hard at work crafting something on a workbench.
“The stink bugs won’t, but they have spies everywhere. We’ll have to pass through some town centers on the way there and that’s where you’ll have the highest risk of being discovered. Also, they know that the two of us are part of the resistance so they will automatically be suspicious if we’re seen traveling together.” She murmurs. You watch as she sprinkles glowing dust onto the table, grabbing tools that glow similarly and manipulating the powder with skilled hands.
“That’s Fairy Dust.” Laila whispers to you when she sees the looks of confusion on your faces. It looks just how you imagined it would.
“So, are you saying that we’ll have to go through the town centers by ourselves?” Jimin’s question makes your heart jump with nerves.
“Yes and no. We’ll have to walk through the towns since their surveillance is stricter on air traffic, but all you have to do is follow behind us and everything will be fine. We’ll go first and lead the way while you trail a safe distance behind us. We can fly together between towns, when we’re not being watched.”
“Fly?” How would you fly if you didn’t have wings like them? You’ll probably use the fireflies again, so you don’t fret, but Alva shakes her head.
“What do you think I’m doing right now?” She asks rhetorically, rolling her eyes at your stupid question. “I’m making you wings so that you can fly with us.” Just as she says this, her workspace begins to glow red.
The Fairy Dust had somehow turned into thin sheets of glass-like material while you were looking away, inflexible and cloudy in quality but now burning a bright red color. Alva whispers something under her breath as she places her hands over the material, closing her eyes in focus. The glowing intensifies and Jimin pulls you back a few steps protectively to look on at a safer distance. Amazingly, the material transforms right before your eyes into transparent and featherlight wings that mimic those of the fairies beside you. They bend when she lifts them, they look extremely frail and delicate, so thin that you almost want to doubt their capabilities in holding you up in midair.
“Turn around.” She instructs quickly to you, using two fingers to rub more Fairy Dust on the edges of each wing. You spin for her and feel her move closer before pausing. The perplexed and irritated look on her face can be felt through the thick air and you don’t even have to see her to sense it.
“What’s wrong?” Jimin dares, eyes flicking back and forth between you.
“What covers your skin?” She asks, much to your confusion. You want to answer but you honestly have no idea what she’s referring to. Neither does Jimin.
“I believe they call them ‘clothes’”. Laila responds quietly.
“Ew, remove them.” The disgust in Alva’s voice is clear, startling you. Somehow, one small detail had escaped both you and your boyfriend this entire time: the fact that the two fairies are completely naked. Their bodies are just as undefined and nondescript as their faces and the odd light they seemed to give off acted as some sort of censor, making it difficult to tell whether or not they were wearing anything. But their reactions confirm that they, indeed, are in the nude. It makes sense, humans are the only creatures to cover themselves like this. But you’re still human and the thought of roaming naked and free in this unfamiliar landscape is uncomfortable.
“Is there a way that you could put the wings on over the clothes?” You turn to allow her to see the cringe on your cheeks. “Logically, it would make sense to keep our clothes on so that when we save your leader and return to normal size, we won’t be naked and exposed in the wilderness?” It’s phrased like a question because of the intimidating glare Alva is giving you, sucking the confidence right out of your words.
Thankfully, Laila is there to back you up. “It’s true, if they aren’t wearing their coverings when they turn back, i-it will remain our size.” Alva gives her the death glare too, but surprisingly, Laila doesn’t back down.
“Fine, but if this doesn’t work, you’re making the next pair of wings.” She points to her roommate, smoothing down your shirt to get a feel for the structure of your back before gently attaching the wings. Their attachment is joined by a ticklish sensation that makes you squirm and giggle, pulling against the small hands that attempt to hold you in place. You expected it to be painful, but the ticklish feeling fades quickly followed by nothing, your extensions successfully attached. She moves onto Jimin swiftly and you grin as the cutest giggle bubbles from his throat at the feeling. The wings really suit him, he looks like a fairy prince that has come to sweep you off your feet and fly off into the distance.
“Excellent.” Laila sighs in relief when your wings move with the motion of your shoulders, steadfast and not likely to come off. “I have prepared these for you as well.” She thrusts a bag into your hands, as well as a shiny whistle. “This Fairy Dust is essential to our mission. Fairies use it to craft things and manipulate items around them, so it is imperative that you get this to our leader to aid in her rescue and escape. This whistle is to only be used in emergencies,” Placing one in Jimin’s hands, she glares when he immediately puts it to his lips. “It will call Garnet to you in case you need a ride, but she is very busy at this time of night, so try not to use it.”
“Okay! Now we’re all set to go!” Alva rushes, practically pushing you out of her house.
Laila is the only one who has patience enough to teach you to fly, speeding through a lesson and demonstration with pressure from the other woman who looks on with annoyance. To Jimin, who is always quite graceful, flying is easy. The wings on his back move to his will and it’s as if he’s dancing in the air, lifting above you and quickly using his skills to twirl and flip. You, on the other hand, struggle immensely. As soon as your feet leave the ground, balance loses all meaning to you and you toddle unsteadily, smacking into things left and right because of the uneven flutter of your propellers. You bet you look silly right now— no, you know you do because Jimin makes sure to laugh loudly every time you struggle— but this is no time for shame. Alva concludes your lesson once it’s apparent that you won’t fall out of the sky and suggests that you’ll get the hang of it as you go, barely waiting for you before taking off from the tip of the branch.
“Now, I must warn you,” She says as you rush to keep up. “These wings do have a time limit, so it’s important that we make it to the water as fast as possible before time runs out or you’ll have to walk.”
“G-got it.” You’re still uneasy, veering off to the side occasionally and nearly smacking into Laila when the wind catches you. Just when you’re starting to get dizzy from your wacky steering, a warm hand closes around your arm. Jimin smiles at you, this time not with humor but with care, and you feel yourself relax. Pulling you closer to his body, he helps you balance in order to fly straight, offering tips and holding on tight for support. Even after you’ve gotten the hang of it, he holds your hand and stays close to you.
Traveling across the meadow takes far longer than you expected and by the time you reach the first town, you’re already tired. Alva lands several meters away from the tree line, turning abruptly to face you. “We’re about to enter the shrubs. This town is full of friendly faces so it shouldn’t be too hard to spot spies, but stay on the lookout. Laila and I have to meet up with an ally in one of the shops; once we get there, stay outside in the area and try not to look suspicious.”
“How are we supposed to do that?” Folding your arms, you wait for a response, but Alva simply shrugs and continues ahead.
“Just try not to bother anyone.” Laila says softly, avoiding your eyes as she speeds up to walk in front of you.
As soon as you enter the shrubs, hundreds of eyes zero in on the unfamiliar faces of you and Jimin. Some greet the fairies as they pass farther in front of you, but seem to burn holes in your back when you walk by, squeezing the hand of your boyfriend at the horrifying bugs that are now very close to your size. Ants and worms, caterpillars and centipedes all roam freely on the dense floor, chewing on fertile dirt and decaying leaves, carrying on with their lives all around you. None seem particularly threatening, but that doesn’t stop your hands from becoming incredibly sweaty in Jimin’s palm.
“I’ll protect you.” He whispers, though his voice shakes in uncertainty.
“How? There’s no way you can fight any of these things!” You whisper back through gritted teeth. Your eyes are so focused on trying not to lose sight of the women in front of you that you don’t notice the roots sticking up from the ground and trip noisily over one of them. Jimin reaches out with lightning fast reflexes and catches you before you come crashing to the ground, offering you a cheesy smile when your wide eyes lock on his before pulling you back up to your feet.
“I don’t need to fight them, I just need to save you from yourself.” You pout at his words, feeling your cheeks get hot at how embarrassing that fall must have looked. Even though you’re surrounded by bugs, you still have your pride.
Finally, Alva and Laila enter a shop, giving you a meaningful glance before disappearing inside. Jimin leads you just a little bit past the store before finding a spot to stand just opposite of its entrance so you can watch for their exit, pulling you against him as he leans against a mushroom. You take this time to take in your surroundings: the ceiling of this area is made of the dense leaves and vines of shrubs, yet it isn’t dark. Instead, everything is lit by glow-in-the-dark fungi that is speckled above and below you. Large mushrooms, like the one you sit beneath, grow in bundles in the darker places, their smell humid and pungent like a room full of mold. It tickles your nostrils and you sneeze, causing a movement from behind you.
“Oh!” Calls a voice that appears out of seemingly nowhere. Jimin moves you defensively away from the person, turning to confront them as they step from behind the fungus’ stem. “I wouldn’t sit under this if I were you. It’s smell can be quite intoxicating after a while and may cause hallucinations to those who aren’t used to it.” A male fairy steps forward, coated in Fairy Dust and naked just like your guides had been. The only difference is that he is covered in spores. This doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He eyes both you and Jimin up and down, smiling oddly at your appearance. “New around here?”
“Yes.” You answer hesitantly, but he seems nice enough.
“I can sense that you’re not fairies... Hmm, where are you from?” Just as you open your mouth to speak, Jimin cuts in.
“We’re just visiting. Who are you?”
“Ah, yes! I’m a mushroom fairy, the name’s Bayard.” He extends a hand and you shake it despite Jimin’s weary expression. “I work here and tend to the mushrooms that light this place. We don’t get visitors often, welcome!”
“Thank you! We’re actually heading to the water, do you have any helpful advice for us?” Alva and Laila said that this place was full of friends, so you want to take a chance. He seems kind and helpful and the two of you are absolutely clueless in your environment, so you figure it would be beneficial to get all the help you can get. The hand holding yours tightens, but you ignore it to listen to the fairy’s advice.
“Oh, I’ve never been to the water before, but I heard it’s pretty dangerous over there now. I say it’d be smart to invest in a weapon if you’re heading over that way.” He nods solemnly. “You can probably get one at the shop over there,” He points to a small stall next to the store your comrades entered and you sag.
“We don’t have any money, though.” You pout, using your charms on him.
“Money? Nah, you just need something to trade for it, that’s all. Here, since you seem so sweet I’ll give you something, wait here.” Bayard flies up to the head of the mushroom and you watch in awe as he collects something from its surface before coming back down to hand you 2 bags. “These are the hallucinogenic spores I was talking about. They’re worth a lot, so you should be able to trade it easily, but you could use it for your own benefit.”
“What do you mean?” You ask innocently, making him chuckle.
“Well, a good whiff of it might lead to a wild night, if you catch my drift.” He winks at Jimin and your face bursts into flames at the implications, and you can see that Jimin has a similar reaction. Bayard laughs heartily, clapping his hand together in a plume of spores that you wave away from your face. “I’m only pulling your leg. But seriously,” His expression drops so fast that a chill runs up your spine, all humor wiped from his eyes. “This is some powerful stuff. One bag of this is enough to knock out something 10x our size, so be careful. I gave you 2 bags in case you need to buy more stuff, but please, handle with care.”
“We will.” You nod, giving your bag for Jimin to hold. “Thank you so much, Bayard, this is very generous of you.”
He grins shyly. “Don’t mention it. If you ever need a friend, you know where to find me. Good luck on your travels, I gotta get back to work.” He waves you off as he disappears back behind the bundle of mushrooms, hidden in the deep shadows they cast.
“I think we should be more careful with who we talk to, (Y/n).” Jimin whispers, following you as you walk toward the shop. “We can’t tell everyone our business, they could be spies!”
“I know, but I could tell he wasn’t. Plus, he turned out to be really helpful, so everything worked out.”
“Yeah, but we could have just gotten lucky this time. This is real life, babe, you need to be more careful. You shouldn’t talk to everyone like that.” He argues back, tugging on your arm to stop you before you reach the stall. You turn to look him in the eyes.
“But if we didn’t talk to him, it would have been suspicious. We can’t go around looking nervous and jumpy because then people will start thinking we’re up to something (which we kinda are). I was just blending in.” The determined look in your eye makes him pause and he can no longer argue. Dammit, he’s always so weak when you look at him like that. And you’re so beautiful in this lighting, your eyes shining back at him and the structure of your face contoured perfectly with the subtle shadows. You’re right and he has no choice but to accept it, even if he does have more to say. You can see the moment he drops it, his face softening with the slight nod he gives you as if admitting defeat. But you’re also weak to him when he looks down at you like that, like he wants to kiss you senseless and make you forget about whatever you disagreed about. You decide to compromise. “But I’ll be more careful from now on to make your job a little easier.”
He cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head cutely in confusion.
“You said you would protect me, right? It would be rude of me to jump headfirst into danger when I know you’ll jump right in after me.” You try to shrug indifferently but it comes off as flirty, pulling a smug smirk from him as you continue your way to the shop.
It costs a whole bag of the spores Bayard gave you to acquire a weapon. Jimin chooses a small blade that the shopkeeper explains is made with Fairy Dust and can cut through even the toughest bindings. He advises that you should only use it for self defense in extreme situations and gives him a sheath to saddle on the belt loops of his pants. The sight perplexes the shopkeeper, but he sends you on your way without question.
“I know you said you’d be more careful, but you have a penchant for trouble so we’ll probably find ourselves in some bad situations. But at least I can protect you properly now.” You wrinkle your nose at his accusation, but end up chuckling at the way he brandishes the blade as though in a heated battle.
Alva clears her throat as she glides past the two of you with a twitch of her wings, announcing her presence subtly as Laila follows swiftly after, pointedly trying not to look at you and accidentally being the most obvious one in the group. You linger for a few more moments with an embarrassed Jimin, asking the shopkeeper one more question about your purchase before making a smooth exit in the footsteps of your comrades. You’re a good distance away from the shrubs before you begin flying again, catching up with the two who wait for you at a nearby tree.
“Oh my goodness, that was so nerve wracking.” Laila sighs, biting her lip.
“Sorry that took so long, but we got some great intel on the enemy.” Jimin reaches for your hand again when you take off even though you’re infinitely better at flying now. You act like you aren’t affected as you try to listen to Alva’s words. “We’re about to pass a carcass so we’ll need to go around, but it has a spy checkpoint on each side so we’ll have to split up when we cross them to avoid suspicion. Be on the lookout for a shady looking ant and a really chunky maggot. Laila and I will do the talking, but don’t answer any of their questions in too much detail if they ask you directly.”
The way she lists off the warnings makes you sweat. What would happen if you got caught? Yes, this was a once in a lifetime adventure, but the danger is not lost on you. Jimin is right, this is real life and you could get seriously hurt or worse if things go south. You had to rescue their leader, this had to work because she is the only one that can return you to human size, and that realization settles uncomfortably in your stomach. Separating from Jimin only makes the feeling worse.
“We’ll be traveling together,” Alva informs you once you land, instructing Laila and Jimin where to meet. Your eyebrows crease with worry and you quickly grab his arm before he leaves.
When you don’t say anything, he gives you a soft smile, reading your eyes. “What happened to all that bravery you had back there?” He teases.
“I was confident because we were together. How can we look out for each other if we’re not together?” The only thing you can think of that’s worse than you getting captured, is if he got captured without you. It’s not just about him protecting you, you want to watch over him too.
“We’ll be fine. Alva and Laila will keep us safe.” They both nod at you.
“Yes, we’ll do everything in our power to keep you two safe.” Laila adds in her timid voice, glancing up at your eyes.
“Okay...” You reluctantly let go of him and watch them start to walk away. “Please be careful!” He sends you a thumbs up as he gets farther away. The starlight above you is partially covered by the trees, making this area much darker than the meadow had been. Fireflies flicker in the distance but it still isn’t bright enough to see him clearly as he continues on.
“Come on. The faster we go through this, the sooner you’ll be reunited.” For the first time, Alva offers words of consolation, and you’re almost shocked that she has sympathy for you. She mumbles in a quieter voice than usual. “I’m not thrilled about splitting from them either, but this is the safest way. If we all went through together, that would definitely raise some red flags.”
“Why couldn’t we just follow you like we did back there?” She scoffs.
“Not many newcomers cross these parts alone. You two would never make it past the spies without being noticed. Even with us, it’s a risk. I just hope Laila’s okay.” This is the first time you’ve actually seen her worried and for the second time in a row, you’re baffled. This entire time Alva has been hardened and crude, but now she seems almost as worried as you. You can’t help but ask.
“You seem to have a soft spot for her. Do you have feelings for her?” She knows you’re teasing by the lilt in your voice, and you see her wings twitch, something you’re beginning to notice that signifies her annoyance. Her eyes roll so hard you think they’ll get stuck in her head.
“Of course I have feelings for her. In human terms, we’re dating, why do you think we live together?”
“Oh!” You chuckle nervously, feeling a bit dumb. You saw only one bed in their home but thought little of it, and now much of their decor makes sense. There’s an awkward silence for a while and you can’t for the life of you think of anything else to talk about. You wish the ground beneath you would just open up and swallow you whole. Thankfully, she breaks the silence for you.
“We learned another important detail that I didn’t mention,” She waits until you glance over at her. “We found out that the stink bug king plans to marry our leader, so it would probably be smart for you to come up with a plan to intercept this.” You sigh in thought, turning your gears to come up with a plan.
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The smell of the carcass is much worse than Jimin imagined, it hits them long before they reach the body. Laila leads him to the right side of the unidentifiable animal, a heap of fur, bones, and flesh in the middle stages of decomposition thanks to the abundance of bugs and fungi working diligently to break it down. They stop before the animal as Laila crafts 2 masks from her own bag of Fairy Dust, handing one to him to reduce the horrific smell as they trek on. He tries to ignore the sounds of the ecosystem feasting on its prey, and thankfully his partner offers a distraction.
“I know you’re worried about your girlfriend, but Alva will protect her. And I will protect you.” He notices that she easily makes eye contact with him, unlike before. “Stink bugs aren’t vicious, they’re just resilient and armored, making them tough to beat. But hopefully we won’t have to fight.”
“I know she’ll be alright, I have faith in her. She probably won’t get caught by the spy, she’s too smart for that.” His words are genuine, yet his heart still races at the possibilities. A darkness eclipses his face that she catches onto immediately.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice is so gentle that he has no problem opening up to her.
“If she gets captured or hurt it’ll be my fault. I brought her out to the meadow to have a romantic date, but instead it ended up putting her in danger. We should have stayed at the campsite.”
“No.” Laila says firmly, causing him to yank his head up in surprise. “If anything, this is my fault. I chose you because you were the only ones around that could help us, but I could have left you alone. If anything happens, I am to blame.” He says nothing to this, not quite accepting it, but she seems steadfast so he won’t argue. “I apologize for not asking sooner, but what is your name?”
“Jimin.”
“And what is hers?”
“(Y/n)~” He says your name almost dreamily compared to his own, a smile subconsciously finding its way to his lips. She grins.
“Do you love her?” Laila doesn’t seem to be the blunt type, but this is obviously amusing. Especially with the way his ears color red at that one question.
“I- I don’t know if I know what love is,” is his response.
“I think you do. I see how you look at her, how you smile when you think of her, the way that you say her name with such delicacy; I bet you don’t even realize how lovestruck you look when she’s around.” Jimin turns away from her to avoid her eyes, bringing a hand to his warming cheeks. He mumbles something under his breath. “I know because that’s how I am with Alva and I love her very much.”
“Alva? Wait, are you-?”
“Yes, she is my girlfriend.” The confirmation makes his jaw drop, some pieces falling together just as they had for you. “Never be embarrassed by your feelings, they can be a source of power at times like these. It is because you love her so much that I know you’d do anything to keep her safe, and I have no doubt that she is exactly the same way. This mission will be a success, I can feel it. You should tell her how you really feel when this is all over.”
“Oh... I don’t know about that. What if she doesn’t feel the same way...”
“She’s intelligent, compassionate, outgoing, brave, charming, and above that, so beautiful that everyone around takes notice— a woman like that can be pretty intimidating. But trust me, she loves you too. Though I haven’t known you two for long, I can see how her body language changes with you, that sparkle in her eyes whenever you interact. She’s just as lovesick for you as you are for her. But I won’t pressure you.”
Laila is a lot wiser and more perceptive than he originally expected. She hadn’t looked you in the eye much— which he now knows is because you intimidate her more than her own intense girlfriend does— but it seems she’s picked up on a lot about both of you in this short time. Maybe her observations are right and you do love him back. But this feels like an inappropriate time to confess to you, so he decides he’ll keep it in for now.
As he’s ruminating on that idea, a huge tan bug crawls in front of them, blocking their path with its large body. Upon closer inspection, Jimin comes to the conclusion that it is a maggot, and it is indeed very “chunky”. It’s at least 3x his size, towering over them and angling it’s head in their direction. He can’t see its eyes, but it apparently can see them, turning its attention to Laila.
“It’s been a while, Laila. Haven’t seen you around these parts lately.” The breath that billows out from its mouth is even more rancid than the corpse it was feasting on, the stench so pointed that it slices through the barrier of their masks. It almost brings tears to Jimin’s eyes as he tries to refrain from gagging.
“Yes, well, I’ve been busy in the meadow, so I haven’t had the time to come out this far.” She replies easily, not the slightest quiver in her voice present. The maggot hums.
“And who is this?” Turning to face Jimin, it gives an interested tilt of the head and leans in closer, its pincers coming just inches away from his face. The smell is vile, beyond sickening, and if it were to have a color, he’s sure it’s breath would be the most impure black sludge— yes, sludge, because it is too thick to be a gas— imaginable. As black as death itself. The most he can do is hold his breath.
“He is simply visiting the area. We’re just passing through.” Laila answers, but it hisses at her to hush.
“Visiting? What business do you have visiting here?” The hairs on the back of Jimin’s neck stand straight, every cell in his body telling him to run, yet he stands frozen. The pincers in front of his face are large enough to bite his head off and he gets the sense that if he doesn’t say something convincing, that’s exactly what his fate will be.
“I’m visiting my cousin.” He rasps out, his head feeling light from running out of air.
“What cousin?”
“Um, h-his name is Bayard. He’s a mushroom fairy that lives in the shrubs.” At this the maggot leans away, finally allowing Jimin to take a breath of the slightly less offensive air.
“Bayard, huh?” He nods quickly, watching nervously as the insect snaps its jaws in thought. Does it know him? If it does, there’s a chance that Jimin will be caught in his lie, that somehow it will know that Bayard does not have any visiting relatives and that he’s not who he says he is. He and Laila share a tense stare as the bug takes a few seconds to process before it bursts into laughter. “He’s a crazy bastard, isn’t he?” They sigh in relief and Jimin nods along, forcing out a laugh. “Why isn’t he showing you around? I would’ve loved if he came to visit, I don’t get to see him often.”
“Oh you know, he’s busy working. You know how he is about his mushrooms.” They laugh again and the air seems to get a bit thinner.
“Ah, well, we’ll tell him you said hello. For now, though, we must get going.” Laila interrupts, much to his relief. The hefty maggot walks forward, opening the path for them once again and nods its head at them.
“Safe travels!” It wishes them well as they pass, watching as they continue around the side of the carcass, no longer conversing with each other but making headway straight out of the area. It isn’t until they reach the rendezvous point that Laila finds the courage to speak again, holding both hands over her chest as if she were in pain.
“That was close. If it wasn’t for your quick thinking, I don’t know what would’ve happened.” Then she tilts her head and looks up at him quizzically. “How do you know of Bayard, anyway?”
“(Y/n) befriended him in the last town.” Jimin rubs the back of his neck, thinking back to how upset he was about you speaking to strangers like that and how silly he looks now. Without you, he wouldn’t have made it out of that situation. Maybe he should have more faith in your instincts— they may just be your way of protecting him.
It takes several minutes before you and Alva emerge from your side of the animal. Alva is nodding at you, looking apprehensive, but you seem determined and sure.
“Let’s not tell Jimin, though. He probably won’t approve.” You whisper to her just out of earshot before you reach them, smiling in relief when you see that they made it here safely. You didn’t encounter your spy, though you did see him interrogating someone else who was passing through, and when you tell him this he shakes his head at the rare good luck you’ve just experienced. He tells you about the Bayard lie as you wrap your arms around him briefly and you laugh in a way that says “I told you so”— and it is then that he notices the look that Laila was talking about. The one you give him when you’re hanging onto every word he says like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever heard. His heart flutters at the thought. Laila and Alva share a meaningful look but say nothing, coaxing you onward with your journey.
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This place has a worse atmosphere than the carcass you just passed, you can feel it. Supposedly, this is the last obstacle in your path before you reach the water, and even Alva seems on edge about what lies ahead. A fallen log stands before you, decaying and riddled with plant-life, fungus, and insects. Hostility leaks from every crevice of the black wood, the breeze itself seeming to carry a sneer as it blows past it.
“Okay, a word of advice before we continue,” Alva begins, slowing her pace in order to turn and face you as you fly. “Unlike the shrubs, this place is full of shady characters, so do not stop to talk to anyone or anything. That being said, keep your eyes peeled as we pass through, the creatures here will feast on anything that moves— and that includes you.”
“Also,” Laila casts her eyes down away from you. “Your wings will likely start to disintegrate soon. We’ll have to fly through this area because we’ll be too slow on foot, therefore putting us in more danger. The wings should last long enough to make it out of here if we fly, but it will be close, so we can’t have any interruptions or stops.” You both nod grimly, biting on your lip as a dark feeling swells within you.
It’s a gut feeling that alerts you to the danger up ahead, and you mindlessly reach for Jimin’s hand for comfort. He doesn’t seem to be as nervous aside from the warnings the two of them explain, and you wonder if you’re being paranoid.
“Why can’t we just fly over or around it?” You ask, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. Alva gives you a frustrated sigh before explaining once again how closely the skies are monitored, going against your plan to slip through undetected. But you can hardly say that this route is any safer.
It’ll be easy to stay out of trouble if you just stay off the ground though, right? Fly over the heads of everyone and make it out of this area before any real damage can be done. You cling onto that ideal as you watch Laila and Alva enter the center of the log, moving slowly until you and Jimin follow behind them.
“Please stay close to me.” You whisper to him— more like a plea because of the growing anxiety building in the pit of your stomach, your gut feeling worsening as you near the entrance.
“I will. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you.” Softly, he presses a kiss to your forehead, but even that doesn’t help you shake this feeling.
It’s dark and muggy within the rotting wood, the lack of light contrasting even with the dimness of the night sky. Glowing fungi are speckled against the walls of the log, but it is nowhere near as bright as it had been in the shrubs, leaving many areas cloaked in shadows. Jimin holds onto you tightly, his other hand feeling for the blade equipped to his pants. Your nervousness is unsettling; he can feel how cold and clammy your hands have become, the slight tremor of your body as your heart races within. He wishes he could reassure you, but you have amazing instincts and he doubts anything he says could contest against the physical reaction you’re exhibiting at this moment. All he can do is prepare himself.
The fairies in front of you seem to shine against the blackness, making them easy to follow. You execute your plan for flying as high as possible in the somewhat cramped tunnel, almost scraping your head against the ceiling in your effort to avoid the crude faces that crawl underneath. Insects hide in the crevices of the jagged walls, disturbed and squirming as you whoosh past their lairs. Something about them makes you think they’re blind, but you wouldn’t know for sure since you won’t give yourself enough time to inspect them.
Something brushes your arm when the tunnel narrows, causing you to gasp and jerk embarrassingly only to realize that it was just soft moss. You give a sheepish look to Jimin when he turns to you. “Sorry, I’m a little jumpy.” So far, you haven’t encountered anything of noteworthy danger and you’re almost halfway through the log, and you start to think that maybe you were just being paranoid.
As you move along, the wood gets denser and the pathways become smaller, only allowing one person at a time. Laila’s wings are still visible due to the waning light, but you’ll have to fly faster if you want to keep an eye on them, so Jimin flies ahead of you since he’s generally faster and better at flying than you. Reluctantly, you release his hand and follow close behind, blind to what lies in front of you and solely relying on him to guide you forward.
“You okay?” He asks quietly, unable to turn and look at you.
“Yeah, keep going.” Is your quiet response, trailing right on his heels. “Can you still see them?”
“Just barely. Let’s try to go a little faster, I don’t think our wings will last too much longer.” Jimin can sense how his body seems to feel heavier on his wings. The transparent material of them is getting thinner and he isn’t sure how much longer they’ll be able to hold him up before they become unusable.
“Okay, I can keep up.” Picking up the pace, you start to feel less weary of the life around you. Nothing seems interested in your presence as you float by and that’s exactly how you like it.
The path opens up into a hollow section, allowing you more space, and you shift to the left of Jimin in order to see around him briefly. You intended to catch a glimpse of your guides, laser focusing your eyes in front of you so intensely that your surroundings are forgotten. Jimin remains in your peripheral as you squint through the darkness, but in an instant, he zips by and leaves you behind. Confused, you turn around to see if you got snagged on something and find yourself losing your balance and landing on something sticky. Long threads form a net around you and it dawns on you that they are the cause of your immobility— so naturally, you try to shake free from them, only to find that the more you struggle, the more parts of you become stuck. You barely have any time to process what this could possibly mean before several long legs emerge from the corner of your eye.
“It looks like there’s light up ahead. We’re almost out, (Y/n)!” Jimin smiles in relief, eyes still watching for the pair of wings that flutter several centimeters ahead. But when you don’t respond, his eyebrows crease. “(Y/n)?” Before he can even turn around, a blood curdling scream rips through his ears, the voice sounding alarmingly similar to yours. He spins around and immediately notices that you are no longer right behind him. How long have you been gone?! He races backwards toward the source of the scream, fear and worry bubbling in his chest with every second it takes to reach you as you let out another deafening scream.
The first thing he sees is the underside of an enormous body with 8 hairy legs protruding menacingly from its center. They splay out methodically to walk the thin cords beneath it with the expertise of a tight rope walker, graceful, long, and elegant in the most wretched way. Next, he spots you, placed in the center of its legs, completely caged in and frozen by the sheer size of the arachnid above you and shaking in terror. Jimin’s eyes drag up to find 8 odd black orbs locked on yours, sitting just above open jaws aimed directly at you. Before he can even stop himself, he’s calling out your name.
“(Y/n)!” It’s more of a reaction of surprise, but it catches the attention of the spider, who looks up from its prey with glazed eyes. But he is not the one that’s caught in its web, so it quickly returns its interest to you.
“Jimin?!” You cry out with an unsteady voice.
“I’m here, baby! Just stay calm.”
“How?!” You can’t see him because of how your back is facing his direction, but you can hear how panicked he sounds. He knows that spiders are your weakness. You suffer from mild arachnophobia and he’s sure that encountering a spider that is many times larger than you and moments away from eating you is intensifying that fear unimaginably. He has to think fast.
The first thing he can think of is to distract it, so he breaks off a piece of wood and taps it to the web, sending vibrations that catch the attention of the previously uninterested insect. It glances over with curiosity before making its way to the other side of the web to inspect the swinging wood chip that is now attached to the threads on one end. Taking this opportunity, Jimin runs over to you and pulls out his knife, praying to everything that it is holy that it really can cut anything. If this fails, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He tries to break one of the threads with a quick slice, but when he brings the knife down, it promptly bounces off as though he had hit a steel wire, instead sending more vibrations that bring the spider back over to you. It hisses loudly, likely upset that he’s trying to steal its dinner, and it lunges at him with its fangs, barely missing him through the web. He falls backwards, but catches himself with his wings unsteadily.
He tries the same method again and again, shaking the already stuck stick to lure the spider over, then swinging his blade at the thick bindings that refuse to release you, to no avail.
“It’s not working! And I don’t have enough time to break the web because of the spider!” He’s clearly distressed, using all his force to push down and break the web that has the integrity of metal. Spider webs break easily to a human, but it’s an entirely different monster when you’re this small. This knife, this stupid knife that cost him an entire bag of spores is doing absolutely nothing, and his frustration grows with each slice.
Wait, that’s it!
“Jimin, the spores! Do you still have them?” The words come out hurried and jumbled, but miraculously he understands.
“Yeah, why?” He looks up at you, but swiftly jumps out of the way when the spider returns. This time it won’t leave you, guarding your body from the intruder, repeatedly striking and hissing at him to leave. The wings that hold Jimin up are weakening, he has to hurry or he won’t be able to reach you from the ground.
“Throw them on the spider! Bayard said that one bag is enough to ‘knock out something 10x our size’, you can use it to buy time and cut me out!” As you’re explaining, Jimin reaches for the pouch in his pocket, opening it to look at the small particles piled up inside. He isn’t sure if it’ll work as well as you hope but he has to try, so with only a second of hesitation, he looks back up at the colossus on top of you.
“Hold your breath.” Once he hears you inhale, the bag of spores is flung straight into the face of the spider, some getting in its mouth, most of it landing on and around its head, caught in the hairs that line its body. Your eyes close as they float around you, but you can feel how the spider stumbles back in shock, trying to shake the particles from itself. Jimin immediately gets to work with the knife, trying a sawing approach this time with every bit of hope poured into his efforts. Thankfully, the string breaks with just 2 back and forth motions, loosening the integrity of the web just the slightest bit. He works fast, snapping each connection around you until you’re falling backwards into his arms and away from the staggering monster.
He grabs your arm and pulls you along as you attempt to gather yourself, flying as best you can with the few unbroken strands still stuck to your wings, but you won’t let that stop you now.
“We’re not gonna make it, our wings are-“ You try to say, but Jimin cuts you off.
“There’s light up ahead, we just have to make it there.” Fairy Dust has begun to fall from both of your wings, leaving a shimmering trail behind you as you push them to their limit. They can barely carry you an inch off the ground now, but that’s all you need as long as you make it to the light. But of course, it’s never that easy. As if on cue, the spider comes barreling through the log from behind, its eyes crossed and confused as it swerves up the sides of the tunnel in pursuit of you, its legs scraping the dead wood and causing crackling and falling pieces avalanching down.
You scream, pushing yourself even harder to escape your doom, ducking under protruding chunks and narrow openings desperately. You know the feeling when something’s chasing you and you feel like it’s just a step away at all times just teasing you, waiting to grab you, and you can swear you feel them breathing down your neck no matter how far back they are? Yeah, this is one of those situations. Except the spider actually is just a step away, and the only reason it hasn’t caught you yet is because of the spores in its lungs. It lunges forward aggressively, just barely missing you and grazing the side of your right arm— had its aim been any better, you surely would be dead. It hallucinates several versions of you flying before its eyes, your screams echoing off the walls and damaging its overwhelmed senses. It stumbles, using its front leg to reach for you and barely missing your side with the razor edge of its claws, a feature you hadn’t known existed until now. But the claws are very real and your torn shirt is proof.
The light that Jimin was talking about suddenly emerges, the dim starlight seeming as bright as the sun compared to the dark that engulfed you within this black wood, and for a moment, hope sparks in your chest. But your heart drops to your stomach when both of you suddenly fall to the floor, your wings finally giving out as they continue to disappear. You scramble to your feet and take the lead, glancing back at the spider that is squeezing his way through the tiny opening you and Jimin managed to slip through, spitting foul noises at you out of rage.
“Up here!” Shelf fungi line the walls, creating a convenient ladder up to the top of the log that you climb, finding strength you never knew you had to pull yourself up each one. Jimin is close behind, pushing at your feet when you struggle near the top, but his eyes widen at the sight of the spider with half of its body through the opening, its legs flailing and scratching to pull itself through. The mushrooms end just a body length from the ledge of the log, your freedom just fingertips away, but you can’t reach from your height and you don’t have the strength to pull yourself all the way up.
Jimin nudges you out of the way, the adrenaline pumping wildly through his veins allowing him to jump up and grab hold of the ledge and pull himself up, disappearing on the other side; and for a moment you fear that he’ll leave you here. You gasp when your eyes meet the dizzy ones of your pursuer, it’s body nearly free, and panic rises within you like never before.
“(Y/n)!” Jimin calls, and you look up to find his hands reaching down to grab you, his hair and the top of his forehead the only thing visible. Without wasting another second, you jump up and grab his hands, and with strained grunts, he helps pull you up to his level on the outside of that Hell. “Where do we go now?”
You’re high up, really high, and it’s a long way down without your wings. Honestly, you hadn’t thought this far, but now isn’t the time to stop and think, not when you hear the sound of splintering wood and hissing beneath you. Jimin follows as you run forward, looking to the end of the timber suspiciously.
“(Y/n), what’s your plan here?!” The edge is nearing alarmingly fast and it looks to him like you intend to run right off the side. He wishes he could say that he was thinking of a plan too, but his mind becomes blank with terror the moment the spider re-emerges from the opening. It takes a few seconds to find you before chasing, its speed significantly slower now thanks to the spores, but it is enough to drive you forward with no hope of turning back. Leaving the only option to jump off the side. But you couldn’t be thinking that, there’s no way, because from this height you’d both break your legs from the landing, at best.
“Do you trust me?” You ask, your eyes determined. You can’t be thinking what he thinks you are. But despite his worries, he answers without hesitation.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” You pull out the whistle stored away in your pocket and blow, the noise barely audible over the bustle of the night. You blow into it again, this time longer, but nothing happens and the ledge is right in front of you. The skies are empty, few bugs crossing your paths as you come to a stop and look around, the creaking wood below your feet mocking you as you stand still. “Are you sure you trust me?” Jimin nods. “We need to jump.”
“Jump?!” He’s not sure he heard you right. But then again, what choice does he have? The spider seems drunk behind you, clumsily galloping toward you with eyes that look through you, and if it doesn’t eat you it’ll surely smack directly into you and push you off the cliff, spelling your doom either way. Jimin watches as you blow the whistle again and step closer to the edge, looking down at the drop with that determined look he’s seen so many times. You’re serious. But you haven’t been wrong yet, so with a deep breath, he steps up next to you. “I trust you.”
He doesn’t say this with a tone that holds doubt, it's a definitive statement. And that makes you smile. Even if you are leading him to your deaths, you know Jimin has his full faith in you, so you take his hand and pray that this works. On your count, you both jump, your lips on the whistle that you continue to blow. As air rushes past your face, you squeeze Jimin’s hand and search your surroundings during the slowest, most uncertain seconds of your life.
Suddenly, a flash of green and red appears with lightning speed and before you know it, you’re landing on the hard back of the creature with a force strong enough to drop her a couple of inches and rip your hand out of Jimin’s. He lands straight in the center of Garnet’s back, but you skid off the side, grabbing at the smooth surface of her body helplessly. But Jimin has quick reflexes and latches onto your arm, using his strength for the second time to pull you onto Garnet’s back. You secure your arms around him tightly as he holds the reins and tells her to take you to Alva and Laila, who are probably already out of the log and waiting for you. Hopefully she can understand what he’s asked. Looking up, you catch sight of the spider just as it careens off the edge of the wood, following you blindly with now uncontrolled limbs and foggy eyes, it’s body narrowly missing you as it falls all the way to the ground, crumpled into an unconscious heap. That uneasy feeling in your stomach almost immediately subsides, and you tighten your arms around your boyfriend with a sigh of relief, burying your face in his shoulder and breathing in his scent to calm your pounding heart.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?” His worry is heavy and it warms you.
“I’m fine, just a little shaken up.” It’s probably just the shock, but you feel oddly at ease. You know that later— maybe tomorrow— you’ll be freaking out about your worst nightmare nearly coming true if it weren’t for Jimin. “Thank you for saving me.”
Your surroundings are serene, the night air warm and soothing. The landscape is pretty from this perspective. Full of hidden terrors and thrills, everything looking so peaceful despite you nearly losing your life moments ago.
“I said I would protect you.” He smiles cockily, and you giggle into his shirt. “But seriously, you did most of the work. We make a great team; let’s keep working together.” If Jimin was being honest, he doesn’t think he’d be able to save you if it wasn’t for your quick wit. His brain is no good in times of trial, he freezes up mentally, and though he jumps into action without a second thought, he rarely has the capacity to come up with an effective plan. You are certainly the brains of the operation, and the more he thinks about it, the more attractive your intelligence becomes. He wouldn’t want to be in this situation with anyone else in the world, and he means that with his whole heart.
When Garnet lands, Laila runs over to you, helping you and Jimin off her back with care and concern. She looks you over, gasping at the tear in your shirt. “What happened?! You disappeared toward the end and we heard screams, but Alva said we couldn’t go back. I was so worried for you! Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
You explain what happened bashfully, feeling embarrassed that you were the one to screw up the plan, but neither of the fairies seem upset by it.
“We’re just glad you made it out alright.” Alva reassures in a rare moment of sentiment.  “Do you still have the Fairy Dust?”
Thankfully, the bag remains untouched and secure around your waist. You weren’t thinking about it during that near death experience, but you’re glad that it wasn’t lost in all the action. After Laila takes the time to physically examine you to make sure you actually weren’t hurt, they lead you ahead to the last leg of your journey.
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Though they had talked at length about the stink bugs’ fortress, you were completely unprepared by the sheer number of bugs that were involved. You were forced to go the rest of the way on foot and had the chance to see the change in landscape that came as you neared the water. Where you would expect luscious plant growth you were instead met with hole riddled leaves and weeds, plants wilting with eaten roots, and scarred fruit littering the area, much different from the land closer to the meadow. Laila explains that these bugs are rapidly expanding their feeding grounds and will soon take over this side of the stream, and the thought sends a chill up your spine. But it isn’t until the water is in sight that you see the perpetrators of all this damage.
It’s almost like a swarm of bugs appears out of thin air once you cross a certain threshold, all of them crawling from under rocks and holes in the ground, flying up from plants where they were once hidden, and disgusted chills overcome you again at the sight of them. Jimin steps closer to you, putting an arm out in front of your body protectively when they form a wall in front of the 4 of you.
Laila steps forward, walking up to meet one bug that stands in the center of them all. She communicates with it for a few seconds, again amazing you with her lingual skills, and when she’s done, it turns away and flies in the opposite direction, leaving its army to stand guard. You don’t know what she said, or what is even happening right now as you seem to be standing in a stalemate, so you decide to ask.
“Was that the leader?” You whisper, as if speaking any louder would break the tension and prompt fighting with the soldiers ahead of you.
“No,” Alva answers, looking at her girlfriend’s back as she stands strong. “That’s only a messenger. I think she has asked to speak directly to the leader and the messenger agreed.”
“You think?” Jimin questions, tilting his head.
“Yeah, Alva, why don’t you know how to speak to bugs? Isn’t that a power you fairies have?” You join, blinking at her innocently.
“No it’s not some inherent power all fairies have, it’s a skill. A skill that I do not possess.”
“Well why not? I think it would be useful to learn.” You nod in agreement to Jimin’s words.
“Laila could probably teach you! Hey, babe, did you know they’re dating?” You ask excitedly, ignoring the winged woman to converse with your own significant other, but she cuts in quickly.
“This isn’t about me!” Her wings flick and you both stop talking, wordlessly returning your attention to the front where the bug returns with another creature in tow.
“Why the long look, Laila? Aren’t you glad to see me?” The voice of a man cuts through the air and you look up to find a thin fairy fluttering toward you, landing a few steps away from your comrade as she glares intensely at him. He’s colored brown similarly to the bugs he commands, but he is so twig-like that you could mistake him for a stick insect with wings. His features are as undefined as every other fairy you’ve encountered so far, but you can still tell he’s grinning by the way he opens his arms merrily.
“That’s their leader?” You whisper to your boyfriend, who looks on with the same shocked expression you wear.
“I have no desire to see your face.” Laila spits, shocking you even further. “You kidnapped Nissa, you do not deserve my kindness.”
“Is that so?” His arms drop to his sides. “Then, what brings you here, oh fair and beautiful warrior?” She visibly cringes at his words, Alva also wrinkling her face at his unwanted compliments.
“We’ve come to negotiate for our leader,” Alva speaks up, stepping closer to him to draw his attention. He scoffs, saying something about the two women not being allowed into his territory in order to negotiate, but she stands firm. “That is why we have brought ambassadors with us this time; surely, they are not banned as well?” His eyes then shift to yours, squinting at you and Jimin with a perplexed look. It’s probably the clothes that are throwing him off, you think.
“And what have they come to offer me? Will my sweet Laila finally trade herself in for her leader and become my bride?” A goofy smile crosses his lips, but it’s quickly wiped away with your next words.
“No, I will. I’ll become your bride in exchange for their leader.”
“What?” Jimin turns to you so fast that you think he’ll give himself whiplash, staring at you in disbelief. He must have heard you incorrectly, why would you say something like that? Placing his hands on your shoulders, he turns you to look at him, checking your face for any hints of a lie. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am serious, Jimin.” You say, looking back at his eyes. “If I offer myself to him, then Nissa will be free to go and there’s a chance for this place to be saved.”
“Yeah, but... we’re not even fairies. We don’t belong here. Why would you trade your own freedom for them?”
“Just because we aren’t one of them, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do everything in our power to help them. Their situation is hopeless without us, I can’t just sit here and let them suffer— not when I can do something about it.” It’s not that Jimin didn’t want to help them, it’s just that he’s not willing to give you up in exchange. And yes, all of your plans have worked so far, but this is going a little overboard.
“I want to help them too, but isn’t there another way?”
“This is the best way.” You say resolutely.
“But I can’t let you, (Y/n)! I can’t let you live with bugs for the rest of your life. Forget that, I can’t let you marry anyone else! I want to be the one you spend the rest of your life with— I love you! And I’m not willing to give you up for anything.” Your heart skips at his confession, your resolve wavering for a second. He’s never said anything like that to you before and it almost makes you dizzy with emotion. “I said I would keep you safe through all of this, and if we learned anything throughout this experience it’s that we need to work as a team, so it would be irresponsible of me to let you go through with this. Don’t forget, this is real life, no matter how surreal it seems, and you have a life to go back to after this.” His eyes are pleading, but you’ve already decided on this.
“You said you trusted me.” You say quietly, lip in a straight line.
“I do, but-“
“Do you trust me?” You ask again, his mouth left open with unspoken words. He takes a moment to answer, dropping his head.
“Yes.”
“Then trust that I know what I’m doing. We’re still a team, babe, I can’t do this without you. Go save their leader and trust that I’ll be okay. I have a feeling that everything will turn out well in the end.” Though his heart is hurting, Jimin let’s go of your shoulders, frowning deeply with conflicting emotions swimming in his eyes. For who?, he wants to ask, but he can’t say anything more.
“Now that I look at you, you are quite pretty.” The fairy walks up to you, bowing and kissing your hand. “Hello, I’m Hix. And you are?”
“(Y/n).” You reply simply, his lips feeling ticklish on your hand like when the wings were being attached to your back.
“And what are you, exactly?” He directs the question to both you and Jimin, but Laila answers.
“Humans. From a distant land.” Her arms are crossed and she’s still giving him the most disgusted look possible, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’ve never seen a human before... they must be rare. Esteemed much higher than a fairy leader.” Hix thinks aloud, a finger on his chin. After a few seconds of deliberation, he comes to the conclusion that this is a worthy trade. “Come with me. We can discuss this further once we’re inside.”
“What about him?” You point to Jimin and Hix pauses, raising an eyebrow.
“What about him?” He asks incredulously.
“He should come with us. He’s my... assistant.” You say slowly, hoping the excuse works. None of this matters if Jimin isn’t welcome in the fortress with you. Hix accepts with little thought, leading you away with a short farewell to your fairy accomplices, but Alva pulls Jimin aside as he passes her.
“Don’t worry, (Y/n)’s a smart girl and she can talk her way out of almost anything. She has a plan, just make sure you get Nissa out of there.” She leaves him with that as he follows you through the army of stink bugs, each of them dispersing once you reach the fortress.
His home is nothing to brag about, it doesn’t come close to the innovation and beauty of Laila and Alva’s place, but it is structurally sound and complex, so it has a few things going for it. It’s colors are of mud and dead plants, it’s foundations rooted in the bleak gray of smooth stones, and you find it to be quite depressing.
“Do you live here alone?” You ask. You can’t imagine staying in a place like this all by yourself. Maybe that’s why he’s so desperate to find a wife.
“Yes. I also built this place by myself, so it’s very personal.” The smile on his face is proud and your eyebrows scrunch in sympathy. He leads you two to a wide room before he remembers that Jimin is with you, turning abruptly to face him.
“You may leave us now, assistant.” He commands rudely, and you reach for Jimin’s hand just as he makes his exit.
“Here. Take this to her.” You whisper, slipping the bag of Fairy Dust to him discreetly. Of course, he’s reluctant to leave you alone with this strange fairy, but you seem confident so he’ll do his best for you. Since there is no one else around, not even guard bugs, he is free to roam the fortress, and he enters a hallway to begin the search for Nissa.
The building is much more complex than he expected. The hallways wind and most lead to dead ends, leaving him confused in a maze of empty, doorless rooms. Jimin finds that the fortress isn’t completely deserted, there were a few close calls with some bugs that were monitoring certain hallways, but after searching surrounding areas he comes to the conclusion that they must be guarding something important.
Maybe I can just walk past them? He thinks, biting his plush bottom lip as he spies on the occupied corridor from around the corner. He is a guest here after all. But what would he do if they questioned him, or worse, what if they attacked? Since he knows none of their language and he isn’t sure they can understand him, he goes with a stealth tactic.
Shimmying along the brown walls, Jimin moves as slowly as possible so as not to draw any attention to himself. There’s another turn up ahead, just before the entry way that the insects keep watch over, and the plan is to slip into it and cause a distraction in the opposite direction to get them to walk away. He thinks he’s seen that in a movie somewhere, but he’s praying it’ll work in real life. The halls are wide to accommodate the girth of the shelled backs of Hix’s soldiers and Jimin feels exposed, inching his way toward the opening and hoping they don’t spot him. Of course, the bugs are low to the ground, crawling around on all fours which would make his feet very easy to spot from their vantage point, but they appear to be talking with one another, their heads so small compared to their bodies that he can’t even see their mouths. They probably wouldn’t be able to do much if they did decide to attack, but he wouldn’t risk it to find out. He continues at his painstaking pace noiselessly, holding his breath to make 2 bold leaps into the opening, so close to them that the breeze from his motion causes them to look up.
They make a noise but make no attempts to investigate, and after a few silent seconds, Jimin throws out his distraction. The only thing he has on him is the whistle Laila gave him and the bag of Fairy Dust, so he fishes the small shiny tool out of his pocket and holds it in his palm, hoping dearly that he won’t need it in the future. He isn’t even sure Nissa is behind this door, so losing important items could be costly, but he has to trust himself. You’re counting on him after all. And you’d probably come up with a silly plan like this if you were in his situation too. He tries to have a little more faith. With 2 short deep breaths, Jimin gathers his courage and throws the whistle down the hall, snatching his head back behind the cover and closing his eyes when it clinks loudly against the dry walls. Now he’s caught—he’s sure— because they have to walk right past him to reach the noise and he tenses in preparation.
But miraculously, the plan works!
The pair of stink bugs crawl swiftly to the end of the corridor, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip into the now unguarded room. Upon entering, he sees what appears to be a normal bedroom, decorated nicely with windows that overlook the water and furniture that would make for comfortable living. But oddly, the room is unoccupied. Surely this would be where Hix would keep the fairy leader, unless this is his personal bedroom and he just has very feminine taste. But she’s nowhere to be found and disappointment curls around the pit of Jimin’s stomach. As a last effort, he calls out her name, wondering if she would be hiding somewhere.
“Nissa?” A few seconds go by and nothing happens, but just as he turns to leave, motion in the corner of the room startles him. Seeming to peel right from the wall itself is a figure, invisible at first glance, but slowly morphing into a distinguished body right before his eyes. Nissa changes color as she walks up to him, eying him suspiciously with every tentative step.
“Who are you?” Her voice is high but strong, her stance so intimidating that Jimin feels as though she were here to rescue him and not the other way around. She is most definitely a warrior.
“Uhm,” He clears his throat when his voice threatens to crack. “Alva and Laila sent me and my girlfriend here to help you escape. I-if you want to.”
She lets out a hearty laugh at that, her defensive posture slacking into something more relaxed and casual, and subconsciously Jimin’s body does the same. “I’ve been planning an escape for days, I can’t wait to get out of this place.” He wants to say something else, but instead he just stands awkwardly for a few seconds. Clearly, he isn’t as good with people as you are. “So, you’re human?”
“Yes.” He tilts his head at her and she grins.
“Laila must have done a pretty good job with the spell if you’re still in one piece.” His eyes widen as she walks past him, looking through the opening of the doorway.
“Why haven’t you escaped yet? The door’s wide open.” Actually there’s no door, but those are technicalities. He watches with interest as she presses her hand to the thin air, pulling it back sharply as though she had been shocked. But he’d just entered through there, there’s no way it could be sealed off.
“Hix sealed this room with magic. Don’t worry, though, it only works on fairies so you shouldn’t be affected by the barrier. My plan was to make the room look empty so he’d think I had already escaped, then to leave once he broke the barrier; but since you’re here I can use a different strategy.” Nissa turns to Jimin abruptly, her smooth features glowing brighter with an idea. “I need materials. Can you get them for me?”
“Oh, that reminds me!” Jimin gives her the bag of Fairy Dust that he had nearly forgotten about, and the relief on her face is clear once it’s in her possession. She thanks him, thinking quickly before nodding her head.
“Okay. I need a leaf and some wood. There should be a stash of leaves somewhere on the other side of this fortress and twigs scattered outside.” Just as Jimin goes to step out of the door, the guards return, stopping in front of the doorway without even glancing inside. He ducks behind the wall just to be sure, he and Nissa sharing a brief wide-eyed look. She grabs his wrist and wordlessly pulls him to the far side of the room, opening the bag of Fairy Dust he had just given her and pulling out a fist full. Jimin watches with fascination as she manipulates it between her hands, the consistency changing right before his eyes as she displays her mastery with the medium. Soon, it’s worked into a thin film and before he can react, she holds up her palms to him and blows into it like a bubble, the film stretching over his body from head to toe until he’s completely covered. Nissa pinches off the bubble, but it doesn’t pop. Instead, it tightens around him like a second skin, leaving him glistening and shiny with the odd texture of the material. “There.” She says proudly, grinning when he gives a ticklish shiver.
“What is this?” From what he can tell, nothing has changed except for the fact that he looks like he's wrapped in plastic.
“I just made you invisible. Now, you can leave without being noticed,” She explains, turning and pushing him toward the door. “They won’t be able to see what you’re holding when you’re like this, but they can still hear you, so be as quiet as possible. Now go, time is of the essence!”
Ever so carefully, Jimin steps out of the room and around the bugs. He presses himself to the wall, hoping that he doesn’t accidentally touch one of them or make a noise— he’s known to be pretty clumsy, so he needs to be extra careful. The hallways are fairly clear, he has an easy time making it to the other side of the fortress and gathering a leaf from what looks to be a break room of sorts. Next is the wood, and his plan is to slip outside, but just as he is passing by the large room that you’re in, he hears something curious.
“Ow!” You hiss, a scowl etched into your features as Hix prods you with a wooden staff. You appear to be frozen in place, your body unnaturally rigid, and telling by the shimmering quality of your clothes and skin, Hix probably cast some sort of spell on you.
“This is very interesting,” He hums, jabbing you in the back near your shoulder blades. “You look like you should have wings. They should be right here.” He drags the staff along your back, obviously perplexed. “Is this a genetic defect of some sort? You say you’re human?”
“Are you finished?” You ask impatiently, ignoring his questioning.
“I don’t entirely trust you yet. I need to make sure you aren’t just a fairy that’s trying to trick me to help Nissa escape. Even if you are who you say you are, there’s no guarantee that I’ll let her go. Surely I’ll gain some status if I have 2 wives. One who’s powerful and one that’s exotic.” He continues to circle you. Jimin fumes at that, ready to do something, but then you speak again.
“What’s your goal here?” You seem calm, and something tells him to wait.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you doing this? Why did you suddenly decide to kidnap Nissa and invade this area?” Hix debates whether or not he should tell you this or not, but in the end, opens up. There’s just something about you that makes people do that.
“The fairies treated me so poorly here. I was an outcast and everyone always excluded me, barely even considering me a fairy just because I had a knack for destroying things. Do you know how it feels to be rejected by your own people? Well I’ll tell you: it sucks. Most bugs didn’t even want to socialize with me, having heard rumors from the fairies about me and not even giving me a chance. I was sad and lonely and spiteful, so I decided that I’ll become powerful and gain control over this side of the water and force everyone to pay attention to me!”
“Is that what you want? Attention?”
“Yes. I want everyone to acknowledge me and see that I’m not worthless. If I control the waterway, I control everything. And if I have the fairy leader at my side as my wife, there’s no way anyone can ignore me anymore. I won’t have to be lonely or outcast, pushed to the corner where I’m out of sight and out of mind. My friends on the other side of the stream helped me realize that if I want to be happy, I need to be at the top.” He says this thoughtfully, placing his poking stick to the side and coming to stand in front of you.
“But this won’t make you happy. Sure, you’ll be married and may be able to control this area, but really, all you’ll have is a wife that doesn’t love you and a land full of people that hate you. They all know you kidnapped Nissa so she isn’t really on your side, and that your minions are destroying this place. The type of attention you’re getting from this isn’t the kind you want, trust me. It’s only confirming their thoughts about you.” He narrows his eyes at you, clearly disliking your reasoning.
“Then what do you suggest I do?” As the two of you stand face to face, Jimin decides to take this chance to creep over and steal Hix’s wooden stick. That way he won’t be able to poke you anymore and will inadvertently be aiding in his captive’s escape. Jimin hadn’t planned on staying to listen to your conversation, but what you say next makes him pause.
“What you need is to find real love and passion. I have someone that I love with my whole heart and I’ve been so happy since I met him. He’s a person that makes me feel brave, that would protect me at all costs, that takes me on adventures outside of my comfort zone, and I’ve grown so much just from being around him. On top of that, he helped me find my passion for exploration and travel, and we’ve had so many new experiences together that I wouldn’t have even dreamed of with anyone else. That’s what you need. You need someone— a lover or a friend— that challenges you and makes you happy. All of this stuff is great, but it doesn’t mean anything to you. In fact, all it does is hurt the people involved, including yourself. You’re not a bad person, you just need to branch out and find yourself. Let all of this go and find what really brings you joy.”
Was what you said true? Did you really feel that way about him? Jimin feels like his heart is about to burst at your confession. Although it wasn’t meant for him to hear, that makes it that much more sincere. He told you he loved you a little while ago and you didn’t even react, but hearing you say this eases every worry he had. Now motivated more than ever to finish this ordeal and get back to normal life with you, he snatches up the stick and hurries back to Nissa as Hix thinks over your words, his resolve looking shaken.
“You’re back!” She says as he enters, looking at him as though she can see him. She removes the spell on him, the film around him disappearing with the flick of her hand. Swiftly, she takes the leaf and staff from Jimin, moving to a table to drop the contents onto a prepared pile of dust. “Hix’s staff? Nice choice.” She giggles inspecting the wood with satisfaction before coating the items in the powder. After less than a minute she produces her finished product, the new staff glowing brightly. “Hold this.”
She thrusts it into his hands, and to his surprise, it’s quite heavy compared to the almost weightless stick he brought to her. Nissa walks over to the barrier, hands covered in dust, and places them in the center. Her palms move over the barrier independently, as if searching for something, and after a few seconds, she returns to him to take the staff back with now clean hands. He watches in awe as spots of gold seemingly float in midair as if attached to glass and the fairy walks over wielding her tool, not hesitating for a second before thrusting the blunt edge into the gold spots. Sparkles radiate out along the doorway with every strike, her technique looking like a fencing player expertly brandishing her rapier, and as soon as the last spot is pierced, the barrier flashes once and dissipates into a plume of dust. The dust lands on the stink bugs underneath, both of them falling to the floor, and the woman simply steps over their sleeping bodies without batting an eyelash.
“Come on, let’s go!” She waves him over, snapping Jimin out of his stupor as he follows her into the hall. They make their way back to you cautiously, avoiding all enemies as they navigate through the fortress.
Meanwhile, you sit with Hix on one of the benches in the center of the large room, your backs facing the entrance. You didn’t mean for this to turn into a therapy session, but somehow you ended up listening to all of his problems and sympathizing with the struggles he’s faced leading up to this, trying to help resolve this conflict peacefully.
“If you have friends on the other side of the stream, why don’t you just move there and live with them?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed in pity. “You would have a better life where they already accept you, instead of trying to force others to see your worth here.”
After giving this some thought, Hix stares out of the window in front of you. The water passes lazily outside, the other side looking several times farther away than when you were normal sized. “Maybe you’re right... but I put so much time and effort into this plan, I can’t give it up so easily.”
“You can! I know it seems like a waste of time, but the damage hasn’t been done yet. Things aren’t set in stone, you can still change your path and redirect yourself in a better direction. You haven’t married Nissa yet and your stink bugs haven’t destroyed this area, but if you continue like this, you may end up doing something irreversible and regretting it. Walk away now and start over. People don’t get many chances to do that in life.”
“But-“ He shakes his head. “They’re never going to forgive me for what I’ve done. I kidnapped their leader and threatened our home!” His head drops to his hands, and you put a hand on his back.
“They might not ever be able to forgive you, and that’s okay. But what’s important is that you never forget and use this experience to better yourself as a fairy. Look back on who you are now and tell yourself that you’ll never make the same mistakes again. I believe in you, Hix. I know you aren’t bad, you’ve just had a hard life— and I know I can’t do anything to make up for that, but I truly wish you the best in the future.” Your smile brings him to lift his eyes to look at you.
He sighs, looking at your sparkling eyes. You seem passionate about this and he can’t understand why you care so much about this. About him. You aren’t even a fairy from here, yet you’ve shown him more compassion than anyone in his entire life. And for the first time, his heart thumps wildly in his chest with warmth.
Nissa and Jimin arrive at the doorway, both peeking their heads in to see what was happening. They see you talking with Hix, your backs facing them, but the fairy looks to be in some sort of turmoil next to you, his head in his hands, looking mildly distressed. Jimin moves to interrupt, but Nissa holds her hand out in front of him, whispering to keep watching before taking action.
“I’ve had a change of heart because of you. I think it would be best if I did move to the other side of the water, away from the creatures I hurt and oppressed here. You’ve opened my eyes, (Y/n). You truly are a beautiful soul inside and out.”
He looks up at you again before suddenly lunging at you and pulling you into a hug, but from another perspective it looks as though he’s grabbing you and pulling you to him against your will. Nissa and Jimin gasp as they see your eyes wet with tears, and as soon as one slips down your cheek, they jump into action.
“I’m sorry you were treated so badly here. I wish I was born a fairy so that I could be your friend and change how things were for you.” You mumble sadly into the embrace, to which he chuckles.
“Thank you for your empathy, but you do not mean that. You have another life to live. Go be happy with your lover and tell him that you love him everyda-“
THUNK!
Nissa storms over from her hiding place and swings her club down, landing squarely on the back of Hix’s head. A short scream falls from your lips when he goes limp, the noise echoing in the room as he falls out of your arms and off of the bench onto his face, laying flat on the floor. Jimin pulls you up and into his arms, replacing the space where your new friend had been without a second thought. Cradling you into his chest, he misses the horrified look you have on your face.
“Did he hurt you? Are you okay? Did he touch you or make you do anything against your will?” His eyes are worried and you almost don’t have it in your heart to be angry. Almost.
“What the hell are you doing?!” You shout, looking down at his body. “Oh my god, did you kill him?” Jimin holds you as you try to go over to Hix, but you rip out of his grasp to kneel down to your new friend.
“Of course I didn’t kill him, he still needs to face the consequences of his crimes. I just knocked him unconscious.” The fairy beside Jimin says nonchalantly, looking incredibly satisfied with the sight of him lying unconscious.
“Why? He just agreed to let us go and move to the other side of the water! We resolved this peacefully!” Your eyes are flames as you look at them, and Nissa’s mouth falls open.
“Wait, he what?!” Even Jimin looks surprised. Yes, you are the most charming and persuasive person he’s ever met, but did you really sweet talk a villain in such a short amount of time?
Before you can say anything, several stink bugs enter the room, the commotion causing them to check on their leader. Their tiny eyes land on you leaning over his limp body, Nissa with a club and Jimin standing suspiciously near the scene of the crime. You try to explain— as if they would even understand you— but the wings on their backs open up and they begin to charge toward you aggressively.
There’s little time to react as Jimin grabs hold of your wrist and pulls you up, dragging you along as he follows the fleeing fairy that dashes toward the exit. You have no choice but to run with them, looking behind you only to be met with the large armored bodies of your pursuers. They close in from the left, right, and from behind as you head toward the door, close to cutting off your exit. You and Jimin sprint past Nissa when she suddenly twists around to face them, and with one swing of her club, the bugs are pushed backwards, allowing the three of you to make your escape.
Fresh air slaps you in the face once you make it outside, the humidity and guilt feeling suffocating in your lungs. In your heart you know this isn’t right. You connected with Hix, you made so much progress with him, but in the end violence was still used to get your way despite that. Yes, you and Nissa escaped, but someone else was hurt in the process. If Hix decided to go back to his original plan, you wouldn’t blame him, but you still feel horrible about how things turned out. You suppose your gut feeling was wrong after all.
“Babe, we have to keep running or they’ll catch us!” Jimin breathes exasperatedly, your feet slowing down beneath you without you noticing. A swarm of guards are now flying in from all sides, there’s no way you’ll be able to get around them. But that doesn’t mean Nissa won’t try, the fairy flying up to smack down the insects in an attempt to clear a path. But she’s just one woman and it won’t be enough, and you can’t force yourself to keep going. Just then, Alva and Laila appear, joining their warrior leader in the battle, knocking down the bugs to help you advance forward, but by now, you’ve stopped running. “(Y/n)!” Jimin pleads, tugging on your arm, but you ignore him.
Looking around, all you can see is a mess of flailing bodies and Fairy Dust, warriors attacking each other for an irrelevant cause. The sounds of buzzing and grunts fills your ears at an unsettling volume. It’s pure chaos. You hoped to avoid this— a war where others get hurt instead of solving things diplomatically and sensibly. As the appointed “diplomat”, you supposed you failed if things had to come to this.
“Alva, Laila, Nissa! Please stop!” You shout at them when one falls to the ground roughly. “You don’t need to fight, Hix has changed! He was about to let us go, there’s no need to fight unnecessarily!” They barely spare you a glance, the three of them trying to push through the blockade.
“Then why are they attacking you?” Alva points out, ducking as one bug tries to tackle her.
“You really believe he’s changed?” The leader asks, strained.
“Yes, he has. I could tell just by looking at him, he was telling the truth.” Nissa looks unconvinced, scoffing at your response.
“Then you don’t know him like I do.” She clearly doesn’t trust what you say, so you turn to your boyfriend, hoping he’ll be more understanding. Jimin looks at you and into your eyes, reading your emotions as if they were written in ink. He knows from experience that you’re a great judge of character and that you’re seldom wrong about things like this, but at the same time, you’re talking about the person who has tormented this side of the stream so much that the fairies here needed to recruit the two of you for help. It’s hard to believe that you’d be able to change him so easily. Only a few seconds pass but he feels like he’s standing there for minutes debating on if he should take your side or not. But he trusts you— you need him to trust you— so he does.
“I believe you.” He says quietly, letting go of your arm, much to your relief. You’ve always been a pacifist, so he knows you’ll take this personally if anything bad happens to any of your comrades. He calls up to the others. “If she says he’s changed, then he has! Please, stop fighting.”
“How can you be so sure?” Laila questions, looking down at the two of you briefly.
“I know my girlfriend. (Y/n) wouldn’t lie about something like this.” As he speaks, nobody notices the male exiting the fortress with a throbbing head, looking out at all of the action in front of him. “Laila, Alva, you brought us here to help save your land, and it was (Y/n) who convinced me to help you do it. The least you could do is believe her and listen to what she has to say. She cares so deeply about this place after only being here for a short time, she would never do anything to hurt you. Just please stop attacking and listen. You don’t have to believe her right now but at least stop fighting.” Jimin isn’t nearly as eloquent with his words as you are, but you can’t help but smile at his short speech. It may not mean anything that he’s taking your side, but you appreciate the support nonetheless. And to your surprise, everyone does stop fighting soon after.
The stink bugs land in an orderly pattern, standing solidly like before as Hix approaches dizzily from behind. Your three friends land as well, glaring at the man who now holds his head with a sorrowful look on his face. Without seeing him, you step forward, prepared to explain all that you have learned. You tell them of how you listened to Hix (the first time anyone has ever done that) and found that he was just a misunderstood and lonely villain of their own creation. You spoke of how he simply wanted to be acknowledged, and how all of the creatures around did everything in their power to make sure he never received that acknowledgement by spreading untrue rumors about his character. Hix isn’t evil, you explained, he’s just desperate to be one of them, and if it took him going to such extreme measures for them to finally notice him and his struggles, then the problem lies with them and not him.
“So he won your pity? Good for him. But that still doesn’t excuse what he’s done.” Alva crosses her arms, followed by Nissa, Laila staying silent.
“Yes, I know.” He finally speaks up from behind you, looking dejected and apologetic when you snap your head around to look at him. Upon seeing him, Jimin steps in front of you out of instinct, not liking how physically close the two of you were before the escape. You trust Hix, but it is still his duty to make sure that you are safe. Your hand rests on his side, but you don’t push him out of the way, simply peeking out from behind his back to watch as the fairy speaks. “I know that what I have done is unforgivable, but this human has given me a lot of insight. Enough to change my heart.”
They scoff at him, but refrain from speaking at your sharp glare. Hix approaches you, but Jimin stands firm, holding his arms out to block him— something that surprises the mud colored fairy before you.
“It’s okay, Jimin.” You say, placing a gentle hand to his shoulder in reassurance. Hix looks on in awe as you stare into each other’s eyes, communicating in an unspoken language that makes your boyfriend slowly comply and allow you to step into the open. But he still makes sure you’re right at his side. He won’t let you out of his sight again.
“I see. So this “assistant” is your lover?” Hix grins in realization, donning sparkles in his eyes. You nod. “I’ve never... known love or kindness. But seeing you like this, and having experienced the kindness you showed to me— a complete stranger— makes me want to find it on my own. Away from here.” His fingers are soft when they touch your arm, color painting his cheeks. Nissa gapes at this, not having seen the man be so tender before. She’s only seen his bitterness or the mocking, teasing persona he used when addressing Laila, whom he’s long had a crush on. He turns to them, addressing the three that stare in shock. “No amount of apologies will undo the trouble I’ve caused, but I’m willing to take whatever punishment you all decide for me. I want you to know that I plan on moving to the other side of the water, where I was more welcome there than I ever was here, and I will never bother you again. Nissa, I’m sorry I kidnapped you.” He looks down sheepishly. “It was very childish of me to think that it would solve anything, and instead it just caused more conflict and fighting. You are completely justified in knocking me out. Let this lump on the back of my head be a reminder of my wrongdoings and keep me on the right path.”
You stifle a laugh at that, biting your lip to hide your smile.
Then, Hix turns to you once more, looking between you and Jimin’s faces. “You are very wise,” You blush at this, feeling the earnestness in his compliment. “You said earlier that this person is someone you love, correct?” He asks, pointing to Jimin, to which you nod shyly. “Well, he is very lucky to have someone like you: someone so sincere and caring. Never change.” His eyes find Jimin’s. “I don’t know much about love, but she thinks of you very fondly. Please treat her with all the delicacy in the world and never let her go.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that, blushing furiously at your confession coming from the wrong mouth. You try not to look mortified when he looks down at you, your cheeks shaded prettily as well and lifted into a soft smile. He doesn’t plan on letting you go any time soon, and this whole experience has made him want to hold on to you tighter than before.
“What should we do with him?” Nissa whispers to her companions, eyeing the remorseful male that comes to stand in front of her.
“You are our leader, I think you should decide.” Alva replies. An odd look crosses Nissa’s face then, one that almost mirrors her enemy’s as they look back at each other.
“I’m your leader...” She mutters thoughtfully before standing straight. “I’m no leader. I caused everything that’s happened, everything that Hix has done. The rumors that ruined his reputation: I started them. I... I didn’t realize that my words could have so much power— that as the leader of the meadow that I had the strength to destroy someone just by giving my misguided opinion of them. No, I never liked you Hix,” He rolls his eyes at that. “But I never meant to cause you such pain. You deserve to live a normal life, so as leader I will allow you to leave without punishment.” Shocked, he bows his head in thanks.
“How noble and humble of you to admit your faults.” Laila comments quietly, her cheery attitude returning.
“Furthermore,” Nissa continues. “I’m stepping down.”
“What?! You can’t do that!” Alva protests loudly, eyebrows shooting up as she leaves the ground just slightly in her surprise. Laila also seems shocked, but she grabs her lover’s arm and tells her to calm down and let her explain.
“A real leader doesn’t slander others mindlessly. They are diplomatic and generous with a perfect balance of modesty and fierceness. I believe Laila fits that description perfectly.” Everyone turns to her then, your eyes lighting up when they meet hers for the first time this entire night. “Laila, I name you the new leader of the meadow. We can officially title you in front of everyone in the morning.”
You all clap, Alva jumping on her in a tight hug, the taller fairy spinning her girlfriend around before setting her feet back to the ground. Jimin smiles at the adorable display, his arm thoughtlessly wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his side. Your eyes are glued to him as he watches the happy couple. You’re happy he’s here with you through all of this. It’ll all feel like a crazy dream in the morning, but at least he’ll be there to recount all of your experiences with you.
“Since you’re giving up your position, whatdoya say we both start over across the water?” Hix interjects, wiggling his eyebrows at Nissa. “We could build a new place, find ourselves-“
“NO.” She cuts him off sharply, her wings twitching similarly to Alva’s.
“Well, then... I guess it’s time for me to go.” He says, pout on his lips, but it disappears when he turns to face the stream. In his eyes, you can see him envisioning his new future, the possibilities of having a new life where he doesn’t have to feel lonely and rejected anymore. You wish him the best, you truly do. He walks up to the water’s edge, dipping himself in safely and re-emerging looking clean. His real complexion is actually a dark leafy green, and you assume he colored himself brown to fit in with the stink bugs. He calls the creatures and they come flying up to him, all of them floating over the water together and dispersing into the wildlife there.
“I guess my gut feeling was right after all.” You tell Jimin, giving him a toothy grin. “Everything turned out just fine.”
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You ride Garnet back to the meadow, yawning and resting your cheek on Jimin’s back for the entirety of the trip. It’s mostly silent, the breeze whistling lullabies into your ears and combing through your hair sweetly as you fly over the terrain. The spies are gone, you notice, the highly policed skies looking empty and calm. Many creatures have already started migrating closer to the water and you presume that Hix’s fortress won’t be standing for much longer once the insects get ahold of it, tearing it down to get to the bank of the water and restore their supply. You feel proud of you and Jimin for accomplishing your outlandish mission, and you whisper as much to him in the quietness of the night.
With one stop to visit and say your goodbyes to the friendly mushroom fairy, Bayard, you’re off to Nissa’s home, which you find out is right next to Alva and Laila’s.
“Alright,” She says, guiding you and Jimin inside her abode. “Time to make that reversal spell. If I can remember it.” She mutters the last part, causing your eyebrows to scrunch, but she waves you off when you question it.
“Thank you for helping us.” Laila walks up to you, meeting your gaze for the second time. She doesn’t seem as intimidated by you anymore, which is a relief. But her cheeks still flame the longer you hold eye contact. “We couldn’t have done this without you. Both of you.” Then she turns to Jimin. “Remember what we talked about. Never be embarrassed.”
You look between the two of them as he nods, neither saying anything more than that, but you’ll let them keep their secrets. She hugs both of you and then it’s Alva’s turn to say her last few words to you.
“Thank you both. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to pull it off, but things turned out better than I could have hoped. Really, you two are lovely, come visit us again sometime if you can. Then you’ll get to see how beautiful the meadow is in times of peace.” She pulls you both into an awkward side hug that makes you giggle, her own cheeks pink and wings flicking when you tease her about it.
“Mm, I think this is it!” Nissa chimes, scooping the now blue Fairy Dust into a bag. “Are you two ready?” At your okay, they fly you back to your purple blanket, placing you in the center where you find other bugs inspecting the odd surface. “I guess I should say thanks as well. You didn’t have to save me, but I really appreciate that you did.” She bows her head at you, taking both you and Jimin’s hands in hers to show her gratitude.
A ticklish feeling overtakes your whole body when she sprinkles the blue dust onto you, but this time you don’t faint. You watch as the waving fairies become smaller and smaller, their figures disappearing until they are nearly microscopic to you. The blades of grass around the perimeter of your blanket shrink too, as well as the trees and fireflies surrounding you, all returning to normal proportions that take a minute for your mind to process.
“We’re finally normal again.” Jimin sighs, looking at his body and the area around you. It does feel better to know that your chances of being smashed by something are significantly lower now.
“Was that... real?” It feels fake, like a pipe dream, and when you check your phone you find that only an hour has passed since you first got there. “That can’t be right.” You blink a few times, both you and him staring at the time in confusion.
“Time must move slower when you’re that tiny.” He reasons, running a hand through his hair. You take the time to reorient yourself, gazing back up at the stars above you. They twinkle invitingly, their light feeling so much brighter after experiencing the darkness of the forest floor. You look over at Jimin to find that he’s already staring at you, looking as though he’s nervous about something.
“What?” You ask, eyes wide at the expression on his face. He takes a deep breath, your heart beating a thousand times faster.
“I...” Taking his lip between his teeth, he pauses to choose his words. “(Y/n), I love you.” Your heart flutters, and this time you let it. “I meant it when I said it earlier, I really do love you. I wanted tonight to be special so I brought you out here to a place that was special to me as a kid, and I wanted to confess to you here, but I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way. But I’m not afraid to say it anymore.” His hand finds yours, fitting perfectly like it was made to be there. “This whole experience made me realize how much I need you, and how terrified I am of losing you. I was so terrified that something bad would happen to you the entire time that I have a headache right now from all the stress!” You laugh, placing your free hand on the side of his face, fingertips grazing his temple. “But even though I was scared, you taught me how to be brave and step out of my comfort zone. I wanted to protect you, but somehow you ended up protecting yourself and saving the entire meadow with your amazing instincts (which is incredibly sexy, by the way), but now I feel like a useless sidekick. So, I guess the only thing I can offer a girl that has everything, is my heart. I don’t mind being your sidekick as long as I know you love me too.”
Jimin tends to ramble when he’s nervous, word vomiting everything that’s on his mind, but it’s one of his charms that you find absolutely adorable. You can’t help but smile at his confession, the dampness of his palms melting you. “Of course I feel the same way, Jimin. Hix kinda confessed for me, but I still want to say it myself. Park Jimin, I love everything about you. You might feel like you’re my sidekick tonight, but we’ve been on so many adventures before this where you were the one who led me out of my comfort zone and taught me how to find my own courage. Do you remember our first date?” He giggles at the memory with you, looking away with fondness. “It was around Halloween and you convinced me to go to one of those haunted trails with you after I said I’d never been to one. And you pulled me along every step of the way and held me close so I wouldn’t get lost or hurt myself because I had my eyes closed the entire time.” You let out an embarrassed chuckle. You really have changed a lot since meeting him. “I think that was the day that I realized I was in love with you. Or at least that I would fall in love with you. I’ve never felt so safe and comforted in anyone’s arms before, but when you held me, it felt like home. Every time we went on an adventure, you were always the one to reassure me and make sure I was okay; that’s the reason why I slowly began to open up to the world and realize my passion for exploration. I don’t think you realize just how much of who I am today is because of you, Jimin.”
“You don’t mean that..” He says, though his love for praise starts showing in the pleased look he has in his eyes. You decide to indulge in it.
“I do! I’m only able to be brave because I know that you’re there to protect me. You saved my life twice tonight! And thank you for having my back and helping me stop the fighting. I couldn’t have saved the day without you.” His hand wraps around the wrist of your hand that still rests on his face, both of you looking into each other’s eyes lovingly.
“Of course, babe, we’re a team. Let’s always stay together.” He leans in to softly press his lips to yours, and you stay in that gentle kiss under the stars for an indeterminate amount of time, lost in each other’s embrace. When you pull away, you see shapes being drawn into the air, Fairy Dust in the shape of hearts traced above your heads, and you smile at the antics of your friends, wondering if they were listening the whole time. It’s a beautiful display that warms your heart. “I think it’s time to head back to camp.” Jimin says softly when you yawn, standing before extending a hand to you and pulling you up against his chest.
As you bend down to pick up your belongings, you feel something hard in your pocket and reach inside to pull it out. An unnaturally shimmery whistle rests between your fingers, now grown to a proportionate size as it must have been caught in the spell as well. You meet eyes with Jimin as he folds up the blanket, raising his eyebrows at you to blow it, and when you do fireflies come swirling up from the grass, synchronized and brilliant as they put on a spectacle for you. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles from your throat as you watch them perform, spelling their thanks to you and your boyfriend before one comes to land in the center of your hand.
“Thank you, Garnet. We’ll come back to visit someday.” She flutters her wings and flashes her colors at you before taking off again into the night, her light blending in against the starry sky as Jimin takes your hand to begin the trek back to your campgrounds.
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mycroftinthemindpalace · 4 years ago
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6, 20, or 44: choose whichever one inspires you :)
Prompt request from @daggery: I went with 20 - “D..did you just make that noise?” There’s a good chance I’ll come back to the other ones too. Thank you! 
“Coming through!” Mal yelled, loudly enough that if the two students up ahead did not get out of her way and were run over, it was their own fault. Fortunately for everyone, the two kids dove in opposite directions seconds before Mal barreled down the staircase. She had spent way too long with helping Jane practice her spells, and she was definitely going to miss lunch, and if she missed lunch, there was no way she could get through an hour and a half of science that afternoon. They were doing lab, and the smell turned her stomach when it was full. On empty, she’d probably pass out, and Mal would die before she’d let that happen.
Two more floors to go before she reached the bottom, then a quick left turn out the door, a brisk run across the courtyard, and lunch was hers. She was pretty sure they were serving pasta today, and Hades help everyone if there was no pesto left by the time she got there.
“AAHHHH-EEEEEEEE!” Mal froze with half a staircase to go. Mal was used to people shrieking, but not in Auradon. If it were Jane or Melody, she’d have cared, but not stopped. If it were Audrey, she might have turned back just to laugh, but that girlish squeal had not come from very far away.
In fact, it had come from her dorm room, which meant it was Evie, which meant Mal was probably going to miss lunch because the piercing scream had not even ended before Mal was turning on her heel, darting back up the stairs (bumping into one of the two students who were not quick enough this time to avoid her), and breaking down her dorm room door.
She panted, out of breath in the doorway. Her eyes scanned the room for some signs of trouble. The window was closed, there was no blood on the ground, no shattered glass in sight.
As a matter of fact, there was no Evie in sight either.
The only thing out of place in her dorm room was the tall, brown-haired boy in a leather vest, standing on her bed, pressing himself against the wall, his eyes darting wildly around the floor.
“Jay?” She asked, closing the door behind her gently. Jay’s head shot up. Upon seeing her, his wild eyes stopped moving. Like a chameleon, his face changed rapidly from white to slightly green to dark, dark red. “D..did you just make that noise?”
“What noise?” His question would have been far more believable were it not asked two octaves above his usual pitch. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Uh, what noise?”
Mal set her backpack down. “The loud girlish squeal that just came from this room.”
Jay scowled. “I don’t recall any such noise being made.”
“Did you yell?”
“...yes. In a manly fashion.”
Mal smirked. “I’m pretty sure you shattered two downstairs windows with that note you hit.”
Jay’s shoulders relaxed as he slouched down the wall and plopped onto Mal’s bed, sitting cross-legged and cross-armed, and pouting like a three-year-old. “Did not,” he muttered.
“So what made you squeal?” Mal jumped up next to him and mimicked his posture. His lips twitched in a very obvious attempt to keep from smiling.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
Jay hesitated, his eyes flickering back to the floor. Mal followed his gaze, then reeled backward as he jumped to his feet and adopted his previous position at the head of her bed, wide-eyed. He raised a shaky finger and pointed. Mal turned and caught the tail end of a tail, bolting across the room and beneath her dresser.
“A mouse?”
“Get it out get it out get it OUT!” Jay yelled, his voice rising once more. Mal stuck a finger in her ear.
“Chill, dude.” She hopped off the bed, grabbed Evie’s yardstick off her design table, and swept it underneath the dresser. The mouse raced out and ran directly into Mal’s backpack, perfectly positioned at the dresser’s end. Mal zipped it quickly, shot a wary glance at her friend, bouncing from foot to foot and wringing his hands in front of him. “Be right back.” And with that, she was out the door.
Jay immediately collapsed on the bed, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. He released a breath he had not realized he was holding in, and closed his eyes. The hellion was gone, but now he would have to deal with Mal. Mal’s mocking, Mal’s laughter, Mal’s incessant questioning as to why Jay, son of Jafar, had turned into a sniveling, trembling coward at the sight of a white rodent half the size of his hand.
He’d been nine, and Jafar had been angry. He’d brought back a lamp, thinking it might please his father and make up for the otherwise pathetic haul he’d gotten that day, but Jafar had taken the lamp as a personal insult. It was an ordinary lamp, one that might sit on a bedside table and plug into the wall if the Isle had any electricity to light it, not the kind from Jafar’s story. Of course, Jay didn’t know the difference, not then. When he’d proudly presented it to his father, Jafar had sneered. He’d called him stupid, and useless, and he’d broken the lamp over his head and kicked him out.
“Come back with something of worth or don’t come back at all,” his father had said, right before he locked the door.
Something of worth. What the hell did that even mean? To Jay, a pair of shoes that still had soles, and a sketchbook for Mal were things of worth, but to Jafar they were trash. He knew because Jafar had told him so. He’d been working for his father for four years at that point, and he still didn’t know what would earn him a place at the dinner table and what would be thrown back at him. There was no point in trying to figure it out either; what Jafar deemed worthy changed on any given day. And that day, Jay determined, nothing would please his father. Might as well find himself a dry place to sleep and try again in the morning.
There was a storm that night, and Jay was cold. The alley would be filled with goblins and rascals also looking for shelter, and Jay knew better than to sleep when they were around. The wharf was out too; he’d stolen a medallion off Harry Hook last week, and he doubted that the pirate had forgotten.
That left the woods. Jay crept through the muddy undergrowth until he found a shrub big enough for him to slip in. It wasn’t cozy, but there weren’t any thorns and the bush had kept the grass mostly dry. There was even something soft there for him to rest his head on. His head hurt from where the lamp had hit it, and it didn’t take him long to fall asleep.
He slept well, better than he usually did on the nights Jafar kicked him out. He dreamt he was in a castle, not a dark one like Mal’s, but one that was brightly lit and stocked with food he’d only seen on TV. He licked his lips, again and again.
And then woke to find that it was him who was licking his lips, but a fat, white mouse.
Jay screamed. He screamed and knocked the mouse off his face, and then flung one from his shoulder and pulled one out of his hair. He scrambled out of the bush, away from the woods, and back to Jafar’s shop. He ran in, even though his father had not yet granted him permission, and tore of his clothes as he went. Only later, when he went to retrieve them, did he find another mouse huddled in his sweatshirt pocket.
Jay shivered at the memory. He could still feel them, pulling at his hair, pawing at his clothes, licking his mouth. He ran his hands up and down his arms, trying to pull himself together before Mal returned.
She didn’t say a word when she came in, just shrugged her backpack off and pulled an apple out of her coat pocket. She held it out to him, and he accepted, taking a bite that was way too large for his mouth, but if he kept chewing, he didn’t have to talk. She’d brought one for herself as well, and pulled out her sketchbook as she ate. She balanced it on her knee, keeping it tilted at just the right angle so Jay could not see what she was drawing. Probably him, standing on her bed, screaming in terror. He internally groaned.
“Mal,” he started as soon as he’d finished the fruit. “About the mouse. It’s...”
“The spawn of the devil,” Mal said without looking up. “I would have killed it, but I figured there was, like, a 60% chance that it was related to one of Cinderella’s mice, and I never would have heard the end of it if I’d murdered Jacques second cousin or whatever.”
Jay blinked. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
She snapped the sketchbook closed and stuffed it back in her backpack. Hopping off the bed, she held out a hand to him. “Walk me to chemistry?”
He smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
They were halfway there when Mal asked him if he’d ever considered going out for choir, noting that, if his tourney dreams didn’t pan out, he’d make a great soprano.
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