#thorns retracted because he's just kind of annoyed but he has turned himself into an iron maiden slinky before and will do it again

[carlyraejepsans]

dorkssss

[kookscrescent]

Wings Are Meant To Fly │ pjm

➤ pairing│Jimin x female reader ➤ summary│You finally go your wings, but when you find yourself having a difficult time learning the ins and outs of flying, the last person you want help from offers his.  ➤ rating│PG-13  ➤ genre│fairy au, fantasy au, enemies to lovers ➤ warnings│strong language, some kissing, Jimin is simply an asshole, some humor (hopefully lol...) ➤ word count│5k│semi edited ➤ release date│December 9th 2019 ➤ disclaimer│This is all fiction! Nothing mentioned/written are facts and/or real! So please just keep that in mind when reading and enjoy! Thank you ♡

⇥ Masterlist

”God fucking dammit!”

Cursing loudly, you stumble through the thickness of the bushes and trees. Thorns pocking the bare skin on your legs, some of them penetrating the skin leaving behind a stinging sensation.

You look down the length of your body. You have dirt everywhere! The new dress your mother made for this specific day is now completely ruined! The white fabric now stained with brown dirt and green spots of grass.

“Ugh!” you cry loudly in frustration, your hands furiously trying to wipe away as much of it as possible.

Leaves crumble in the tall bushes next to you, “Having trouble?”

The voice startles you, making you jump in shock and making your heart beat uncontrollably. You scoff when you notice who the voice belongs to. Him. Why does he have to be the one to witness this of all the people in the village?!

“Go away.” You grumble and turn your back to him.

But of course he doesn’t listen. He never does. He only ever listens to himself and his father. “But I was enjoying the show.” He pouts, but you can clearly hear the amusement in his voice, and it makes your blood boil.

“I’m serious Jimin, go away!”

Your day has already been crap thus far and you don’t need him as audience for this just to go back to the village and tell everyone how much you suck at learning how to fly.

For over centuries, young fairies have grown into their wings on their 21st birthday. Today was your turn to get yours. You were so excited when you woke up this morning, not caring in the slightest about the presents and the breakfast your parents had prepared for you, you just rushed to the bathroom to look at your new wings in the mirror.

They are beautiful. You have always seen everyone older than you walking around with theirs and flying around the village. It was such a sight and you couldn’t wait for the day you got yours.

You are still amazed when you look over your shoulder and they are there. Pure white and feathery, and just the right size for you.

But your happiness didn’t last very long.

In this village it is also customary to learn how to fly on your own. That means without supervision and without help from any of the elders, just yourself and your wings trying to take off from the ground and stay in the air.

Not that anything would happen if anyone were to teach someone how to fly, but in this village, pride is a major key.

Flying… It sounds easy enough, but it is not! The amount of concentration it takes to get only a couple of centimeters off the ground is enough to give anyone a headache! And once you finally got a few centimeters off the ground, your entire body would spasm, sending you crashing right to the ground.

It is no fun at all! And the fact that Jimin has just witnessed your crash of humiliation is just the icing on the cake. You know that by the end of the day the entire village will know about you lost attempts of flying.

“You know it usually takes a one or two tries for most people, but five tries ____? Really?”

You bend down to grab the nearest rock and you throw it at him, aiming for his face. “Fuck off Jimin!”

The rock isn’t even close to hitting his face. You manage to humiliate yourself even further by throwing like a total loser as well. Great!

Jimin laughs at your poor attempt. “You can’t even throw!”

“Not all of us grew up in the same conditions as you!” You throw back desperately.

Being the son of the fairy king, Jimin grew up in a completely different setting than you. Sure, you went to the same school during your younger years and through your teenager stage, but in private it was all different.

He grew up in a castle with a king as his father, while you grew up in a normal house and your father is by no means a king, he is however an advisor to the king, but being one of the kings advisors doesn’t bring you any privileges in this field per say. Jimin received training in all sorts of things like sports, history and because of his position as the king’s son, he was even permitted flying lessons when he turned 21. You didn’t get any of that growing up. Your fathers takes great honor in his pride as well as his family’s pride, and he is a firm believer in self learning, so the extend of your training – of any kind – was your father trying to get you to play sports with him. He quickly gave up when he realized that it would be to no avail though. You don’t own a single sporty bone in your body!

The rock you just tried throwing is evidence of that!

“I didn’t receive training in rock throwing,” he deadpans with a laugh.

Jimin steps closer to you, standing in your line of sight. You glare at him, wishing that you could smack that stupid smirk right off his face, but you know it will only get you in trouble.

You notice he has retracted his wings, the space on his back being left bare and only covered by his shirt, but you have seen them plenty of times before. They are unlike any other wings. He is  a direct line to the throne, royal blood running through his veins and therefor his wings are black. Just like his fathers.  

You would never in a million years admit this to him, but his wings are actually quite breathtaking. The color so rare and unique for wings, and when they hit direct sunlight they turn silver – the same color as his hair.

Jimin takes in the sight of you as well. The light layer of dirt covering your white wings is proof that you have fallen to the ground more times then you have stayed in the air. Your dress as well is covered in dirt and mud, and Jimin finds it rather amusing that you haven’t yet mastered the skill of flying.

You sigh in despair, “Seriously Jimin, what do you want?” You just wish for him to leave you alone so you can get a grip on this.

“Nothing,” he shrugs.

“Good, then leave.”

You don’t know if it is the pleading tone of your voice or the way your hope is slowly leaving your body, but eventually, after a few seconds of pondering, Jimin turns and leaves through the bushes. You watch him leave without further words, the tightness in your shoulders slowly loosening and when you can’t see him through the branches and leaves, you breathe deeply, determined to fly.  

“How did it go?” Your mother asks as soon as you step into your house. The sun has long set and has been replaced by the moon for the night.

“Did you fly?” she proceeds to ask when you don’t answer her first question.

You head straight for your bedroom. “I don’t wanna talk about it!” You say with a little too much anger and slam the door behind you.

You feel bad for talking like that to your mother. It’s not her fault that you can’t seem to get a grasp on this stupid flying thing!

Faceplanting on your bed, you groan loudly into the pillow – all of your pent-up anger and frustration seeping into the soft fabric.

Why did you have to be born as a fairy? Why could you not just have been born as a human or a troll… Okay, maybe not a troll, but still!

Do you even need the skill of flying? What is it even good for? It’s not like it’s a life or dead necessity.

“This sucks!” You mumble into the pillow.

Despite the fact that you haven’t slept a wink last night, your determination has brought you out of bed at the crack of dawn and back to the same secluded clearing. The sun has barely even woken up yet and the entire village is still sleeping. Not a single fairy is in sight and you thank the great fairy God that your 21st birthday fell on a Friday, which means that today is Saturday and no one will be up for at least a couple of hours.

You learnt from your mistake yesterday, wearing a brand new dress was a bad idea, so instead you opted for a pair of your old leggings and a t shirt you don’t care about. Thankfully it’s not to chilly in the mornings this time of the year.

You can see the small clearing as you push through many branches, your hands providing your face with safety as they pounce back every time they are slightly pushed to the side.

As you make it out of the bushes, you spot a figure sitting on the opposite side of the small field, leaning casually against a tree while eating an apple. You stop in your tracks when you realize just who it is.

“What the hell are you doing here Jimin?!”

He doesn’t even flinch at the tone of your annoyed voice. He briefly lifts his head to meet your eyes before he returns his focus to the apple, taking a big bite, the sound ringing through the empty clearing.

“You’re here?” He feigns nonchalantly.

“Why are you here?” You ask him again stepping closer.

This time he keeps his eyes on yours, a stupid smile appearing on his face. “I was out for my morning run and decided to take a little break.” Another bite of apple goes into his mouth.

Frustrated, you shake your head and cross your arms over your chest. “You were out for your morning run?” You huff. “Right Jimin, whatever.”

You decide to leave. You really don’t have the energy to deal with him today! You’ve barely slept more than a few minutes and you are still angry and frustrated from yesterday. You are practically a bomb waiting to go off!

“I can help you, you know!” Jimin calls after you making you stop and face him.

“What?”

“I can teach you how to fly.”

You narrow your eyes at him. What is his deal? “And why exactly would you do that?”

“Wings are meant to fly,” he smirks arrogantly and then adds on a shrug, “and I’m a friendly soul.”

You could laugh right then and there! Jimin a friendly soul? Right!

In all the years you have known him, he has never once been remotely friendly towards you. Jimin is 2 years older than you, and during your school years, he was always the most popular guy. Everyone wanted to be his friend but he always kept to his close knit circle of friends.

The elite fairies.

They were a group of seven guys, all stemming from similar backgrounds, except for Jimin being higher in rank than all of them. But you don’t really think they look at it in that way. They were all friends, equal so to say.

Or at least that was the vibe you got from them whenever you saw them in the hallways.

But he has never been nice to you! He would always tease you for the way you dressed, the way you styled your hair. He even teased you for hitting puberty later than most of the other girls.

You hated that he felt like he could just tease and make fun of whoever he pleased just because of his father is the king.

“I’m sorry, but did you just say that you are a friendly soul?” You laugh and he has the audacity to scowl at you. “Sure, and I’m your fairy godmother.”

Jimin stands form his spot by the tree, carelessly throwing the remainder of his apple to the ground. He takes slow steps towards you, his hands going into the pockets of his black joggers. “Really? I’ve actually never met my fairy godmother seeing as she died over 100 years ago, but I must say you really do hold up nicely for someone that is supposedly dead.”

If you could just smack him once and get away with it! You can feel your palms itching to do so, but you fight the urge.

“Goodbye!” You growl with clenched teeth.

“I can have you up and flying by the end of the hour.” He drawls his promise seductively, his voice coated with sugar and venom.

Again, you stop walking as his words settle with you. He can have you flying by the end of the hour but at what cost? What does he get out of this arrangement? Would it even be that bad having him teach you how to do it? Sure it would hurt your pride, but you really don’t know how many more crashes you can take before you eventually go crazy and rip off your wings.

Fuck! Are you really contemplating this?!

“What would you get out of it?”

Jimin goes through all of the options in his head, his lips forming a straight line but his eyes dancing brightly with humor.

“A kiss.” He finally lands on.

You almost choke on air. A kiss!? What the hell!

“You want me to kiss you?!” You sputter. “What the fuck? Why?!”

Jimin shrugs, “Call it curiosity.”

“What even…” Your words slowly die down as you feel yourself getting flushed. You hate to admit it, but as much as you hate the guy you are not blind! You think he’s attractive – of course you do, you would be stupid not to think so, but that fact doesn’t make up for him being a complete asshole!

Yet, you find yourself seriously wanting to kiss him… just to see what it would be like…

No! You can’t seriously want to kiss him! It’s an internal battle with yourself, your mind going over all of the pros and cons. The pro is that by the end of the hour you will hopefully be flying with ease, and the cons are that its Jimin who will have taught you how to do it, and he will most likely tease you with it for the rest of your existing life and you will have to kiss him as well.

All though that part can be seen as both a pro and a con depending on which part of your body you ask right now.

“Alright, fine!” You hear yourself speak in the end. “But one kiss. One small peck!” You stress to him.

“Whatever,” he pulls his hands from his pockets and stands in front of you. “Let’s see your wings then.”

You feel a little intimidated to spread your wings right here in front of Jimin. It’s not a difficult task to do, you quickly mastered how to retract and extend them yesterday but having Jimin’s burning gaze on you while you do it… it is a little unsettling.

With a deep breath you let your wings flutter open behind you. It is still a feeling you are getting used to and you still haven’t made up you mind if you like the feeling or not. It doesn’t hurt per say, but its most definitely not a pleasant feeling either. The best way you can describe it is, that it is similar to the feeling of popping a pimple. It sounds gross but it’s the truth. The feeling of something bursting through your skin but it doesn’t hurt it is just unpleasant at most.

As you seem lost in your own thoughts, Jimin takes the opportunity to study your wings. They look pretty much the same as other normal wings, the same white color only yours are a tad bit more feathery, a few of the feathers hanging delicately at the bottom of them giving them a more feminine look, and they are smaller, not by much, but enough to match your physic perfectly.

“So where do we start?” You ask, your arms spreading wide in a shrugging motion. “What should I do?”

Jimin clears his throat, “Firstly,” he begins circling you till he stands behind you. “You need to become one with your wings.”

“What are-“

“You need to know your wings to be able to control them.”

“I can already do that. You just saw me extend them, didn’t you?” You huff annoyed.

“That’s not the same thing,” he tsks. “Being able to extend and retract them is easy enough. It’s a form of control yes, but it’s not the same.” He explains.

Jimin puts both of his hands on your shoulders and you stiffen even further under his touch. Behind you Jimin smirks at your reaction. “You need to connect with your wings.” He continues. “Loosen up, relax your body.”

You try your hardest to relax, but the heat from his hands are making it almost impossible for you to do so. Closing your eyes, you concentrate hard on trying to relax.

“There you go,” Jimin praises you, when he feels your muscles loosen up.

“What now?”

He moves his hands from your shoulders completely, taking the warmth with him. He steps to your front once again but you keep your eyes closed. If you look at him now you will just tense up again.

“Now, you focus all your energy on your wings. Imagine them in your mind, draw out a clear picture of them, what they look like, how they feel, what they would look like in the air.” He lowers his voice with each word, the sound settling in your mind.

You do as you are told. You mind and body focusing on the same thing and slowly you begin feeling a sensation of small shocks through your body.

You begin to panic, “What’s that?” You gasp as another shock runs through you.

Jimin rolls his eyes at you, “That’s the feeling of you connecting with your wings, you idiot!”

“Don’t call me an idiot, you asshole!”

“Then stop being a baby.”

Scowling, you open your eyes. “I’m not being a baby! This whole thing is new for me, okay! You might have gotten this thing on the first try back when you first got your wings, but let me tell you something buddy, you and I are different! My father is a strong believer in self learning, so I didn’t have a teacher to teach me anything about this leading up to it!”

You can feel the anger seething out of you, and you know your entire face is probably red and your eyes close to tears.

“You do have a teacher.” Jimin points out, ignoring the rest of your little rant.

“Then stop being fucking mean to me and teach me!”

Taking a step back, Jimin shrugs his shoulders in an apologetic manner. He doesn’t say the actual words, but you take it for what it is.

Closing your eyes once again, you let your body and mind connect with your wings. The shocks begin again. Short waves running through your body and all stopping in one place: your wings.

As the shocks keep coming, you feel your wings begin to flutter. It starts slow – the soft feathers lightly moving against the morning air, but they quickly gain speed. The fluttering turns into full blown swishes and the leaves on the bushes rattle from the force of it.

The feeling is foreign and unlike anything you have felt before. It feels like your body isn’t yours anymore, like it has gone to a completely different place. The shocks are still running through your body until suddenly they aren’t, and it almost feels like you are floating instead.

“What now?” You ask Jimin confused.

“Open your eyes you moron!”

“Hey! I told you not t-“ Your scolding falls short when you eventually open your eyes to see yourself floating several inches above Jimin.

“What the fuck!?” You gasp in surprise and wobbling slightly in the air from your sudden outburst. You didn’t even feel your feet leaving the ground! When did this happen?

You look at Jimin in utter shock and he just laughs at you, the expression on your face priceless. He slaps his hands smugly, “Now you’ve learned to get in the air, now you need to learn how to control your direction.”

“Okay… how?” You ask still floating above him.

“Same as before really. Focus on where you want to go.”

“Like visualize the place?”

“Yes.”  Jimin confirms. “If you want to go left, visualize it. If you want to go forward, visualize it. If you want to fly higher, visualize it.”

“Okay,” you mumble. Once again all of your focus goes to visualizing and connecting with your wings. In your head you repeat the mantra forward, forward, forward! It takes a couple of seconds, but eventually you slowly edge forward, your shadow looming over Jimin as you move.

“Oh my god!” You gasp happily. “I’m fucking flying!”

You can hear Jimin laugh behind you, the sound echoing around you as you fly in small circles amongst the tall trees and bushes.

This is amazing!

Your whole life you have waited for the day when you would finally get your wings and be able to fly! And now here you are! Granted, things didn’t turn out or run as smoothly as you had hoped for, and you have to admit that your pride is a little bruised from having to ask Jimin for help, but you are okay with that and your father doesn’t have to know that you didn’t do it all by yourself.  

“How do I get back down?!” You half yell the question.

“Visualize it!” He yells back.

When you eventually land with both feet on the ground, you can’t keep the smile off your face. You just flew! And you didn’t crash and burn like the other times!

You feel a new sense of energy and happiness bubbling inside of you. You feel like you could run a marathon and swim across the oceans.

Wanting to do it again, you don’t hesitate for a second before you are back in the air, giggling like a little school fairy. This time you fly even higher than before. You fly over the tops of the trees and bushes, up where there is nothing but fresh air and quiet. You know you have to be careful when you are this high up and this unprotected. A large bird could easily come and snatch you without a second glance.

In the distance you can see the sun peeking out from the tree line. The bright rays warming your naked arms and you bathe in the feeling of it. Not a single cloud is in the sky and it is a sign that today is going to be a good day.

Slowly and to your dismay, you retreat back down to the ground. Jimin is still there, standing in the same spot as before, his eyes following you back down. In your ecstasy you had nearly forgotten about him.

You retract your wings and a silence falls between you. You know that you are supposed to say thank you to him, but for some reason having to utter those two words to him – to Jimin, is hard, and also you know you have a dept to pay to him.

“Uh,” you begin, nervously scratching the side of your arm. “Thank you for helping me out.” You surprise yourself at how strong the words come across despite the fact that your heart is beating wildly in your chest.

“You’re welcome.” Jimin answers casually.

You catch yourself zoning in on his lips. There are a good few steps between you, but you can clearly see how plump they look, and it makes you wonder what he is like when he kisses. You know for a fact that he has done plenty of kissing and fooling around in the past, several of your girlfriends having fallen victim to his charms but hearing it from someone else and experiencing it yourself are two completely different things.

You swallow the lump in your throat, “Well… bye!” You quickly rush the words out of your mouth and turn on your heal, ready to make a dash for it when Jimin takes a hold of your wrist.

“Not so fast,” he huffs, a small laugh following his words. “I believe you owe me something.”

Eyes falling to his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, you hesitantly look into his eyes. “Really? What’s that?” You feign confusion, your eyebrows raising to play up your act.

Jimin just rolls his eyes at you, “A kiss.” As soon as the word kiss is in the air, your heart begins to race once again. It is beating so fast that you are pretty sure that Jimin is able to see it beating against your chest.

You hum, “Hmm, I don’t remember ever agreeing to kiss you.” Just for good measure, you look around you in confusion as if you are looking for that specific memory.

He tilts his head, boyish smile adoring his plump lips. “Now you might be an idiot, but I know you’re not dumb.”

“Did you just insult me and compliment me at the same time?” You give him a funny look and point a finger at him. “You know that takes a certain amount of talent to do that. Most people just do one or the other. You know, they either choose compliment or insult… it takes-“

“Would you stop rambling,” he interrupts you. “Trying to change the subject won’t work on me.”

You sigh in despair, “Why do you even wanna kiss me?!”

You still can’t wrap your head around it –Jimin wants a kiss from you? Why? You might be a fairy but it’s not like you have fucking magic lips. At least not to your knowledge or to the knowledge of the guys you have kissed in the past.

“Curiosity,” he repeats his previous statement, not providing you any further explanation.

Without letting go of your wrist, Jimin effortlessly spins you around to face him. Your eyes go wide at the proximity of your bodies, your personal space being invaded completely. He’s close, so close that you have to look away in fear that you will start blushing.

But the distance between you seems to be too large for Jimin because he steps closer to you, your breaths mingling and our knees touching. Your heart is beating at an unbelievable pace, your breathing ragged. You need to take a step away from him before you pass out, but it is to no use. Jimin just follows right after you and in the end, you can’t step away any further, your back coming into contact with a large tree.

You nervously eye him, noticing the way the corners of his lips lift into a smile at your little game of cat and mouse.

Meekly, you slump your shoulders. You might as well just get it over with now, rather than drawing it out any longer. A small peck wont hurt.

“Let’s just get this over with.” You grouchily mumble.

“I love your eagerness,” he comments only to receive a glare from you.

Jimin leans closer to you, your faces only millimeters apart and your noses gently brushing each other. It happens before you can even muster a second thought about it. His lips gently settling over yours in what you would barely call a kiss.

You keep still as Jimin frees your wrist, your lips still touching as he instead cups the sides of your face and gently begins moving his lips over yours. You stop breathing for a moment and your eyes flutter shut on their own accord, the feeling becoming too overwhelming for you to keep them open.

Your body completely melts against his, your hands finding their place on the surface of his chest as the pace of the kiss gradually speeds up – going from slow and hesitant to frantic and heated. Gasping softly against his lips, Jimin slips his tongue past your lips, taking the opportunity to explore your mouth. It’s a feeling you welcome, relaxing even further against the tree and slinging your arms around his neck to bring him closer.

Jimin groans when you gently scratch the hairs at the nape of his neck, your fingers combing through the silver locks. The sound vibrating through your lips and down your spine, goosebumps erupting on your skin.

His thumbs gingerly brush across your cheeks in an almost loving manner, your stomach turning in knots at the unfamiliar feeling it leaves you with.  

If you had to describe this moment with one word, it would be perfect. This moment just feels… perfect. The way your lips fit so perfectly together, melting into each other and the way he feels pressed against you.

You honestly don’t know how it happens, but you keep kissing, there in the middle of the clearing in the early morning. Not a single thought going through your head other than wanting to keep kissing him. It’s a feeling you could easily get addicted to… and that is what you were worried about in the first place…

Jimin nips at your bottom lip, dragging it out the slightest bit before letting it go and returning his lips to yours, but when it becomes harder to breath, oxygen needed for the both of you, your pull back, your eyes meeting instead. Breathlessly, you stare into his eyes. You don’t know what to say now. What do you say after a moment like this? Thank you?

“T-That was,” you stutter, falling over your own words. “That was… some k-kiss.” You finally manage to breath out in between breaths.

“I never half ass things,” Jimin smirks, seeming like he isn’t affected in the slightest. His hands still cupping your cheeks, but he quickly realizes and in a hurry he retreats them from your face and stuffs them in the pockets of his joggers.

“Uh, I-“

“I’ll see you around ____.” He cuts you off only seconds after you begin speaking. And no later, he turns and leaves through the bushes, leaving you standing against the tree all alone, and confused as hell!

What the hell just happened?!

I hope you enjoyed reading! If you did, remember to like and reblog! - Thank youuu!

All Rights Reserved © 2020 Kookscrescent

[new-endings]

The Nice and Accurate Guide to Courting 

Ao3; 1/2/3/4/5/6/7

Step 7: (MIs)Communication is Key // Holy Water and Hellfire Pt. 1

Chapter Summary: In which Aziraphale ponders his own feelings, Crowley attempts to be more direct with his flirting, obligations to one’s duty and one’s heart are brought into question, and things heat up in the plot.

Story Summary: 

As Hell’s bastard prince, Crowley is expected to wed an Archangel of Heaven’s kingdom to bring peace between the two warring nations.

It's too bad he only has eyes for his sweet, absolute bastard of a Guide, the Principality Aziraphale, who is dead-set on making sure the engagement happens.

For the sake of their kingdoms, Aziraphale leads the Prince of Hell through the long, arduous road of winning an Archangel’s favor and affections. However, Crowley would much rather use that romantic guidance to win him over instead.

When daybreak filtered through his windows, Aziraphale hardly had the will to move, let alone get up and begin his day. But he had a duty to fulfill and his own hurricane of regrets and questions be damned, he had to buck up and get right to it.

Even if his stomach did sink with its weight in lead at the very thought of approaching Crowley after what transpired last night.

No—not the—not that part of last night—the kiss! Yes, the kiss! And damn the Demon for his, his—wiles! Aziraphale knew he should have retracted that little caveat of No questions asked but—

It was too late for that now.

It wasn’t like—it hadn’t even meant anything. Of course it wouldn’t. It was—it was probably for practice, an experiment designed to gauge how comfortable an Angel would be to receive such a bold and brash show of romantic action, or something equally ridiculous. It could even be a Demonic custom of some sort.

Regardless of the root of the matter, Crowley—Crowley was a prince and princes had no business kissing Principalities when they were to be betrothed to an Archangel. It didn’t matter if Aziraphale’s heart squeezed with pinprick thorns at the thought of Crowley wedded off to one of them—powerful and beautiful as they were—it didn’t matter if he’d miss the time spent with the infuriating, wonderful Prince of Hell, didn’t matter if he’d gone and torn apart something Aziraphale had kept distant and closed, petal by petal, because…

Because none of it mattered.

He had to remember his place. He had a duty to fulfill. He can’t let his people—and Crowley—down. Whatever it was, whatever was brewing up a fuss in his mind and a storm in his heart had absolutely no place in his line of duty.

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself, dear boy,” Aziraphale murmured as he washed up. “Things will be all right. There’s no need to get all worked up.” He looked down to his hands as he wrung the towel, Crowley’s ring gleaming brilliantly on his finger. He shut his eyes and sighed. “It doesn’t mean anything at all. And this…” He held his hand to his breast, feeling the dull, achy thuds behind the cage of his ribs tick along sadly. “This will come to pass.”

There was a fracture of some kind, splintering, sharp, and searing deep within his chest, but Aziraphale kept a stiff upper lip and got about his day.

 ------

It was easy enough to forget—even for a moment—what troubles clouded Aziraphale’s mind.

After all, whenever Crowley made a spectacle of himself, it was quite difficult to think of anything else other than mitigating the damage that was sure to follow. “What in the—Crowley, what are you doing?!” Aziraphale shrilled as he dove after the—foolish, stupid, idiot!—prince right as he took a swan-dive off the cliff. Panic seized at his throat. In hindsight, at the very least, the ground levels were staggered to where even if Crowley did dive off the deep end (literally and figuratively), he would have sustained much less damage from the fall.

Of course, that didn’t stop Aziraphale from flying off after him.

“Oh, good morning, Angel!” Crowley greeted blithely, giving a short wave as though Aziraphale weren’t currently hoisting him by the waist as Principality’s wings flapped erratically to keep them aloft.

This Demon was going to end up killing him.

Aziraphale huffed, hoping that he looked more visibly annoyed than in the aftermath of absolute terror as he lowered them to the clifftops. “Again Crowley—what were you doing?” the angel demanded once both pairs of feet were set firmly on the ground.

Crowley gave a shrug—no, not his usual devil-may-care gesture whenever he wanted to annoy the absolute divinity right out of Aziraphale’s wavering patience. It was the same one he used whenever he was downright nervous about what he was going to say, whenever he wasn’t sure Aziraphale would like his answer. “Just. Practicing flying.”

The Angel, of course, was dubious of this response. There wasn’t much flying involved from where he could see. Falling, definitely. Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “I thought you said Demons couldn’t fly.”

His shoulders tensed in annoyance. “I know.” Annoyance or something else. Something like reluctance or resignation. He paused, opening his mouth and closing it. He tried again, this time actually managing to get the words out. “You said—you said the courtship flight was important.”

Aziraphale felt his heart soften. “Oh. Yes it—well it usually is, but given the circumstances, I…” He gave a swallow at the look of utter frustration on the Demon’s face. He then noticed the dirt streaking the other’s robes and the bruises on his arms from what was likely an unpleasant landing. Aziraphale winced. Just how long had Crowley been doing this?

“I can do it. I know I can. It just…it just takes some time to remember what it’s like, that’s all.” He flashed Aziraphale what he probably hoped was a confident smile, but all it did was make Aziraphale ache in sympathy.

His dear friend—he was trying so hard for this courtship to work out. Why couldn’t anyone else see his efforts?

They don’t’ deserve him something dark and quiet whispered in the crevices of his thoughts and Aziraphale tamped it down immediately. “Dear…you know…I was thinking.” 

“A dangerous occupation, Dove,” Crowley smirked and Aziraphale tried not to sputter at the moniker.

“I was thinking— that maybe Bentley could help you in this regard.” He watched as the gears turned in Crowley’s head at the idea.

“Would it be impressive enough, is what I’m wondering,” he murmured, ruminating further. He looked to Aziraphale, deliberating, searching, and…hoping? “Did she impress you, Angel?”

She terrified the living daylights out of me and to be honest, she still does. “Exceedingly so, Crowley,” Aziraphale nodded with a tight smile.  “And you two fly so—so well together too!”

Crowley flew his dragon like a madman. Had it not been for Aziraphale reprimanding Crowley nearly half the time they were on the wing together, the unruly dragon would have been satisfied with catapulting, cannonballing, and careening off in the skies all the way to Old End. Aziraphale suppressed a shudder as images of their flight resurfaced, his screams painting the night. Impressive? Yes. But perhaps not in all the right ways.

Crowley gave a brilliant smile at the memory and some of that tension eased in Aziraphale’s heart. “She’s taken a shine to you,” he added, rather unexpectedly. He almost looked proud.

Maybe even fond. “O-oh?” Ah. Right. The erm…gifts she gave him, back at the island. Aziraphale felt his stomach churn as he smiled back with a bit of force. “Well, that’s very sweet—she’s…” Unruly. Stubborn. Sadistic. Unpredictable. A thing of great terror and beauty. A true force of nature. “Very nice.”

Just like her master. “Nice?” Crowley scoffed, brushing the dust off his robes. “Not exactly the first thing one thinks of when describing a fire-breathing hellion like her, right?” He gave a wolfish grin and to Aziraphale’s utter horror, found a strange heat spreading through his cheeks.

“Well, she most certainly is nice,” the Principality defended. Probably no thanks to Crowley.

“To you, Angel.” He chuckled and while Crowley didn’t say it outright, Aziraphale was sure that he’d just been granted a rare and fine honor by the prince for somehow getting on Bentley’s good side. “You know…since you two get along so well, maybe I can show you a little something.” He moved forward, taking Aziraphale by the arm, something he’d blithely done countless time—

And yet, the action ended up wholly flustering Aziraphale.

“S-show me?” To which the Angel startled and hastily pulled away with a frantically beating heart.

Crowley paused, frowning. He looked at the distance between them and Aziraphale fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. His eyes were completely unreadable. Then, the Demon turned. “Yeah. But not here. Elsewhere.”

“Like…?” the Angel prodded, feet moving on their own to catch up.

“Over by the edge of the falls, like before. We won’t get interrupted there.” And then Crowley turned back, a sly grin on his face. “No one to hear us either.”

“Erm…” Hear what, exactly?  

“Are you coming or not, Dove?”

Aziraphale sputtered, feet reluctantly moving forward. “Y-yes, fine!”

 ----

They’d gone back to bickering—for better or for worse.

Aziraphale felt a throbbing tick of irritation and repressed the urge to stammer in embarrassment. Honestly, just what is irritation of a royal playing at? “Crowley for the last time—”

“C’mon, Angel, it’s not that bad—”

“—it’s completely ridiculous!” he cried out, arms crossed, and lips fixed to a pout.

“That’s never stopped you before!” Crowley backtracked immediately at the stone-dead stare he received in turn. “Oh, come now…” he soothed, trying to wheedle the Angel into getting his way, and getting far too close—! Crowley paused. “Something the matter, Angel?”

Aziraphale blinked, somehow a foot or four away from where he originally sat. “W-what? Oh, no! Nothing.” Aziraphale winced.

Not exactly convincing, was that?

At the very least, Crowley wasn’t calling him out on it. Because there was clearly something wrong and it had nothing to do with Crowley but had everything to do with an Angel who up and went and complicated everything from nothing. This is nothing, you foolish Principality. “It’s nothing at all.”

The prince looked concerned now. He cautiously shuffled closer, like Aziraphale were some wild animal he risked spooking with any sudden movements. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it…?”

No—no, talking is the absolute last thing Aziraphale wanted—there was nothing to talk about—! And besides…

“You said there’d be no questions asked—”

Sea-storm eyes widened. Aziraphale wanted the ground to swallow him where he stood. Or, at the very least, swallow the words he’d just up and let slip from his mouth. He turned hastily away, busying himself with calling out to the dozing dragon again, watching with failing hope for an intervention as the damned beast only lifted her head for a moment and set herself back down to bask in the afternoon sun.

Beside him, Crowley could only gape.

It could have been disgust that the Angel was feeling. It could be that Crowley had doomed them utterly and irrevocably by not only crossing the line, but dashing right past it and hurtling the Angel right along with him into unknown territory. But Aziraphale’s nervous, flustering couldn’t be explained by repulsion and reluctance.

He’d spent a long time watching his Angel. He knew nearly every flash of emotion that painted itself across his face. Knew every sigh of annoyance, tick of irritation, beam of happiness, downcast of guilt, and tight-lipped smile of dread and disappointment. And this—this blushing, antsy, and squirming mess his Angel had become—simply did not radiate rejection at Crowley’s presence.

A strange, dizzying hope captivated, enthralled him. It rooted and bloomed in his chest as Aziraphale vehemently refused to look at him, but even the afternoon sun did little to hide the rosy tint that spread across his cheeks. Crowley’s heart thudded, raced, and ached. Did the kiss work? Did he finally get his Angel to think of him as more than a burden, an obligation?

A friend?

“I-I mean, no, there’s absolutely nothing to talk about!” his Angel added hurriedly when Bentley provided absolutely zero aid to the situation.

His angel was still proving to be stubborn. Of course, Crowley knew this would arise, knew that his Angel, his sweet, loyal Aziraphale, was sworn to his duty. Maybe even to the point of foregoing his own heart—but no, Crowley couldn’t give up now. Not when he’d come so far, not when his plan could free them both from this rotten fate.

The prince licked his lips, tingling at the memory of the lovely time they had the night before. I still have another favor, he realized. Maybe if he demanded the truth, Aziraphale would have nowhere to run off to and hide. He’d reveal his heart and Crowley would gladly offer his in return. It could certainly save him all the grief and give them what they both want and Crowley—

Crowley wanted answers.

But as a Demon…he knew full well the dangers of asking questions. No, he won’t risk it. If he were to outright ask, Aziraphale might even deny his own heart out of responsibility and loyalty to his cause. It would be better to gauge Aziraphale’s reactions through more direct methods of courting. He’d been too subtle— at least to his oblivious bird. He decided then: if Aziraphale refused to speak his mind, maybe his body would be far more honest.

Crowley also needed to consider that he needed that request for his plans. Playing Demon’s advocate, however, if he successfully wooed his Angel, that alone might be enough to convince him.

Decisions, decisions.

Crowley wordlessly called out to his stubborn dragon. Bentley lazily groused as she lumbered over to them, giving a nuzzle to an alarmed Aziraphale just because she loved his reactions so much. The prince let out a laugh, finding bittersweet irony that his own dragon knew his heart sooner than the Angel he had every intention of giving it to. He reached over to pet her snout, accidentally leaning a little too close to Aziraphale who sat between them. From the corner of his vision, he watched as Aziraphale deliciously reddened at their proximity.

Crowley bit back a smile. “If you’re sure, Angel.”

His request could wait. Besides, Crowley was fairly sure he knew what all this flustering meant.

“Of course I’m sure!” Aziraphale (somehow) managed to get out without stammering.

He’s sure that all this flustering meant that Aziraphale wanted him.

Crowley chuckled. “Whatever you say, Dove,” snickering as Aziraphale valiantly again tried to hide his blush from view.

Just as I’m sure you’ve stumbled, love, I’m sure you’ll fall for me soon.

 -----

Aziraphale didn’t know how much more he could take.

Crowley had suggested they break for lunch not too long afterwards and from there, it all went downhill. The prince escorted them to the carriage, taking his hand as he stepped inside, and sitting far too close beside him. Every jolt from the uneven paths sent Crowley pressing up against him, arm to arm, thigh to thigh, though he seemed to take no mind whatsoever. Sure, Crowley had taken to draping himself over his Guide from time to time, especially after long, tiring nights, but it was barely midday! And each time Aziraphale tried to put some distance between them, Crowley would follow suit until the Guide was sandwiched between the Prince and the solid walls of the coach.

Lunch didn’t fare any better as Aziraphale nearly swallowed a spoon when Crowley offered to feed him. It absolutely did not help as when he began choking, Crowley announced, Not to worry, Angel, I know mouth-to-mouth!

After that fiasco, during which a confused waiter had to pry the prince off him, they ended up splitting dessert. Aziraphale brightened at that, always excited to have his friend try the rich delicacies of the kingdom. However, just as he’d began explaining the intricate process of tempering the chocolate to create the smooth, rich, and creamy texture, Crowley used that opportunity to take a bite of cake right off the Angel’s fork.

It’s good, he said, licking his lips. I’ll have more.

Aziraphale didn’t know how he ended up feeding Crowley the rest of the Black Forest gateau, or why he didn’t ask Crowley to use his own silverware, but the Angel could find no sound reason other than the blood rushing to his head clouding his concentration and judgment.

During the ride back, Crowley claimed he wanted an afternoon doze and spent the journey back to the castle grounds with an arm over his Guide and burrowing his head at the curve of Aziraphale’s neck. Which, again, wasn’t exactly too unusual for the pair. At least, that was the mantra Aziraphale had been repeating for the entire duration of the ride, all the while praying that the heat of his blush didn’t scrawl down his neck where Crowley could feel it.  

And to make matter worse, Crowley nearly took a stumble out of the carriage when they’d arrived, needing Aziraphale to keep him upright and support him as they walked back to the grounds as his “foot fell asleep.”

And now…Aziraphale found himself in this predicament:

“W-what’s gotten into you!” the Angel sputtered, adorably red-faced with his brows furrowed. “Did you take a tumble to the head? Oh, good Lord you actually did smash your head on a rock, didn’t you?”

Crowley chuckled, shrugging as though he hadn’t just crowded Aziraphale up against the tower’s walls with the excuse of tripping and needing to someone to steady him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Angel.”

Those pouty lips set themselves to a frown. “You’ve been—clumsier.” And handsy. “Have you lost all depth perception?” Aziraphale fought the urge to blush and mostly succeeded when Crowley did nothing more than grin at him, handsome face illuminated by the rosy sunset behind him. Still, it wasn’t hard to suppress and repress—not when guilt was nipping at his heels.

Crowley was quiet for a long while. Then, finally, “Are all angels this oblivious?” He peered down at Aziraphale, eyes dark and pupils blown wide. Heat pooled at Aziraphale’s belly and he squirmed under the prince’s gaze. “Or did I just get lucky?”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt to his throat but it came crashing down within an instant. “O-oh.” No, no…it can’t—that can’t possibly be what Crowley meant. He’s just—using you for practice, you pathetic thing! “Crowley, erm…” Aziraphale swallowed; the truth was always such a bitter, bitter thing to. “My dear, I don’t think that approach would be wise to u-use on an Archangel.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “They tend to dislike—”

“I’m not asking about what they like, Angel.” Crowley pressed closer, this time backing up him up flat against the cool stone walls. “I’m asking you,” he murmured, hand cupping Aziraphale’s cheek and forcing him to meet the prince’s burning gaze. “Do you like it?” Aziraphale swallowed down the humiliating noise that threatened to escape his mouth. “Do you like it when I’m this close to you?” The Angel felt the very tips of his ears burn; emboldened by the reaction, Crowley leaned down, a breath’s width away from Aziraphale’s own lips, eager, hungry, to take another kiss. “Or do you want me to be…closer?”

Aziraphale gasped, almost—almost forgetting himself. “C-Crowley!” He can’t—the prince was taking this too far, We can’t possibly…he can’t actually mean—

Crowley gripped him by the arm, just as he’d began to scarper away. “Don’t run away from me, Aziraphale.” Something in his voice, dark, demanding, and maybe even a bit desperate, set a shiver down the Angel’s spine. Crowley leaned in, whispering with the faintest hint of temptation and promise in his words: “Believe me, Dove. I won’t let you get very far.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Ice encased Aziraphale’s heart as he wrenched away, a cold sliver of fear dropping to the pit of his belly. “No—!”

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed out as he stepped away from his Guide. “What do you want, Ligur?”  

The footman bowed deep and low, exaggerated and mocking. “Prince Crawley…” He made his way to them from where he lurked by the shadows of the overhanging gate. “A message from the King,” he announced, handing over a heavy scroll engraved with the royal crest.

Crowley eyed it with disinterest. “I’ll see to it soon enough,” he said, waving him off. “As you were.” The prince ignored the sharp gasp from his Angel and his own nauseating dread. It wouldn’t do to show weakness. Not now. Not when he’d foolishly put them both in danger.

“Of course, my liege,” the Demon drawled, giving yet another mocking bow as he slipped away, back into the shadows.

Aziraphale tried to calm his fluttering heart. No, this wasn’t good—they had the wrong idea, it wasn’t—this wasn’t— He turned to Crowley and noted with concern that he was…trembling. His eyes were hard and unreadable, seeming at a loss for words. “This matter seems…urgent,” Aziraphale said softly. He reached out, soothing his shoulder and startling Crowley from his spell. “Maybe you should—”

Crowley took his hand in his, squeezing them tightly, beseechingly, reassuringly. “Meet me at the third alternative rendezvous point come moonrise.” He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s palm, where his own ring and crest glittered under the dying beams of the sun.

He then drew away, leaving the Guide in a daze with his heart in his throat. “Wait, Crowley!” The prince stilled as Aziraphale clutched the sleeves of his robes. He looked back at Aziraphale, hopeful and waiting. But all Aziraphale could muster out was, “Is that one the park fountain or the clocktower?”

Crowley groaned, rolling his eyes so hard, his entire head rolled with them. “The clocktower!”

-----

That all went down like a lead balloon.

The Demon paced about, eyeing the rafters and stairs for any signs of movement, anything out of place that would indicate prying eyes and ears. He silently cursed himself as the day’s light faded, leaving nothing but the malicious dark, the perilous unknown. Crowley had no one to blame but himself. He’d gotten complacent when he should have been on his guard—what was he doing, being so rash out in the open, on castle grounds no less? He cursed himself for believing the quiet weeks had meant reprieve; cursed himself for thinking they had more time.

Harried steps came from the stairs and Crowley swiveled around, some of the tension easing when his Guide’s familiar head poked through the entryway.

Catching sight of him, the Angel breathed a sigh of relief. “Crowley…” He made his way over, the anxiety in his eyes deepening as he took in the prince’s frazzled appearance. “What’s happened, dear?”

“Angel, I…” This was it. “There isn’t much time.” This was now or never. “I’m sorry Angel, I’m so sorry, this isn’t your fault—”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale reached over, soothing his arm. “Did they reprimand you?” He sighed, deep and wounded. “They have to understand that courting—courting takes time! And, blast it, the Archangels should be pulling their weight on this too! A marriage takes compromise and collaboration, and—”

Crowley felt his heart swell for this sweet, sympathetic bird. Too kind, too naïve—Crowley had to get them out of this mess before they targeted his Guide next. “It’s all right, it’s all right. Forget the engagement.” He hushed him before the sputtering and protests started. “Angel…I have a plan.” Crowley reached into his coat pocket and fished out a parchment. “In case the walls have ears,” he murmured. “You still owe me, remember?”

Hesitantly, with questioning eyes, Aziraphale took it and unfolded it. “Walls have—what?” He peered down at the single word and racked his brain trying to make sense of it.

Maps

Aziraphale shook his head. “What do you mean…” When had they discussed anything relating to cartography? He had a small collection, somewhere within the organized chaos of his quarters, but nothing too noteworthy. Well, other than those maps he had err borrowed from the old cartographer. In fact, he might have mentioned them to Crowley during that rainy night in Old End—

The maps to The Other Side.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as the meaning sank in, making him shudder violently at the realization. “Crowley!” He searched the other’s eyes for an explanation—anything other than the horrifying conclusion Aziraphale came to. But Crowley only stared steadily back, grim and somber. He shook his head. “You can’t—”

“Angel—” he started, moving closer when all Aziraphale wanted was to gather as much distance between them as possible. “With those maps, we can make it out of here, you and me—”

That was what he wanted? In the end, that’s what Crowley was asking?

To escape?

Another realization struck him, nearly knocking Aziraphale clean off his feet as he came to a sickening understanding. Of Crowley’s behavior, of Crowley’s courting— he hadn’t been trying out another method to woo an Archangel when he’d kissed Aziraphale that night—

No…he’d been trying to deceive Aziraphale, making the Principality play into the palm of his hand.

All to give him what he wanted. “Was this what it was all about?” Aziraphale demanded. Anger. Humiliation. Both burned and boiled under Aziraphale’s skin until they consumed themselves, leaving only the cold ashes of nausea at the pit of his stomach and a searing hurt in his chest. “You were just trying to get ahold of my maps?”

Crowley shook his head, stepping towards him, trying to cross the space between them. “The maps are necessary, obviously, but—”

“No, they aren’t—not unless you plan on…on giving up!” Sea-storm eyes glared back at him, challenging Crowley to tell him otherwise, that he wasn’t just abandoning everything they’ve worked for. Everything Aziraphale had worked for. But he was met with silence once more, and Aziraphale felt himself drown in despair and disbelief. “That’s what you’re doing, aren’t you? Crowley, how could you…”

I thought…I thought we were on the same side…were you plotting this escape this entire time?

Aziraphale felt hot, angry tears well up at the corner of his eyes. “How could you turn your back on everything? On everyone?”

Including me?

Crowley wanted to scream in frustration. No, no, this wasn’t going according to plan—his Angels’ got it all wrong, it’s not like that, it’s not— “Would you just listen to me?!”

It’s exactly like that. Aziraphale, his Aziraphale turned away, shaking his head softly. “I’m done listening, Crowley.” He squeezed his eyes tight, shuddering out a breath. “I can’t give you those maps.”

Crowley felt hollow. Like everything—faith, love, agony, and regret spilt out of his very corporation, left to rot and fester on the ground between them. All that was left was a roiling resentment. “Can’t or won’t?” he bit out. You idiot, you foolish, foolish bird—this wasn’t just for me—

This was for us. “Does it matter?” Aziraphale scoffed bitterly. “I’m done with this conversation.” Gathering courage amid the bitterness and betrayal, he began to walk away.

Away from Crowley and his dishonest demands. “I thought…I thought you would understand,” he said as Aziraphale reached the stairs.

Breathing in a deep, forlorn sigh, Aziraphale glared back at him, a raw, aching hurt in his eyes. “How could I understand you damning our kingdoms to war?” He started down the steps. “I’m sorry, Crowley, but we both have our sworn duties.”

“Your duty before your own heart, eh?” Crowley shot back, but Aziraphale was already gone. With no one to judge him, Crowley collapsed against a beam, sliding down to the dusty floors as he gazed out into the open night.

Aziraphale had gone.

“I should have known.” Had gone and left Crowley atop a broken clocktower, the minutes and hours ticking by too fast, out of tempo, and out of tune from one another. He sighed, feeling a thousand thorns embed themselves deep into his own, bleeding heart. “I should have known.”

-----

He has a bloody dragon, Aziraphale realized, just as he rounded the corner towards his quarters. He has a bloody dragon and basically nothing to stop him from escaping out into wilds of The Other Side where he’d get lost, get hurt, and smash his head on a bloody rock—

Aziraphale rounded back, scurrying over to the clocktower where he hoped to find Crowley right where he’d left him.

But those plans soon went awry as he nearly collided with two figures in the shadows. Aziraphale skidded to a halt as one of Crowley’s…unsavory footmen emerged towards the firelight. “Ah…the Principality,” Ligur sneered.  

“No smarmy quips today?” Hastur asked as he shed the shadows like a second skin.

“Gentlemen,” Aziraphale nodded, suddenly very nervous and suddenly very scared. “Is there a reason you two are…lurking by my quarters?”

The two glanced at each other, sharing a slimy smirk. “We’ve received word from the King, as you well know. But something we were ordered not to share with the prince is that he is sending a few of his lords here to Heaven.”

Hastur retrieved the heavy scroll, emblazoned with Hell’s crest. Aziraphale eyed the mark with a shudder, the imagery of the coiling serpent sinking its fangs into the breast of a mighty winged beast gleaming back at him. He gingerly took it from the footman’s hands as Hastur added, “He requests for you to meet them to discuss Prince Crawley’s…progress.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale corrected with a scowl. He narrowed his eyes. “Why is Prince Crowley made to be unaware of this meeting?”

“He did not take well to being reminded of the…pressures instilled upon him by the King,” Ligur said, seeming to wince at the recent memory. “The King knew of this and knew he would be resistant to any guidance offered to him. Ideally, we would give him a few days to cool off. He’s quite prone to…lashing out, as you may know. But the lords are fast approaching and we cannot delay their stay.”

“Yes, it must be very difficult for him, what with our two kingdoms’ peace riding on his shoulders,” Hastur drawled with a frown and a tsk. Yet, Aziraphale saw no sympathy in those dark, dark eyes.  

Aziraphale bit his lip. He knew to be wary of the two, but… He read through the scroll and indeed, it was there, penned and signed by the King of Hell himself. It was made abundantly clear today that Aziraphale—that Aziraphale had failed in his duty as the prince’s Guide. Crowley’s lost hope in his purpose—in their purpose— and was desperate enough to make a run for it, going so far as to try and beguile a mere Principality as an exit strategy.

Aziraphale’s chest twinged at the fresh wound, but he ignored it. He had to focus on his role and responsibilities and how to best help Crowley. How to best help their kingdoms. “Indeed,” he nodded. “Well then, what should I bring in preparation to this meeting?”

“Only yourself,” Ligur said, drawing closer and closer to the Principality. “You are his Guide after all. Your input on how to progress through the courtship and engagement to the Archangels will be invaluable.”

Close enough to perhaps even scent fear. “Yes, we are assured that you’re doing your best,” Hastur added, closing in on the lone, cagey bird, and something like a smile curled sourly on his lips. “The prince just happens to be…a stubborn, indolent thing.”

“A bit of a problem child, he is,” Ligur nodded with amusement.   

Aziraphale felt a surge of protectiveness well up within him. “Don’t—”

“Oh, don’t get us wrong, Principality Aziraphale,” Hastur offered placatingly. “Like you said, We’re all on the same side.”

“The meeting is to help Prince Crowley achieve our goals of peace, after all,” Ligur added.  

“All right,” Aziraphale said, a dizzying drop of dread, of doubt stirring in his gut. “And the meeting will be here, at the coordinates written?”

Hastur nodded. “Yes, by sundown, tomorrow.”

So soon? “Well. Then I shall go…prepare.” And as Aziraphale turned, he couldn’t be sure if it had just been a trick of the firelight or if he actually saw the twin, cruel grins shared between the Demons.

His heart thundered with anxiety, stammering right against his ribs as he reached for the door towards his rooms.

“Oh, one more thing…” Aziraphale nearly jolted at the how close Ligur sounded; he found with little surprise that the Demon had been right behind him as he swiveled around. “You must not tell any of your…winged brethren of this.”

“We don’t want to lose face before the other birds,” Hastur elaborated. “If they feel that Prince Crowley’s attempts have been…inadequate, it could be seen as an offense to the treaty. They may lose hope in the symbol of the prince’s engagement if our…difficulties were made public.”

“Do you understand, Principality Aziraphale?” Ligur asked, sounding more like a threat than a question.

Aziraphale swallowed. “You have my word,” he said, feeling very much like he’d pleaded guilty. “I’ll be there. I will tell no one.”

Guilty and faced with execution.

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

Oh my, imagine if I took a 3-month hiatus on this chapter instead. Also they did have the bandstand as a rendezvous point (the fourth rendezvous point in this story), but I really wanted the clocktower for symbolism and all that.

I do want to sincerely apologize for putting off this story for so long. Real life has been tough given the current situation and I felt more inclined to work on and finish shorter projects that felt like less commitment than working on this fic which had been a love letter to myself for getting back into writing after so many years. But I do love this fic and I swear that I'm not giving up on it. I want to see this fic through to the very end and I want to thank each and every one you, the readers, who're taking this journey with me.

[justimajin]

A Wilting Rose╰ Part 2 ╮

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Reader

➺ Genre: Angst & Fluff

↳ (2.3k) Actor and Actress AU

➺ Summary: The world of acting can be best described with three words - dark, invasive and inhumane. Talent, although heavily required, isn’t focused upon in comparison to the juicy gossip and various rumors that can be spread. This is why even you - an extremely talented actress - fall prey to the chops of the acting world and find yourself in a down whirling spiral with no escape. Desperately needing to get back up on your two feet once again, it seems like your best bet is a newcomer to the industry, who has yet to understand the ways of your fallen world.

➺ Warnings: some swearing, scary directors

gif credit. 

➺ Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The sharp heel of your shoes hits against the cement floor as you adjust your dark sunglasses, eyes flickering over to the crumpled piece of paper squished in your hand with words messily inked on. You glance up at the building before you, eyes narrowing for a split second before the paper gets discarded into the sea of your purse and you enter the doorway. 

“Welcome! Is there anything I can get for yo-” The receptionist’s sweetened words die out immediately when you smirk, lowering your sunglasses so that only the top of your eyes can be seen. 

“M-Miss Y/N?!” She stumbles with your name, flustered as if she’s looking at a gleaming goddess in the flesh. 

“You know where this room is?” You grab the paper from your bag and toss it over to her. 

“I-I think so.” She quickly types something onto her computer and you yawn, whipping your hair to the side as you lean against the counter. “It should be up these stairs!” She exclaims, pointing behind her as you cheekily take the paper back with a kind smile. 

“Thanks sweetheart.” You lazily wave away as she simply stares at you leave, caught in pure awe. 

***

You heave a breath when you finally reach the top of the staircase, the plastic in your shoes digging uncomfortably into your heel and you let out a small hiss when you notice the skin already breaking. After adjusting your annoying shoes and then quickly checking your makeup from your pocket mirror, you walk into the room and the sudden flash blinds your eyes. 

You raise your arm immediately to avoid them but then the background of the room comes into view and you hear a faint, “Next!” 

Multiple screening blinds and camera are docked around the place, a photographer and planner working on each station with their collection of models. Namjoon had told you that your future director and co-star would be working in the same building somewhere and that the best area for you to wait for them was in the modelling room - a place where you wouldn’t be hounded by an array of journalists. 

You spot a nearby bench and plop down onto it, watching the models exhibit layers and layers of attitude and prestige with their crafted art. Although not being mauled by journalists, you can easily pick up on everyone’s eyes slowly drifting over to you, the faint whispers of your name and the judgemental looks already warning you that you weren’t in a place where you would exactly be welcomed. 

A group of models giggle and you don’t miss what they say about you, “Y/N L/N here? Did her failed acting career finally bring her back to modeling?” 

“That’s exactly what happens when you’re not associated with a strong actor anymore. You turn into nothing.” 

More giddy, obnoxious laughter accompanies them and when they look over to you, you can feel that you’re starting to fume and boil with every syllable they let out. 

And yet, you have to restrain yourself, knowing that you were here to get work, not to lose it. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

You raise an eyebrow at the man that points to the bench next to you. He’s strikingly handsome - golden skin paired with blonde locks, his feline eyes looking sharp but having a sense of warmth residing within them. 

You wonder why someone as gorgeous as him would even bother asking in the first place. 

You don’t answer him, simply shrug your shoulders and he takes it as a yes when he slides into the seat beside you. “Are you here for a photoshoot?” 

“No. I’m not.” You grumble, hoping he would take the hint to stop talking to you. 

“Are you an actress then…?” You widen your eyes, “You look really familiar.” 

“Have you heard of Y/N L/N?” 

“The famous actress?” His eyes instantly perk up, “The one that broke up with the powerful acto-”

“I didn’t break up with him.” You sneer and he winces. 

“Sorry…” He looks at you with somber puppy eyes, “But you’re Y/N L/N? That’s incredible!” 

You frown, “What’s so great about that?” 

“Your movies are amazing! I still remember the one where you lost your dog and then he comes back to you towards the end of the movie and then it got so emotional.” He grins, a fond look on his features, “I loved that movie!” 

You look at him shocked, “How do you even know about that? I did that movie years ago…” 

“I have a dog so all the feels in that movie were super relatable.” 

You actually smile at that, wondering to yourself the last time you had actually garnered praise for your work instead of being subjected to the notorious labeled break-up. 

But now you take a closer look at him - despite the cherry vibe he emits, he’s dressed in an ash grey suit and sleek black tie, something a typical photographer wouldn’t be wearing. 

“What are you doing he-” 

“TAEHYUNG! COME ON!” 

You lean back to see a photographer with a scowl on his face and Taehyung springs up from the seat beside you. He quickly shuffles around the pockets inside his jacket before a white card finally pops out. “Here.” 

He places the card in your hands and his shoulders jump up when the photographer calls out his name again, “I have to get going but if there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call!” He hurriedly dashes away with a nervous smile when the photographer doesn’t look pleased. 

You pick up the card and trace over it until your eyes stop at the bolded golden curvy font on the top of the card, a stamp you weren’t expecting. “Kim Taehyung. Gucci Brand Ambassador Model…” 

You look up to catch a glimpse of him again, but now you find him in front of the camera - his stance completely morphing into a critical look as he angles himself to pose just like a top model would. It takes every ounce in you to recognize that was the same guy who was only talking to you moments ago about how much he loved your movie because he could relate to it and now you see him throwing sultry looks at the camera as if it belonged to him. 

Your eyes remain glued onto him as he continues on with his work, immersed with how professional he became within seconds and becoming quite impressed by the minute. The photographer gestures for him to go change as they prepare for the next station and you sigh when you watch his form fade away, now having to accommodate to staring at the clock and watching the seconds tick by instead. 

Looking right and left, you furrow your brows when no one aside from the models seems to arrive at the place, so you opt out for getting up and leaving.

You couldn’t wait to get out of there, the whispering voices and dark eyes still sticking uncomfortably to your backside. 

However just as you turn to leave, you hear rough gasps and abrupt footsteps land right in front of you on top of the stairs, eyes frantically searching around the room before they land onto you and immediately widen. 

He’s young, extremely young, but it’s easy to tell he’s different from the way his black hair is styled to perfection, a dark leather jacket and jeans encompassing his torso and legs and his face looking like someone had just brought a precious doll to life. He carries himself steady as he walks towards you, every step of his either being too heavy or too light and his shoulders looking stiff to the point of being locked, like he wasn’t used to it.

“Y/N L/N?” 

Your eyes flicker when he says your name, surprisingly not with detest or with pompous attitude, but like he was carefully testing the waters. 

You smirk, “That’s me. And you are…” 

“Jimin!” He takes his hand out for you to shake but then you raise a brow at it and he immediately retracts, “Sorry, um, I’m going to be your co-star for the upcoming movie.” 

“So I’ve heard.” You answer, seeing him look at you with kind innocent eyes that held a spark of fear beneath them. 

He’s handsome, his features almost making him look downright perfect and there’s no denying that the longer you stare at him, the more that fact becomes completely obvious to you. Like a message that was being spelt out without you even having to put much effort in. 

He’s a rose. 

Freshly grown and bloomed, attracting others to him like a magnet but still remaining as bright and colourful as a rose should be. 

He hasn’t grown his thorns yet.

He hesitantly smiles at you when you glance at him again, but you don’t return the smile, “Come on, we need to find the director.” 

“Here.” 

Jimin opens the door before you walk in and you pause for a moment, wondering why he was doing such a thing, “You don’t need to open doors for me.” 

“Oh. I just thought it would be nice…” 

“Hmm.” You walk through anyways, still thinking back to the conversation Namjoon had with you on why making a comeback with a newbie was even a good idea. 

Before you can sit down, your chair is pushed back for you as well. You don’t say anything this time, mind getting more occupied with meeting the director at hand. 

It was a name you hadn’t worked with before and truth be told, were never planning on ever working with. He’s grueling and cruel, considered to be a director that just doesn’t want the best out of you, but will use any means to literally pull it out of you. 

But he’s agreed to have cast you, so you know this opportunity can’t escape from your hands. 

The door opens. 

And heavy footsteps enter. 

A camera clatters onto the table you’re seated at and he stretches his arms out, chestnut hair ruffled and eyes shut peacefully for a moment as he yawns. He sits down, stance turning completely hostile as his eyes narrow and lock onto you and Jimin, a new sharp glint fixated in them. 

“Park Jimin.” He states, the young man’s eyes instantly beaming at the sound of his name, “And Y/N L/N.” 

You hum, eyes staring back at him with the same amount of hostility as you cross your arms. 

“Both of you don’t realize how fucking lucky you are.” 

Jimin blinks for a second and you lean back in your chair, comfortably resting. The director before you suddenly slams his fist onto the table, causing Jimin to jolt from the impact, “A risk. I’m taking a huge risk with both of you on this, so if you don’t act properly,” He glares at Jimin, “And if you start to act up with me,” He turns to you now, “You’re out.” 

Jimin visibly gulps and you barely flinch.

“Understood?” 

“Yes Sir.” Jimin simply says, taking a deep exhale. 

He turns to you. 

You devilishly smile, “I make no such promises.” 

The corner of his bottom lip twitches, eyes narrowing, “You do make quite the commotion on sets, don’t you?” He leans closer, pressing the base of his palms onto the table, “Well guess what? I better not hear a peep out of you on mine.”

“So you better act, that is, if you can still remember how to.” 

Both of you glare at each other and from a distance away, anyone can see the pure violent electricity brewing in the air as he doesn’t back away and neither do you. 

Eventually he steps back, sending you a smirk, “Read over your scripts for now. I’ll see you both tomorrow for the first day of filming.” He turns to leave, looking at you over his shoulder, “Be prepared.” 

The door slams shut and echoes through the room, the young man before you flinching at the sound. 

“He seems…” Jimin whispers, “Scary.” 

“Min Yoongi.” You loudly exhale, “One of the most brutal and terrifying directors of all time. His method of directing is to completely break his actors inside and out, to sculpt out the character he wants and then have them present it to the audience.” 

“He is scary.” 

“He’s a genius.” 

“What?” Jimin asks, confused, “Really?” 

“That’s what they say.” You get up with a sigh, putting on your sunglasses, “Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” 

“R-Right…” 

You stand at the door, turning to him, “It’s better if you get used to these things now, it’ll only get worse.” 

He firmly nods, taking in your words, “And Jimin?” 

“Yeah?” 

You smile, the same cracked smile that had started all this. 

“Welcome to the world of acting.”

[elliearchive]

FIX A HEART ➝ GRANBIN.

TAGGING ➝ Grant McCarthy, Robin St. James.

LOCATION ➝ Grant & Robin’s house.

TIME FRAME ➝ 4/7, late afternoon.

WARNINGS ➝ None.

NOTES ➝ They’re pissed at Scott, but they soon get over it.

GRANT MCCARTHY

The flight had been long, but finally they were home. Caroline had already been dropped off at Jessica’s house, and he didn’t stay long to chat with her. A chat with Jessica was the last thing he wanted when he was still reeling from the wonderful trip he’d had. He knew that their bliss wouldn’t last long. He was going to have to explain to Robin about what Scott had done and he knew she wouldn’t like it. She wasn’t going to be happy about it. He wasn’t happy about it, but he couldn’t decide what to do next without talking to her. He placed their bags on the floor by the door, lamenting that he would take them upstairs later. Unpacking was always the worst part about coming back from a wonderful trip. He was still ecstatic that the love of his life had agreed to be his wife that he didn’t even want to think about the news he was about to show her. “Hey, babe,” he mumbled out, pausing to run his fingers through his hair. “I know you’re super tired. I am too, but I have to show you something, okay?” He said, his voice dropping a little. He made his way to their kitchen, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He swiped through his texts with Paige, deciding to find the story that way, even though he was certain he could have just googled either one of their names and it would have come up. He also ignored a few texts from his parents begging “Junior” to call them as soon as possible. That wasn’t happening. He finally found the story and slid his phone across the counter over to her, frowning as he did it. “I’m sorry. Apparently, Scott sold the story to a tabloid. Everyone ‘s been calling me a homewrecker for the past few days.”

ROBIN ST. JAMES

In Robin’s opinion, their last minute Rome vacation could not have gone any more perfectly. It had been like a dream, right from start to finish, but to say she was exhausted once they’d landed back in Chicago was an understatement. And then they’d had to take Caroline back home and go pick up the dog and cat from her sister’s house, so she couldn’t just crash in bed with her fiancé like she really wanted to. That was the plan once they’d walked through the door, though. Feed the animals, get them settled, then go to bed; Robin didn’t care that it was still early evening. Since Grant had their bags, Robin had the cat carrier in one hand, as well as Clover attached to his leash in the other. She immediately unhooked the dog and let him run freely into the house, then set the carrier down on the kitchen counter, preparing to let her out. “Did you miss us? We missed you guys so much!” She cooed, opening up the carrier door and reaching in to carefully lift Calla out. “Did you have fun with aunt Regan and aunt Addie?” Robin was of course a little preoccupied with their pets, but looked up when Grant begun to talk to her. “Okay, sure. What’s up?” She questioned, looking down at his phone on the counter as he slid it towards her. Her face fell as she read over the first part of the story on his screen, listening to Grant’s explanation. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled, letting out a small sigh. She leaned down to set the kitten on the floor, then picked up Grant’s phone, reading over the rest of the story. “He’s been fucking someone else for a year now, but I’m the cheater?” She grumbled, shaking her head. Her tone was defeated as she looked at her fiancé, sliding her phone back over to him. “What the fuck do we do about this?” She was too tired to even sound angry.

GRANT MCCARTHY

Under different circumstances Grant would have just walked right into their house and just collapsed. That was all he really wanted to do anyway, but he couldn’t with this Scott nonsense looming over the two of them. If he thought he was over Robin’s ex-husband before, it was on a different level now. The asshole had really outdone himself this time. Grant didn’t understand it. It didn’t make sense that he was trying to hold onto his marriage to Robin. He hadn’t paid a lot of attention to her when they were married and it was clear that Robin had completely moved on. It didn’t make sense that Scott wanted to keep her locked into something she didn’t want to be in anymore. As much as he wanted to turn his attention to the pets he’d missed so much over the week, he couldn’t bring himself to have any fun just yet. “I’m sorry, Robin,” he apologized again. This wasn’t anything she was used to yet. He had spent enough time in the public eye to not let the actual stories bother him all that much. There had been lies spread about him in the media before. And he’d watched it happen to his sisters as well. It was just business as usual now. “I talked to my publicist and we have a few options,” he sighed out, his voice cracking from exhaustion as he spoke. Not only was Scott a thorn in his side for selling stories to the media, but now his antics were getting in the way of Grant getting the rest he needed after a long trip. “We can offer him money. Pay him to retract his story and divorce you. Or we can release our own statement. Tell the world what a shitty husband Scott is,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’ll do whatever you want to do, babe.” He brought his hands up and covered his face as he exhaled heavily. “I can go over and punch him again. That wasn’t my publicist’s idea. I just want to do that.”

ROBIN ST. JAMES

This was the last thing they needed after the perfect week away together. Ignoring the fact that they were both exhausted and likely jet lagged, it was honestly just really, really annoying, and such a sour end to what had otherwise been amazing. Even telling Grant about what’d happened between she and her sister had turned out to be a positive thing; he knew everything about her now. But now Scott had had to go ahead and ruin it, and along with her exhaustion, that just made Robin angry. And sad. And every other negative emotion. She and Grant hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d fallen in love, just like Scott had with Charlie, yet he was punishing them. “Don’t apologize, babe,” she sighed, shaking her head. This wasn’t Grant’s fault. Robin knew that being with someone in the spotlight was going to bring its public drama, she just hadn’t figured it would be her ex husband causing it. Grant was worth it, of course. He was worth anything. But it still sucked. Robin’s brows knitted together as she listened to their options. “You think we’re going to offer him money?” She shook her head. “No. It isn’t about that. He has money, he doesn’t need it. Plus the thing’s already out there now. This is a magazine,” she motioned to the phone, referring to the website, “I figure that means it’s literally printed by now. There’s no point in having him take it back.” Robin thought for a moment. “We’ll do our own statement, but we’re not gonna rise to his bullshit. We can mention Scott and Charlie, but our statement is gonna be about us, how we didn’t do anything wrong, how Scott and I were over already, and how in love we are.” She paused, glancing down at her stomach. “And you know what? ‘This comes only weeks after the pair were spotted celebrating outside of a maternity unit’,” she quoted the story, “Fuck it, they’re talking about our baby already, we’ll confirm that. We’re not a joke, we’re the real deal, and he is not going to make us out to be anything but.”She paused again, her tone clearly irritated, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Call him and put him on speaker,” she instructed, listing off Scott’s number so Grant could do as instructed from his phone. “Or we can just go over there and you can beat the shit out of him, I really don’t care at this point.”

GRANT MCCARTHY

There was never really a time when Grant wanted to talk about Scott, or even think about Scott. It was becoming more and more rare that the guy ever crossed his mind. He was in love with Robin and the guy was a thing of her past. A man she used to be married to that she was no longer in love with. Grant had come to terms with it. He just wished that Scott would. Grant knew that this was not his fault, but he couldn’t help but feel bad. It was sort of his fault. If Robin was marrying into a different family, or even if she was marrying a different man then Scott wouldn’t have had a story to sell. His life in the public eye made all of this possible. He didn’t have time to discuss with her the technicalities of someone retracting a public statement because he didn’t really care what they chose to do. It was all one hundred percent her decision. He was just going to fall along with whatever her plan was. He listened as she read more of the story, his eyes rolling as he clenched his fist. The last thing he wanted was Robin’s pregnancy being public knowledge. And it explained the dodged calls he had from his parents. He looked up at Robin with a slightly surprised look on his face. He tried not to let his amusement show because it really wasn’t a laughing matter, but it was kind of cute to see her so worked up and protective over their family. He was usually the one with the clenched fist ready to go murder someone, so it was slightly funny to see the shoe on the other foot. Grant reached over and picked his phone up off the counter, following her as quickly as his fingers could with typing in Scott’s number. ‘If I hit him then he’ll just sell that story too,” Grant replied with a shrug as he pressed the call button. He leaned back against the counter as it rang, knowing he was going to let Robin do most of the talking.

ROBIN ST. JAMES

Robin’s head was in the clouds most of the time, she definitely came across as one of those people that just let everything pass over her and didn’t rise to anything, but that wasn’t the truth. She did have a pretty bad temper when something really pissed her off, and this had. Even if she hadn’t been exhausted, she would’ve still been annoyed, though she was sure her sleep deprivation was adding to it. It didn’t really surprise her that Grant had no comments to make, considering he generally just let her do whatever she wanted to do, so she was sure that if they said they were doing all of that, then they’d be doing it without Grant protesting. Whether he was just an easy going guy in general or didn’t know how to say no to her, she didn’t know. Dropping her hand from her face, Robin caught Grant’s expression, and at first found herself entirely confused. There was nothing amusing about any of this, but the look on his face would say otherwise. She realized quickly that it was her he was amused by, not the situation, and found herself rolling her eyes. “Stop it, this isn’t funny,” she whined, though she moved closer to him, resting her forehead against his arm. “You can think I’m adorable later. Right now I’m pissed.” He was right, no good could come of him hitting Scott, and Robin really wouldn’t have let it happen anyway, she was just angry. This way was better, so Robin slipped between Grant and the counter, her back to his front and rested against him as she listened to the phone ringing through the speaker. Scott sounded confused as he answered. “What the fuck are you doing?” Robin immediately said, glaring down at the phone. “Robin? Did you get a new number?” She rolled her eyes. “You know that we’re over, Scott. You didn’t give a shit about me before, why are you trying to make this into a big thing now?” There was silence at the other end of the phone, so Robin looked back at her fiancé to back her up.

GRANT MCCARTHY

Grant was used to being the more temperamental person in the relationship. He had unbuttoned the sleeves on his shirt the second he thought Charlie and Scott were being rude to her the first time he had ever gone to her former house. And he was always going to be that guy for her. The guy that would roll up his sleeves and knock someone out for her if that’s what needed to be done. So, it was funny to see Robin being the one who was clearly pissed and ready to fight. He didn’t mean to make it so obvious that he thought it was funny, but clearly by the way Robin whined at him, she had caught the look of amusement on his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled out, not really feeling all that sorry about it. She was cute. He didn’t know how to not notice that. He was always going to think she was cute, even when it wasn’t entirely appropriate. As much as he enjoyed her standing close to him and resting against him, he just wished they weren’t calling her ex-husband at the moment. And hearing Scott’s voice caused him to immediately roll his eyes. As easy as it was for him to say he wasn’t jealous of the guy anymore, he could still openly admit that he didn’t want to ever really talk to him again. He listened at Robin started talking, and started down at her with a roll of his eyes when she looked up at him. Of course, Scott didn’t have anything to say now that Robin was confronting him. Grant didn’t really want to talk to him, but he knew that he had to. “Scott,” he groaned out, gritting his teeth. “I think you’re scum. You had a beautiful wife and you ignored her, and treated her like garbage. And now you’re trying to destroy any ounce of happiness this woman has because it didn’t come from you. You’re worthless. You never deserved her. And I hope you die a little inside every time you realize what you’ve lost. You’re being pathetic. Your marriage is over.” Grant shrugged his shoulders as he finished, completely over dealing with Scott.

ROBIN ST. JAMES

As annoyed as Robin was, fortunately that didn’t bleed over onto Grant. This wasn’t his fault, and she wasn’t about to start fighting with him after the perfect vacation they’d just spent together. Besides, he would’ve completely redeemed himself when he began to talk to Scott. She hadn’t really known what she wanted him to say, nor had she had any specific expectations, but as usual, Grant said all of the right things. Robin reached behind herself to take ahold of her fiancé’s hands, pulling them around her middle and lacing their fingers as she stared down at the phone. It didn’t matter how tired she was or how annoyed she was, she was obviously going to be all over Grant, that was just how they worked. “Ask them what’s in it for us if we sign the papers,” Robin heard Charlie’s voice from the background, the sound of it only making her more annoyed. “Are you fucking with me right now? There’s nothing in it for anybody, and you’re not signing them as a team. It was our marriage, Scott. I know your boyfriend thought he was apart of it, but he wasn’t. Just sign the papers. Please.” She sighed, her thumbs brushing over Grant’s knuckles. “I know you don’t like it, but we didn’t work, we’re never going to work. And maybe now that’s in part because you’re in love with Charlie, and I’m in love with Grant. You two should just be happy together, and let me be happy with my fiancé.” More silence followed, before Scott spoke through what sounded like gritted teeth. “Fine. I’ll sign. I’m not taking the story back, though.” Robin’s eyes rolled again. “We’re not asking you to. I just don’t want to be married to you anymore.” Scott grumbled a defeated ‘okay’, before Robin hit end on the phone call, letting out a sigh as she turned around in Grant’s arms, her hands resting against his chest. They slid up and over his shoulders until she could wrap her arms around his neck. “I guess that’s that. What do we do now?”

GRANT MCCARTHY

There wasn’t anyone Grant had lower respect for than he did for Scott. The way he had treated Robin during their marriage was nothing less than despicable. If it were up to him, Robin would never have to speak to the guy again. She shouldn’t have to. Not after he had treated her with so much disrespect. He could feel his temper start to calm down a little as she reached for his hand, settling it near one of his current spots to rest his hands, her stomach. It was nice to think about how far they’d come in the last two months. Robin was working on divorcing the man they were currently pissed at and talking to over the phone, and they were expecting a baby together. And they were getting married. As tired as Grant was, he really couldn’t help but smile to himself about their relationship. Then he heard Charlie’s voice in the background and he rolled his eyes once again. Another person Grant wanted to punch in the face. He sighed in relief once Scott agreed to sign the papers. Grant was a little surprised about it, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it for too long. He was just happy that it all seemed like it was finally over. “We can actually start planning our wedding,” Grant replied with a small smile. He dropped his hands to her thighs and lifted her up, setting her down on the counter in front of them. He leaned forward and placed a small kiss against her lips before pulling away slightly. He knew how he felt about it. Her marriage was over. There was nothing he wanted more than that, but he knew that calling Scott had to be emotionally draining for her and finally ending her marriage probably took a lot out of her. “How do you feel?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

ROBIN ST. JAMES

Evidently, both Robin and Grant each came along with their own baggage. And it wasn’t baggage that mixed well together. If Grant wasn’t in the spotlight, and if Robin didn’t have an apparently jealous ex, they wouldn’t be in this mess. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, nor would it have changed the way Robin felt about her fiancé. She’d never felt more safe or comfortable as she did right here, his arms around her, his hands in her own. She liked to think she was helping him to feel better, too. In spite of the draining conversation they’d just ended, Robin felt herself smiling as Grant spoke. “We can,” she agreed, arms tightening around him as he picked her up to set her on the counter. Scott and his drama was so insignificant in comparison to everything they had to be excited about. She leaned forward to meet Grant’s lips with her own, eyes locking with his as she pulled back. “I feel fine,” she promised. “In fact, no, I feel happy. Lighter even.” Robin laughed softly to herself, shaking her head. “Actually, what I feel most prominently right now is tired. I want you to pick me up and carry me to bed… And I think this might be the first time ever that I’ve said that to you and it’s not meant in a sexual way.” She grinned, tugging him closer to her and wrapping her legs around his waist. “I think the plan right now is we go lay in our bed, make out a little bit, fall asleep together, wake up and have sex,” she winked, “Then sleep the rest of the night. How’s that sound to you?” Robin nudged her nose gently against Grant’s. “Pick me up?”

GRANT MCCARTHY

Grant knew there were a lot of things that could pull the two of them apart. She was still married. He had a life in the public eye. None of it really mattered to him though. He just wanted to be with her. It didn’t matter how many obstacles would stand in their way. And thankfully, it seemed like the Scott part of it all was all said and done with. Scott had finally agreed to let her go, even though Robin had let go of him months ago. It felt good. To finally be free of him, but Grant knew it might only feel good for him. That’s why he had to ask Robin how she felt. Officially ending her marriage had to give her some sort of feelings. He was relieved to hear that she felt fine. Hearing that she felt anything close to sad would only make him feel terrible. He could understand her feelings of being tired because they’d been looming over him since they arrived back in Chicago. A small chuckle escaped from his lips at her joke as he shook his head. “That sounds absolutely amazing, babe,” he smirked, lifting her up off the counter. He took in a deep breath, smirking as he led the two of them upstairs. It was a little strange to carry her upstairs to their bed and not immediately start thinking about making love to her, but they were both so exhausted. That would have to wait until the morning. He smiled as they made it up to their bedroom, placing her down gently on their bed and climbing in next to her. He sat up and reached his hand behind himself to pull his shirt off, immediately getting himself comfortable for bed. “I love you, Robin,” Grant mumbled out, leaning forward to press another kiss to her lips.

ROBIN ST. JAMES

Everything about trying to end her marriage had been emotionally draining, but only because Scott was just making it so unfairly difficult. He hadn’t treated her right when they were together, it was ridiculous that he was trying to act like he wanted her now. Not that it could change anything; Robin wanted Grant and only Grant, that was never going to change. She didn’t even want to think about her ex anymore, she just had to trust that he was going to sign the papers, and look forward to the future with the love of her life. Near future included, like the two of them laying in their bed together. Robin really couldn’t think of anything she wanted more, and held on to him as Grant picked her up. As he walked, she pressed her lips gently to his shoulder, repeatedly placing small kisses there. She wasn’t ready to stop when he’d set her down. Following Grant’s lead, Robin pulled off her dress, dropping it onto the floor. Her bra followed, then Grant’s lips were against her own, with Robin kissing him back. “I love you too, baby,” she mumbled into the kiss, pulling back to look at him. “I had the most amazing week with you. I really don’t know how I got so lucky.” She still wasn’t done kissing him, so once Grant had laid down, Robin turned onto her side, placing her hand on his cheek and guiding his face toward her so she could reconnect their lips.

GRANT MCCARTHY

Holding Robin in his arms was Grant’s favorite thing. It didn’t make a difference whether he was carrying her upstairs or lying next to her in bed. He loved holding her. And he always wanted to be doing it. They were so attached to each other. Grant never thought he would be that boyfriend. The boyfriend who never wanted to let go of his girlfriend’s hand, but he was. And eventually, he was going to be the husband that didn’t want to let go of his wife’s hand. He didn’t think marriage was going to change anything. If anything, it was just going to make the two of them more sickening to the outside world. He hummed against her lips as she kissed him back, sighing as she pulled back to look into his eyes. “It wasn’t luck. It was destiny,” he smirked with a wink. Definitely not something he would usually say. Usually he would say that he was the lucky one and they could go back and forth with that all day. He just knew that they had both ended up where they were supposed to be. With each other. He smirked as she pressed her lips back onto his. His arm dropped to wrap around her, pulling her closer to him. He pulled away and sighed before leaning forward to press another small peck to her lips. He moved his head down and rested it on top of her stomach, laying down so his ear was pressed up against it. “Hi, cupcake,” he mumbled out. He turned his head slightly to press a small kiss against her stomach before he continued speaking. “This is your dad. Grant McCarthy. In case you don’t know my name yet. I cannot wait to meet you. I already love you so much. Goodnight, kid.”

ROBIN ST. JAMES

It was easy to forget all about the story Grant had shown her, and the phone call they’d just gotten done with, when the two of them were wrapped up in each other the way they were now. Grant had a way of doing that, of stealing all of Robin’s focus, and she had absolutely no problem with that. She’d much rather be grinning at how adorable her fiancé was than glaring at her phone. “Destiny,” she agreed, nodding her head. “You’re right, I think it was, too.” He always said such adorable things, things she would’ve never expected of him after their first initial meeting, and he never, ever failed to make her smile. Robin did so into the kiss as he pulled her closer, her lips curved upward as they pressed gently against his. She didn’t want to stop, and pouted a little as he pulled away from her, but soon Grant was moving down toward her stomach, and suddenly Robin had no complaints, not when he started talking to their barely-there baby. “Grant McCarthy,” Robin giggled, her fingers brushing through her fiancé’s hair as she looked down at him. Her heart was about ready to burst. “You’re so official. Cupcake loves you too, I can tell. We’re both so lucky to have you. All of us are.” Robin laid back against the pillows, eyes closing as she let out a content sigh. Her fingers were still brushing softly through Grant’s hair. “You can stay down there with Cupcake if you want,” she mumbled, voice already laced with tiredness. “Just make sure you come back up here to me later.” Eyes still closed, Robin lifted her hand to press a kiss to her fingertips, then tapped them gently on Grant’s temple. “Goodnight, my two babies,” she whispered, “I love you both more than you know.”