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sapphiccrypt · 4 years ago

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The Names You Call Me

Oh boy- I don’t have an Ao3 account so I guess I’m putting this here.

Ship: Wanda x Agatha (MCU) AU: Soulmate AU Word Count: 2578 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha had been around for a while- of course she had. She was a witch from all the way back in the time of the Salem Witch Trials. However, in the roughly estimated 350 years she’d been alive (she’d lost count around the first World War), she hadn’t figured out who her soulmate was. Everyone had one, or at least, everyone was supposed to. Every little nickname or term of endearment your soulmate called you was supposed to be inked somewhere on your skin. However, she herself had been a blank canvas for centuries. It’s not like she minded, she was always more focused on acquiring more magical knowledge.

However, this didn’t stop the witch from giving little nicknames to everyone. It had become a habit over time. Was it so that she’d finally find her supposed soulmate one day? Or perhaps it was just to prove to herself that said soulmate didn’t exist and would never exist. Either way, this habit hadn’t shown any positive results, at least, that’s what she thought.

It was one of her habits that carried over into the nosy neighbor persona she had become forced to play.

------

Wanda’s parents always told them about soulmates, how those little names that appeared on your skin were supposed to be so meaningful and lovely. Oh how she wished that was the case. Of course, life always seemed to want to throw a curveball at her.

She was in her cabin in the vast wilderness when she had decided to shower. As she stepped out, her hair was intricately braided with magic. She had decided to check said braid in the mirror when she noticed something that made her heart sink.

Written in small lettering along her lower back were different words. Wanda knew what this meant, of course she did. Everyone was told about soulmates. There were so many rom coms and tv shows about it. Hell- in the show she’d weaved together from the town of Westview, she’d finally been able to make Vision and herself soulmates. However, the few nicknames the deceased synthezoid had called her in the past weren’t written there.

Instead, there were ones like “buttercup,” “hon,” and “toots,” among a few others. In the back of her mind, she knew where those nicknames came from- who those nicknames came from. She stared at the writing for a while. Why her of all people? The one that betrayed her and tried to take her magic? Why couldn’t it have been Vision, or anyone else for that matter? Why did it have to be Agatha?

The mirror shatters.

------

Agatha didn’t know how long she was trapped in the lonely and painstakingly quiet void of own mind. Mere minutes could feel like years just for the next hour to pass like milliseconds. Feeling and watching herself do and say things, think things, without it really being her was a fate worse than death. No matter how hard she would scream, no one could hear her there.

Agnes, meanwhile, was brewing herself a morning cup of coffee. She had always been a coffee person, for as long as she could remember, just like she had always been living in the quiet town of Westview. Of course, she found her hobbies. Along with being the neighborhood gossip, she would tend to her garden and watch fun movies. It was a simple life, and she liked it, despite the part of herself buried deep within the far corners of her mind that told her this wasn’t what she should be doing.

As the housewife was pouring her coffee into one of her many ornate mugs, a knock at the door echoed above the noise of the television and her own humming. She almost spilled her coffee but set the pot aside on the counter. “I’ll be there in just a moment!” Agnes called as she speed-walked over to the door and opened it to see her former neighbor.

“Wanda! What a pleasant surprise,” Agnes began with the same neighborly smile she always put on. The one that seemed so permanent that her cheeks would often hurt after a while. “And here I thought you had forgotten about little ol’ Agnes,” she teased, stepping out of the doorway so the other could enter. “Please, come on in.”

Wanda would nod, smiling calmly over at the other. “It’s nice to see you again, Agnes,” she’d comment as she looked around the neatly decorated house. The whole place had a sickeningly sweet atmosphere, as to be expected of the role she had put upon the other. She sat down on the couch Agnes guided her over to, looking over at the sitcom playing on the television. She had been meaning to watch that one.

“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee, tea, something a little more...adult?” Agnes asked with a mischievous smirk as she moved into the kitchen. “Take your pic, pumpkin.”

She looked down as the other called her a new nickname, knowing it was probably added to the list of words that were written on her back. “Tea is fine, thanks,” the Sokovian woman commented, quietly resting her hands in her lap as she prepared for what was to come. Hopefully the runes she’d placed on the house and Agatha herself would stop her from attacking or playing with her mind again.

Agnes rambled on about life in Westview and tidbits of gossip she’d picked up on since the other had left the small New Jersey town. Soon enough, the shrill noise of the teapot pierced the air and she prepared the other’s drink, walking in with both mugs after reheating her own coffee.

Wanda talked with Agnes for a few minutes, thanking her for the tea and sipping it as they chatted and watched the television program. When the other set her mug down on the coffee table, the younger witch moved a glowing red hand to the other’s temple, bringing back the witch that she had previously locked away.

Agatha’s eyes widened and she gasped as all her senses came back to her and she was in her own mind again. She looked over at Wanda, stumbling away from the other on the couch some before her gaze narrowed. “What do you want?” She asked. She knew deep down she couldn’t really do much besides listen to the other, as she couldn’t feel the usual buzz of magic underneath her skin.

“Well it’s nice to see you too, Agatha.” Wanda said, still keeping a calm demeanor about her as she looked over at the other. “I had to come by and see how my nosy neighbor was doing.”

The older of the two grumbled as she got up, blue eyes gazing at the other and desperately trying to figure out her motives. “You and I both know that isn’t the reason, Red.” Agatha commented. At least she was herself again, although being powerless like this was still worse than death, in her opinion.

Wanda sighed. What was with this woman and all her nicknames? She was sure her back was soon to be covered in words. “I just want to talk,” she paused, considering her next words. “Ags.” She noticed the hint of some marking on the other’s left arm, although it was mainly covered by her sleeve.

Agatha looked a bit surprised at the nickname before glaring once more. “What do you want to talk about.” She muttered, sitting down at a chair adjacent to the other. She didn’t really want to talk, but she didn’t quite want to be Agnes again either.

“Well- I have two things. First, a sort of proposal of sorts,” Wanda replied. “You said I would need you, so this is a time to make yourself needed. Teach me the secrets of the Darkhold, I know you know it well.” Some of the spells in the book were quite confusing, and at times the book itself seemed like it didn’t want to be read, and surely giving this incentive would give her the insight she needed on the book.

“The second...” she began again, “....is this,” Wanda said as red magic rolled up the left sleeve of the other’s shirt, causing Agatha to tense some. “Take a look for yourself.”

The brunette’s gaze settled on her arm, eyes widening as she read out the small, 3 letter nickname the other had just called her. She opened her mouth to speak for a moment before promptly closing it right afterwards. She was silent for what seemed like eternity before she let out a low chuckle.

“You must be covered then, huh, dearie?”

------

Months passed as the two resided in Wanda’s cabin. The Scarlet Witch’s training was going alright- save for a few clearings in the forest that definitely weren’t there before. Overtime, arguments and harsh words turned to cheeky and sarcastic remarks. Neither of them brought up the soulmate thing too much, as if the situation was a creature one would be advised not to poke with a stick. This didn’t stop Agatha from coming up with new nicknames just to add to the collection and tick off Wanda, however. Meanwhile her own arm was mostly bare save for a few names she was called when the other wanted to try at the game that the older witch was playing.

It was late morning, Wanda was usually the first to wake up, whether it was from her just being an early riser or nightmares she got frequently was up for debate. She prepared a small meal, just some bacon and eggs, making her some tea. Agatha often made her own coffee, through normal or magical needs.

She had decided after a couple weeks to let Agatha use her magic, as trust had grown between the two and it was easier for the magic lessons to have someone who could actually use magic. Agatha hadn’t attacked or anything, she seemed to know it wouldn’t end well. Plus, through the passing months, both women were beginning to take a liking to one another, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

Agatha came down from her room a few minutes after Wanda had sat down for breakfast, pushing messy brunette hair out of her face so her vision wasn’t obscured. She grabbed a mug, magically making herself some coffee before getting a portion of breakfast and sitting down across from Wanda at the small wooden dining table.

“Good morning.” Wanda commented with a soft smile. Although part of herself hated to say it, she really enjoyed Agatha’s company. She had grown to enjoy the little nicknames, the teasing remarks, the way her laugh made her feel like her heart was made of butterflies. Disregard that last part.

Agatha nodded, sipping her coffee. “Morning.” She said, taking a few bites of breakfast that the other had prepared. “This is good, buttercup.” She smirked some at the other before sipping her coffee. “Ready for today’s practice?”

Wanda looked up from her cup of tea and over at who had become her mentor. “Of course.” She responded. Her control over her magic had been getting better, and she’d been learning all sorts of spells and runes from the other witch.

After breakfast, the two women got changed and went out into the forest, into one of the clearings that had been there before the two had started using the area for magic practices. This spot was quite peaceful, and the two spent many hours reading through the Darkhold, along with other books of magic that Agatha had acquired over the centuries of her life.

Practice went as normal, going over a few new runes and such, like one Agatha had used to block out her mind from the other’s telepathy in Westview. It was a difficult rune but Wanda had proved to be a quick and skilled learner. After a couple more runes, Agatha would switch over to spells.

Wanda didn’t like to admit that elemental magic was really frustrating. How was chaos and creation easier than controlling water? The two had moved to a nearby creek for this spell. Agatha instructed how to control the water but each try ended in one or both of them getting splashed.

Agatha had an idea and moved closer to Wanda. “Here.” She began, standing behind her and placing her hands on her wrists, ignoring the quickened beating of her heart. Yeah, she was falling for the other, who also happened to be her soulmate, so be it. She’d deal with that “problem” later. “You have to follow the flow of the water with your body, be fluid in your movements and calm in your emotions.”

It was hard to be calm when Agatha was against her like this and her cheeks were tinted the same color of her magic, but Wanda was determined to get this seemingly simple spell down. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths as she tried to cast the spell, moving in tandem with her mentor. Things seemed to be going quite well, opening one eye to see the water moving with them.

Until she fell, of course.

She had heard a rustling in the bushes and her concentration broke and caused her to stumble and fall forward, Agatha falling along with her into the cold shallow water. A deer ran out of their view. Wanda began to apologize before the other let out what was probably the most genuine laugh she’d ever heard, causing her already pounding heart to skip a few beats. She found herself laughing along.

Agatha stood up, helping the other to her feet as well. “Well that’s a way to become one with the water,” she teased, smiling at Wanda. “If I wasn’t already awake, I definitely am now.” She added before smirking and splashing the other.

“Hey!” The younger witch exclaimed as the cold water made her shiver, although the smile she had on never left her lips. “No fair,” she added before splashing the other in return.

Agatha chuckled before reaching over to move some wet hair out of the other’s face. Her hand lingered on her cheek for a moment as their eyes met before she quickly looked away, going to climb out of the creek before a hand grabbed hers, and she looked back at Wanda. “What is it, darling?” She asked.

Wanda ignored how much the nickname made her face heat up. She hadn’t really been thinking as she grabbed the other’s hand, and she ended up staring into the other’s eyes for longer than most normal friends would. Her heart kept beating and she felt like if she didn’t say something to break the tension would be infinite.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

Ok- anything but that.

The older witch was the one blushing now, before chuckling softly as their fingers intertwined. “And here I thought you couldn’t stand me.” She teased, smiling at the other as they moved closer to one another.

It doesn’t matter who ended up kissing who, what matters is that it happened, and neither seemed to want to pull away.

When they finally did so, Wanda found herself leaning into Agatha’s touch as the other woman caressed her cheek, and she entangled one of her hands into the other’s unruly dark hair.

“I don’t think I mind being your soulmate, Aggie.”

Another mark appeared on Agatha’s arm, and they both leaned in for another kiss

#harkximoff #wanda x agatha #wandagatha #agatha x wanda #witch wives #one shot #fanfic #marvel #mcu #soulmate au #agatha harkness #wanda maximoff #this is my first fic here and im kinda nervous but y'all wanted it so here it is

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wilhelmjfink · 4 years ago

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Daryl Dixon Drabble #6 - Part 4 (Finale)

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST BRI GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!!!

I absolutely despise how Tumblr formats these on mobile. If anybody knows how to fix this, let me know PLEASE

thnx for waiting

—

You assumed it was around high noon when you woke up, judging by the thick layer of sweat that replaced your sleeping bag in hugging your entire body. It was now sprawled across the canvas floor, forgotten, and your hair clung to the skin of your forehead. And between the heat and the events of the prior night, you felt almost feverish and sick.

It was a nice surprise that nobody had disturbed you, though — and you silently hoped that theme continued throughout the remainder of the day as you begrudgingly emerged and reveled in the cool fresh air that greeted you on the outside of the sauna that was simply a tent in the Georgia summer heat. Judging by that sun... it was going to be another miserably hot day.

Before, you had never been one for swimming in any body of water that wasn’t a clean and chlorinated pool. Maybe it was the small part of you that had been spoiled, but ponds and creeks weren’t your favorite means of cooling off until you, quite literally, had no other choice; but you would always fondly reminisce of the in-ground swimming pool at your moms house growing up as you waded into the cloudy pond water. You were only ever there one week a month, so it was a damn luxury even then, and a far-fetched dream now.

The suns reflection shimmered on the water ripples you caused as you waded in and you sighed contently, actively trying to ignore the constant lingering scent of fish and mud and algae as you scrubbed your filthy fingernails against the soap bar in your hands, lathering it up enough so that, maybe after one or two rounds, your skin might begin to feel relatively clean again. Your now-soaked tank top clung to your skin — you think maybe it was white at one point, but decided not to question the faded stains that decorated it now.

Dunking beneath the surface you rubbed your fingertips vigorously against your scalp, silently wishing you hadn’t spent years taking advantage of all of the luxurious products and fancy soaps always at your disposal. Fuck — even a new, cheap 50¢ soap bar would be like gold right now compared to the slimy old bar in your hands. Your hair was dry and coarse, and admittedly you’d be mortified at the current condition of it if you had any time to worry about anything other than not starving or getting eaten alive. You scrubbed your eyes free of the murky water and stretched, content to take your time and daydream for the moment until you had to start your day. You’d been left alone, and figured it was intentional.

Good. You could get some shit done.

So you hadn’t expected to turn towards the shore and find Daryl standing there, frozen like a deer in headlights when your eyes met — yeah, modesty had gone out the door for you months ago, but you couldn’t fight the smile that crept up on your face when Daryl instantly whipped around and threw a hand up to shield his eyes as if he had really anticipated finding you pond bathing, what, fully clothed? What was he expecting to see?

“Shit,” he stammered, “uh, ‘m sorry, I just —“

“I do have some clothes on,” you replied as you fully emerged onto dry land and doubled over to pick up your dirty towel tossed carelessly into the grass. Even in the skew of the sunlight and shadows you could see the flush creep up his neck and cheeks and turn the tips of his ears pink. But you found yourself wanting to squash any sort of relief or joy you’d first experienced upon noticing him there when last nights fiasco began to run through your mind. You had no idea what he possibly wanted with you — was he going to chew you out again? The mere notion had your stomach twisting in knots as you rung out your soaking wet hair and cast your eyes back down to the ground and away from his own piercing gaze that had returned upon hearing you weren’t completely nude.

“I thought.. I thought you were doin’ laundry,” he explained, again turning away as he spoke, quickly and sheepishly. Like a child caught red-handed, he was always fleeting and nervous and ready to escape. “Nevermind, ‘m sorry, I’ll — “

You didn’t allow him to finish because, when you saw him start to take a step forward and leave, you lunged your hand on to his shoulder. Where the sudden balls came from, you had no fucking idea. Daryl was the one notorious for his bravery when everyone else needed the strength, but situations like this? He would turn tail and run away at the very first opportunity you even hinted at that might give him some sort of escape. But the way you saw it, he had obviously sought you out for a reason; and the way that things had ended last night left a bad taste in your mouth that you, whether you admitted it to yourself or not, we’re desperate to alleviate.

“Stop.” It was a bit more forceful than you’d intended but you were so positive that he would break into a sprint just to get away from you at that moment that you didn’t try to soften it. To your surprise, he stiffened, but nonetheless halted in his tracks. “Do you need something?”

Almost as if to prove to you that you knew nothing about him the way you thought you did, he spun toward you abruptly: “M’sorry — for last night.”

The apology took you by surprise in the best way, uncoiling the anxiety that had slowly begin to twist around in your gut. He had a way of keeping you on your fucking toes, it sure seemed. Quite literally speechless, he’d blindsided you, and you shook your head to clear the swarm of thoughts and prioritize your next words knowing that you didn’t have a lot of time to voice them before he would inevitably shut you out again or take off running. “Wait,” you tried, feeling him start to pull away at your lack of an immediate response; you could see the uneasiness etched in his features and even feel it in his stance. “Wait —“

But he cut you off, just like he did when he was chewing you out back in the woods the night before. This time, however, was far different, and you couldn’t quite decide what exactly had changed.

“Jus’ listen to me for a second, alright?”

He was breathing heavily and rapidly through his nose — not from overexhetion, but in an unreliable attempt to keep his voice steady and confident. You nodded in response.

The tensity in his body, the stiffness in his muscles, it was tangible — his legs were actively trying so hard to move him away from the situation, to let him pace like the caged animal he always reminded you of, desperate to run and hide. He wanted so desperately to speak, but seemed unable to form the words.

“I didn’t... I never meant to...”

Seeing him so vulnerable and helpless, it absolutely broke your heart as you stood there watching. Waiting. Waiting for some other words to come to you because the ones that you kept drumming up inside your head just weren’t good enough to fall on his ears.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Daryl’s head dropped, and he choked out a sob.

You felt strangled. The breath was knocked from your lungs at the sound. The guilt that followed was crippling and seized your entire body within its white-knuckled grip, but was almost instantly overshadowed with fear; fear and regret and shame and you thought you might be sick with the overwhelming emotions before you just decided to throw your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tiptoes, pressing your still damp body so close to his that maybe you could meld the two of your souls together.

“I’m sorry, Daryl.” Face pressed into his chest, your words were muffled and wavered unsteadily as you struggled yourself not to break down. “I never shoulda said what I said. It was fucked up, but it was a lie. I swear I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to piss you off.”

“That don’t make it okay to hurt you!”

Admittedly, you faltered at his reasoning, but your mouth kept rolling on autopilot because you knew how Daryl would take to your silence as a reply. “No, but —“

“No, it ain’t ever okay to do what I did.”

He shook you off with a violent shrug of his shoulders, your arms falling limply to your sides.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you offered, not surprised when he shook his head in response and gestured wildly with his hands on either side of your head, hands clenched in fists, almost as if he was fighting some internal battle and, by the looks of it, losing miserably.

“Ya don’t get it, Y/N!” He spun on his his heels, abruptly turning away from you and replacing that distance between the two of you that you were growing to detest. “Ya don’t get it. Ya were right.”

You raised your eyebrows at him though you weren’t sure if it mattered with how he faced away from you, and you weren’t sure if you could just see his own features particularly well today or if it’d come from hours of staring at him, watching him, studying him while you simply tried to figure him the fuck out.

“I dunno why, but ya get me so.... fuckin’ mad sometimes. It’s like, ya know how to get right under my fuckin’ skin.” His voice was low now, rough with exhaustion and the scent of lingering alcohol. And while you could feel your heart drop at his admission, you had to fight the sense of pride and joy you were feeling that he even fucking admitted it.

This is what you’d been working so hard to get from him; it’s also exactly what got him so mad in the first place, and therefore the mess you were currently in that ensued. Whether or not the alcohol coursing through both your systems had anything to do with it didn’t matter to you anymore.

“When ya said that, it just...I dunno. I didn’t wanna fuckin’ believe it,” he ran an exasperated hand down his face before turning away from you, fueling your unconscious need to step forward after him again, softly, like you were trying to catch a wild animal, fearing that he would turn and break away from you at any second. “But what I did — Merle woulda done the same damn thing! He woulda done it without a second fuckin’ thought!”

His hands raked through his hair, distressed and frantic, and you reached out to grasp his wrists and steady him, your hands comically small next to his, strong and secure and familiar. At first, he flinched; tugging away from you half-heartedly before giving up and allowing you to gingerly lower his hands down in front of him, in between you, where they remained trapped in your grip.

“That’s exactly what I mean, Daryl,” you said softly, choosing your words carefully as if any wrong one would scare him off and send him fleeing again. As firmly as you held his wrists before you, one foot remained turned as you anticipated him doing just that. And the fear of watching him run again had, at some point, outweighed the fleeting fear that Daryl might actually want to hurt you — and you felt disgusted in yourself when you realized it. “You aren’t like Merle. You’re so much better.”

It was almost worth celebrating when he didn’t reply, and instead remained still as a statue, towering over you in the blazing mid-afternoon sun. The same type of heat, you thought, that burned inside of his very being; one that he’d spent so many shadowed years trying to extinguish. Thinking it was wrong. Thinking it was weak to simply care about somebody. All because of one single person.

You hated Merle Dixon, and if you ever saw him again, you swore you’d make sure he’d hate you just as much.

“You said Merle would’ve done that without a second thought — but you? Look at yourself, Daryl. You obviously feel so bad, so... guilty. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here. Do you think Merle ever felt this way about anything he’d ever done before? Do you think he ever apologized to anyone?”

Once again, his silence was reassuring. He was listening, considering your words... you only hoped that you wouldn’t say the wrong thing this time.

“The fact that you have so much remorse just shows that you are nothing like your brother. You are so, so much better. You are worlds away from ever being anything like him, Daryl.”

You could almost hear the gears turning behind his ocean blue eyes as he took in your words, deep and powerful though they were short. You couldn’t deny you were just content that he had stopped his angry outburst although now it was clear he was far more mad at himself instead of you.

“And I... I’m so sorry for the things that I said. I hope you can forgive me. I was drunk and angry. But I want you to know that... you can trust me. And I’m here for you.”

Now, you could almost feel his stare boring through you, the intensity behind his eyes unable to be ignored as it rose the hairs on the back of your neck and sparked goosebumps that trickled down your spine with a shiver you tried to stifle.

Now what? Daryl was unpredictable. Especially when it came to raw emotions like this, you thought to yourself. Can you stop him from turning tail and running, should that be his next move? Did he believe anything you were saying?

With one swift motion, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, warm and familiar, quick enough as to not be able to stop himself from doing so once he decided it was what he wanted to do, it seemed.

Though it was forceful, it was good. It was much more natural than the last time he’d moved that quickly toward you, you recalled. Much better actually, you realized, as you silently acknowledged that, this time, you sure as fuck didn’t flinch away and instead, hugged him back.

You looked down at the ground, sighing contently — oh. Despite your minimal clothing and every excuse to be totally naked in the cool water of your pond bath, your boots were still strapped on tight. You know... just in case.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #daryl dixon drabble #the walking dead drabbles #twd imagine #twd drabble #the walking dead imagine

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honeym4rk · 5 years ago

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station (jjh)

college! jaehyun x reader word count: 3.0k summary: four times you find yourself alone with jaehyun at a bus station.

There is comfort in the silence.

With every step you take, there is a crunch of fallen, juniper leaves at your feet. Your canvas tote bag is looped around your shoulder, your fingers clinging to the straps like it would shield you from the awkwardness of the current circumstances.

He’s got his hands hidden in the cavity of his hoodie. His knuckle cracking is sporadic, and you cringe at just how many times they’ve made an encore in the past two minutes.

You really should have begged Mark to tag along and leave the shindig so that this wouldn’t have happened- but alas, the boy was still hooked by the prospect of winning the next round of Mario Kart against Donghyuck. ‘It does some good to my self-esteem,’ he’d said.

So here you are, sauntering bashfully to the bus stop with Jaehyun.

“So, uh- what bus are you taking?” You muster up the courage to speak up after a few minutes of painful reticence.

“I’d have to take 922 or 153 from the opposite stop to get back to hall,” he sighs. It’s clear that he reciprocates the weird, distinctive tension here.

“And you?” He faces you with his raised eyebrows and you’re baffled by the sudden eye contact made. Your eyes dart elsewhere.

“Oh, I’m taking 922 from here.” You nod your head imperceptibly at the bus stop ahead of you.

A few metres away, there’s a zebra crossing, and you thank your lucky stars that you’re finally about to part ways. Oh, you’re sure Jaehyun is a nice person and all, but that doesn’t change the fact that the unspoken, kind enmity in the air is capable of being taut so hard around your neck that you asphyxiate.

Ten more steps. Come on.

Five steps.

Three steps.

“I’ll see you next ti-”

Yet he doesn’t stop at the crossing. Instead, he continues his stride in tandem with yours towards the station. You stop in your tracks, slowly gesturing towards the beaconing street light with the hand you raised to bid adieu.

“Aren’t you going to, you know..?” Eyes hinting at the yellow streaks of light, at the bus stop across the road, anywhere away from his own. Jaehyun notices your halt and follows suit.

“Well, I mean, Mark did ask me to see that you got home safe....”

You immediately wrack your brain for an appropriate response to his chivalry. It’s unclear how you should react; he really caught you by surprise. And from the way he’s gnawing at his inner lip and raising a hand to scratch the nape of his neck, you infer that he’s abashed too. All you manage is a small, “Oh,” as more silence ensues, before you start to blabber,

“No, no, thanks, Jaehyun, but it’s really fine, you don’t have to.”

His lips are taut into a firm, straight line and he lets out a surreptitious hum.

“Let me just wait ‘til you board your bus. Is that okay? It’s getting pretty late.”

You want to vehemently object.

And you’re about to, but you let out a consenting “Yeah, alright.”

He’s invading your desiderated solace- yet something about his offer seems so genuine and saccharine that you comply out of curiosity. You’d heard things about Jaehyun around in school before, good things, especially seeing that he was well acquainted with your friends like Mark, but you’d never really encountered him until tonight, thanks to Donghyuck’s birthday celebration. Being a Linguistics student, fate hadn’t really presented many opportunities for him to meet someone majoring in Pharmacy.

Therefore- you think to yourself- it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s unlikely that you’ll actually talk to him again, since you’ll probably never be within a radius of at least ten metres from him again. It’s alright, it’s okay. You decide to let him be a gentleman.

So you bask in the quietude shrouding the two of you, as you sit on the metal form, awaiting the arrival of a yearned 922.

After all, there is the slightest hint of comfort in the silence.

There is also comfort in the familiarity.

You’re sure there’s a sense of déjà vu. It’s a similar scene to what had ensued a few weeks ago, at least, and you’re definitely surprised to be here again, with him . However, you’ve both abandoned the multi-layered cake of unease. It’s almost been completely devoured now. Fortunately.

Jaehyun’s chuckling relentlessly- nearly doubled over laughing- as you recount the earlier occurrences of the Friday night.

“Yeah, no, but I’d give anything to see the look on Donghyuck’s face again.” His eyes crinkle into small crescents as he runs a hand through his silver hair.

“He looked so confident that it was going to work and I’d already told him otherwise, but I really don’t know what he expected.”

Tonight, there had been an effort to study in Donghyuck’s apartment; considering the looming exam season. This purpose was indeed fulfilled, to some extent.

Then Donghyuck, feeling rather ravenous, decided that he wanted to indulge in a quick and easy two-ingredient Oreo mug cake. The video tutorial truly looked too good to be true- you’d seen multiple YouTubers debunk the content-farm produced recipes.

The wide-eyed boy was too desperate, however, as he credulously decided to fill his mug with crushed oreos and milk to the brim. He swore that it looked and sounded promising until a loud Pop! reverberated in the kitchen 30 seconds into heating.

Everyone gathered around to watch Donghyuck cry over his spilt milk, literally, as his appliance perpetually emitted smoke, its glass door burst open. Burnt mounds of moist black and white cookies were thrown at the white, metal walls of the microwave. Donghyuck fanned the plumes of smoke hastily.

“It looks like a volcano erupted.” Mark added, coughing, as he tried to swallow the chuckle bubbling at the back of his throat.

“Dude- I don’t want to say I told you so but,” You began to implore, before Donghyuck interjected.

“Maybe I should just try again, I think the microwave setting just wasn’t right.”

And so he did- but to no avail.

The two of you approach the tiny station side by side, and you relish the warm, fuzzy feeling establishing in your stomach. Not quite butterflies, but maybe more like a tiny sprout popping out of the ground.

“To be fair, though, it didn’t taste half as bad as it looked.”

You snort. “Sure, because it’s literally sugar and milk with a dash of hidden carcinogens.”

He lets out a low chortle. Jaehyun nails the bellowing dad laugh right down to a T, and some part of you finds this endearing.

A flash of bright light emerges as you look up from your feet. 922 has arrived and you’re rummaging through your bag for your bus card.

“I feel like I left my card at Donghyuck’s, shit,”

The bus halts.

“Here, use mine, I’ve got a spare.” Jaehyun offers without a second thought, pulling his card from the pocket of his denim jeans.

“Go on, the bus driver’s waiting.”

You would have thought this through for a little while longer, but he was right. A scowl that said ‘Stop wasting my damn time,’ is plastered on the driver’s face, and it urges you to carefully pick the card slotted between his fingers.

“Thanks so much- I’ll return it tomorrow, or something.” Your eyebrows furrow together and you clench your teeth together in a grimace.

“Yeah! Yeah, whenever. Good night, Y/N. Get home safe,”

“You too, thanks again!”

Boarding the bus hastily, you wave at him through the glass door as the bus sets off. He doesn’t leave until you’re out of sight.

You can’t help but grin as you examine the portrait on his student pass. He’s handsome, skin clear and glossy, hair parted such that there are a bunch of strands obstructing his forehead. It’s black in this image. You wonder how many colours it's been dyed. His dimples replicate the poked slime in the myriad of videos you’ve seen, and his cheekbones are incredibly prominent.

It dawns on you that you don’t have his number, or follow him on Instagram, or have any means to contact him at all. You guess that you’ll have to fish something from Mark, but Jaehyun seems to beat you to it.

Unknown, [2340]: hey this is jaehyun lol hope you get back safe :-)

A sudden flash of the many possible outcomes this could entail breezes past your mind. You’re quite uncertain about how this will play out, and you unlock your phone to reply.

Y/N, [2341]: hii hahah thanks again! i can return your card tomorrow, just lmk where i can drop by

Jaehyun, [2341]: yeah sure, i think i’ll be cooped up in starbucks doing work w my friends lol

Jaehyun, [2341]: u can join if ud like :o

There is comfort in the unknown.

There is comfort in the noise.

Your whole herd of boisterous friends are walking uphill from yet another study session at Donghyuck’s- there’s been quite a number of them since the first. You’re honestly amused by how many people can fit in his apartment. The study group has expanded from a mere four to a whopping seven people in total.

Thankfully, there haven’t been any microwave oven explosions since then, but you’ve had your good share of fun and company, and more importantly, productivity.

The pack of young adults currently divulging the extensive, latest gossip and hall horror stories, you and Jaehyun stray further behind. You’re trying to listen in and pick apart information, but you’ve joined the conversation a bit too late for context.

“Oh my god, Lia, you’re going to hate hearing this, but…” Jungwoo begins, his voice entering a decrescendo.

“But Jeno has a girlfriend? Yeah, I figured.” Lia wails. “I saw them together in the library the other day, being all cute and shit. My heart shattered .” She emphasises this by hitting Jungwoo’s shoulder out of pure frustration.

“How long have they been together, though?” Ryujin quips, to which she gets a reply, but you try to drown out the rest of their conversation.

You tug at the arm of Jaehyun’s sweatshirt, and he leans closer to you as you query, “Who’s Jeno, again?”

“Cute dude that she keeps bumping into at hall, I think,” he mumbles. His words are semi-intelligible, because of the commotion right in front of you.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.” The infinite frequencies are hard to tune out, and it gets increasingly arduous to do so when Ryujin gasps.

“Oh shit, the bus is here!” Your friends are immediately ready to break into a sprint, but Jaehyun’s feet seem heavy as he continues to meander with you.

“Jae, aren’t you coming? The next one’s in thirty minutes!” Jungwoo shouts as they begin to dash across the road.

“It’s fine, go on! I’m just a little lazy. See you!” Jaehyun dismisses him with the wave of his extended hand, and receives an incredulous look. The lame excuse confuses you, bamboozles you, but you wave goodbye to your friends anyway.

It’s been long since you’ve been caught alone here at the bus stop with Jaehyun- you usually head home with Mark every Friday. He’s not here, though. He’s crashed at Donghyuck’s for tonight.

“Uhm, what was that ?” You chuckle nervously, the little sprout in your belly magically reappearing. Truth be told, after the many lighthearted, late-night messages exchanged over the past few weeks, and after unravelling Jaehyun bit by bit, the sprout has grown into a pocket-sized garden. It brings its own butterflies, but you don’t quite have the audacity to admit this. There’s a different kind of trickiness lingering in the air tonight.

“Well, you know- Mark…and it’s- it’s getting late, kinda.” He’s timorous tonight. Under the luminescence of the bus station’s lamps, you see the pink tint land on the tips of his ears, something you’ve learnt happens when he’s rather shy.

“I wanted to ask you something, too, though.”

“Okay, shoot.” You take a seat. He sits a modest distance away from you, cracking his knuckles instinctively.

“Well, I uhm, I’m not quite sure how you’ll react to this but,” he licks his lips.

“But?” You encourage him to carry on, staring as you await his continuation.

He looks as if he’s got the words at the tip of his tongue, the sea of sentences about to overflow from his mouth, and they’re spilling when he starts speaking again.

“Would you-” You listen intently, attempting to read his lips. However, he’s cut off by the booming wails of a velocious ambulance. You whip your head around to watch the vehicle pass by.

Jaehyun breathes sharply, exhaling in frustration. The cries subside, so he tries again.

“Y/N,” he clears his throat, and you face him once more.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“I was wondering if-”

A fire truck zooms past the bus stop, and your attention is grabbed by the monotonous siren that raids your ears. Jaehyun notices your bus approaching, and he panics. The air-raid isn’t becoming distant; the truck’s obstructed by the imposing red-light flashing. There’s only so much time left to ask what he’s been dying to- and he can’t believe he’s getting cockblocked by the emergency services right now.

You’re hearing Jaehyun spill a string of words but they’re incoherent- all you can seem to comprehend is the blaring repetitions that are relentless.

“What?!” You shout, fighting past the cacophony. “I can’t hear you!” You’re signing this to him, pointing to your ear and shaking your hand vigorously.

Your bus halts before you. Jaehyun’s in an absolute frenzy now. He doesn’t want to do this online. Something about hiding behind his screen sounds so ingenuine to him, and you’re already standing, shit, but he can’t win against the absolute pandemonium and doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the small crowd that’s alighted the bus, but he’s also not sure when he’ll get to talk to you in private like this again,

So he clamours.

“Do You! Want To Go Out! With Me!” He’s cupping his large hands around his mouth, screaming into the makeshift amplifier with all his might, as you walk towards the front doors of the bus.

You look like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide open in disbelief as you gawk at the boy who’s sheepishly glancing at everyone and using his hand to defend himself from their stares. The butterflies that have erupted in you are merciless.

And then you burst into a fit of laughter- Jaehyun curses the sirens for piercing through such a pleasant sound- and you nod profusely, one foot already boarding the bus.

The glass doors shut close, and you’re enthusiastically gesturing to your handphone, waving at him. The bus whizzes away.

He’s shell-shocked, and he’s unable to will his hands in drawing his phone from his pocket. The sudden series of vibrations brings him back to his senses.

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝),[2257]: WAIT ask me again

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2257]: idk if i heard u right

Jaehyun, [2258]: k

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2258]: dude come back </3

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2258]: YES lol

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2257]: yeeeeeeees

It heavily hinders Jaehyun that night, but there is comfort in the noise.

There is comfort in the isolation.

It’s only the blinding fluorescent lights and the cool breeze presenting company at the bus stop- you’re grateful that the occasional cars speeding by are helping you break down the very last walls of tension between the two of you, if there are any.

Whoosh.

“I really enjoyed today.” He smiles and steals a quick glance at you. You’re at a different bus stop now- a month later and you’re amazed that you’ve gone out with Jaehyun at least three times now.

You catch the slight twinkle in his eyes as he scoots a whole foot nearer towards you on the cool metal bench. The distance between the two of you is closing slowly yet your heart rate is augmenting. It’s accelerating now- faster than any of the rambunctious vehicles that race down the road, their engines revving dirtily.

Whoosh. A black BMW zooms past you both and you take the opportunity to reciprocate the cheeky glimpse.

“Me too.”

There’s fumbling of fingers and twiddling of your thumbs before you notice the sudden influx of light and buzzing and realise that your bus has arrived. Pure languish rushes through every vein in your body- you don’t want this night to end.

Jaehyun begins to stand and shoots a quizzical expression when you don’t follow suit.

“Let’s wait for the next one,” you grin, your legs swinging back and forth as you continue to glue yourself on the elevated seat.

The sound of his chuckle envelopes you into a warm hug- it’s deep, and strong, yet soft at the same time- and then you’re pulled to your feet by your wrists before he embraces you with confident hesitation too.

“Is this- it’s okay, right?” He just wants to be sure.

“Yeah- very.” You breathe, and his boyish smell fills your lungs. There is difficulty in naming what scented cologne he’s used today; but you devote no more attention. You just wallow in the tangy, mellow fragrance that has permeated your senses.

He’s got his arms coiled around your waist, his palm extended to press your back closer to him. You’re playing with the sharp, freshly cut hairs on the back of his neck. You run your fingers through them and he dives his head further into the crook of your neck. Jaehyun’s muffled voice is tickling your shoulder-

“Your hair smells really nice.” The corners of your lips edge upwards into an unrelenting grin.

“Thank God.”

There is comfort in Jaehyun.

#nct #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun imagine #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun blurb #jaehyun au #jaehyun fluff #jung yoonoh #jaehyun #nct imagines #nct oneshot #nct au #nct fanfic #hm4rk os #hm4rk jaehyun

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cowboyshit · 5 years ago

Text

Frayed and Worn

Characters: Hangman Adam Page, Matt Jackson

Summary: Matt misses Nick, TK tells Matt he’s tagging with Adam against Jericho and Sammy, and Matt and Adam get into an argument

Rating: Teen I guess (nothing happens but some arguments and cussing?)

Length: 2,288 words

Available below the cut or on Ao3 HERE

Disoriented.

That’s how he felt without his brother. Like he was in a dream where everything seemed normal, but there was one tiny thing off that kept telling him this wasn’t reality. That was how Matt Jackson felt as he walked the long cement-brick lined walls of the back hallways of the building they’d rented for that evening’s Dynamite. Automatic, his hand reached for his phone – he’d kept grabbing it and clicking the screen to see if Nick messaged him – yet again, no message.

It wasn’t that Nick was ignoring him. He was home, side-lined with an injury he’d sustained at Revolution at the hands of Adam Page. A flicker of annoyance crossed Matt’s face, lips pulling in a line of dissatisfaction. He clenched and unclenched his hand. It was hard not to answer to the anger inside his gut the second anyone harmed his brother. It was even harder with the way Adam had been behaving lately.

His own voice from after Revolution echoed briefly in his mind.

“What the hell is Adam’s problem?”

“Well,” it was Kenny, spoken quietly, and an uncomfortable look crossed over him when Matt’s dark, angry stare turned toward him. “I just think there’s a lot of… I don’t know, misunderstanding and tension, and what happened at that interview beforehand didn’t exactly help matters.”

“He’s the one who started it!” Matt’s incredulous shout had bounced off the small, confined space of the medical room he, Nick and Kenny were occupying after the match.

A look of argument crossed Kenny’s face before he seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it, looking away before he sighed and shook his head.

“What? You got something to say Kenny?”

“I’m too tired for this shit right now, Matt.” He’d slid off the medical bench, careful of his newly wrapped, broken finger, and glanced over his shoulder just briefly at the brothers. He lingered for a moment, like he wanted to say more, then shook his head and walked out of the room.

Matt frowned, shaking his head and turning down another long stretch of hallway. Around him the production crew were bustling around, preparing for the upcoming show and they seemed to know to give the solitary buck a wide berth. Murmurs of dissent in the Elite were growing in number, and Matt didn’t like the way that sat inside him. There was enough to worry about with the Inner Circle and Dark Order, he didn’t want to feed them anything that might clue them in to a potential thread they might tug to unravel it all.

“Hey, Matt!”

Glancing up, the sight of Tony Khan’s smiling face brought momentary relief. Tony talked about a thousand words per minute, and Matt sometimes had to work so hard to keep up with him he knew he wouldn’t have time to ruminate over the damaging thoughts circling relentlessly in his head. He offered a slightly more tired, but still honest smile. “Hey TK, what’s up?”

“Adam’s down a partner tonight, Kenny still isn’t medically cleared. It’s Jericho and Sammy, so I need it to be someone from the Elite. Can you tag with him tonight?”

“Are you… wait, are you serious right now?” An incredulous laugh left Matt in a huff, brows pulling inward as he studied TK’s face for any sign of a cruel joke.

He wasn’t joking.

“Yeah, Matt, I’m serious.” He said the word with weighted authority. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes TK found subtle ways to remind his EVP’s who owned the company at the end of the day. “Whatever beef you two have, learn to get over it for tonight. I’m down two of my top performers in the Elite and we’ve got to push this feud to the forefront before Blood and Guts. You don’t have a match tonight, so I need you to step up and tag with Adam.”

Another breathy, disbelieving breath pushed hard from his lungs and he shook his head before rolling his eyes. “Well, does Adam even know about this?” Surely Adam would have argued against it.

“Not yet.” Tony said, fishing his phone out of his pocket as it started to ring. He glanced at the caller on the screen and then back up at Matt. “I have to take this. I’ll get someone to find Adam and tell him. You just get to the ring when you’re needed, okay?”

He didn’t give Matt any time to argue, clicking to answer the call and shooting him a look as he brought it up to his ear that said: Figure out how to be okay with it. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.

With his hands pinching his narrow hips, Matt ran his tongue along the back of his teeth, shook his head and reached for his phone. Within mere seconds he had the text conversation with Nick shining brightly up at him and his fingers began to fly, ranting with rage at the incredulity of the situation. Two and a half sentences in, his fingers froze, and he glanced back at what he’d written, thought of Nick miles and miles away, stuck at home recuperating, and the tense set to his shoulders dropped. He clicked to highlight what he typed and deleted it, locking his phone and stuffing it back in his pocket.

Nick didn’t need to be bothered by it. He’d see when he watched Dynamite and Matt could take comfort in knowing all his frustrations would be validated afterwards. He’d probably have a ton of text messages ready for him as Nick watched from home. The ache of not having Nick by his side stung again and Matt set off in an aimless direction, wanting to get out of the line of sight and away from anyone who might come and talk to him. He went for the first door he saw that seemed to lead to an unoccupied, smaller room.

Only it wasn’t unoccupied.

“Great,” he said out loud, drawing the blue eyes of Adam Page up his front from where the cowboy sat lounging on a large black storage container. The curious light in them was immediately snuffed once they recognized Matt, and they burned almost immediately with irritation. The comfortable way he’d been sitting left too as he straightened his back and lifted his chin, glaring Matt’s way. One half of the tag team title belts sat beside him and Matt’s eyes inevitably fell to its luring shine.

Adam noticed. He pulled the strap, tucking it in a little closer toward his hip.

Their eyes drew back toward each other and Matt knew he needed to leave the room instead of continuing to test the taut pull of tension strung between them before it snapped. Already the energy was building and pushing at the walls, filling every empty crevice in the room and making him feel as though his heart was pounding a little harder.

“I’m tagging with you tonight. TK’s call.”

He tested it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Adam immediately spat, and that pure, hot hatred in his tone churned something bitter in Matt’s stomach. When had this happened? When had they gone from friends, from brothers, to this? Had Adam always hated him?

“Wish I was.” Matt said and pulled his eyes away. There was so much more he wanted to say, but it seemed like every time he tried to talk to Adam, things went sour and got worse and worse. Especially when it was just between themselves.

“Well,” Adam rolled his eyes and lifted a cup to his mouth to take a swallow. It wasn’t a clear, plastic cup that let him see what Adam was drinking, but Matt didn’t need three guesses to know what it probably was. Adam shoved himself hard off the storage container and gathered the belt, hoisting it with a comfortable ease on his shoulder. He’d grown accustomed to its weight. Matt tried to ignore the way his stomach turned, and his own shoulder ached, wanting to feel that familiar, comfortable weight on it again. To stop letting everyone down who’d looked to him and Nick to be among the first of the tag team to hold them. Adam took a step as if he meant to move past Matt, and Matt stepped toward the side to give him the space to do so.

But Adam paused in front of him.

“Get used to standing on the apron, because I sure as hell won’t be tagging you in.”

“Adam are you serious?” Matt scoffed, staring at his profile. “You’re so caught up in your bullshit that you want to try and take on Chris Jericho and Sammy Guevara by yourself?”

“Yeah, Matt, I’m serious.” Adam said and turned so he and Matt could stand face to face. The overhead lights glittered playfully on the belt and tried to draw Matt’s attention, but he clenched his jaw and glared into Adam’s face instead.

“You can’t take them by yourself.” He heard the incredulity and doubt in his tone but did nothing to soften the blow. This close, he could see the way Adam’s eyes brightened with the challenge.

“Like you’d be any fucking help to me.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” They both knew he wasn’t, so Matt didn’t pause long enough to expect an answer. “Do you really think I’d just hang you out to dry with Jericho and Guevara?”

He had a brief flash back to Adam, pinned by his body weight against the ring canvas. His fingers clenched and unclenched, remembering the way it felt to have his fists come down again and again and again and again… How he’d been overcome by some senseless rage that he lost comprehensive thought until Nick physically pulled him away and threw him back against the ropes. Matt remembered the way Nick had looked at him. It was one of the things Nick did best, communicating without words strong enough to check his brother’s rage. Without Nick, Matt struggled to restrain himself.

His eyes refocused on the present. Hangman was watching him.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re capable of these days, Matt. But I sure as hell know I don’t need you, I don’t need your brother, I don’t need Cody - hell! I don’t even need Kenny! I got this. All on my own.”

“All on your own, huh?” Matt laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yeah!” Adam’s voice was sharp, a sudden increase in volume that smacked the walls and reverberated around them. “On my own, Matt. Just like I pinned you at Revolution and just like I saved yours and Cody’s ass from the Inner Circle last week. On. My. Own.”

They were so close their bodies were almost touching. Mere inches, maybe even centimeters, lay between their heaving chests as they took deep breaths and glared into one another’s eyes. Matt could feel the heat rolling off Adam’s body. Out of the corner of his eye the shining, unfocused haze of the belt on Adam’s shoulder tried to lure him again. Matt refused to give in to the urge to look its way. He wouldn’t give Adam the satisfaction either, knowing he would pounce like a ravenous dog feasting on what he perceived to be true: all Matt cared about was taking the belt from him.

That wasn’t it. Not exactly.

“You’ve become a real dick lately, you know that Adam?”

Adam’s brows jumped upward and a smile smeared across his face. “Oh, I’ve become a real dick?” He pointed at his chest and raised his brows higher, creating wrinkles over his forehead. The smile pushed a little wider across his mouth. The humor Adam wore had a bite to it. “Well, I suppose you only have yourself to thank. I’ve learned from the biggest one of them all.”

Hurt and anger exploded inside Matt, and it took everything not to raise a fist and swing right then and there. It’d be satisfying to wipe that taunting expression off Adam’s face, and it’d be satisfying to get the energy built up inside him out by swinging wildly when Adam fought back. He didn’t care who was goading who, he just knew it’d feel damn good to stop thinking and holding himself back and just let Adam have it. There wouldn’t be Kenny or Nick come to break them up. Who knew how long it’d be before someone heard the commotion of them fighting and came into the room to break them up? How much more damage could they inflict on one another?

Another few, tense seconds crawled by before Adam lifted his paper cup and drained the rest of whatever he’d been drinking, eyes staying locked with Matt throughout. When he lowered it, crumpling it in his fist, Matt’s eyes went from Adam’s mouth then back to his eyes. The blue there was dark and troubled. He turned away without saying another word and reached for the door.

“It’s Inner Circle versus The Elite, Adam.” Matt said at his back as Adam turned the handle, hating the defeated, tired tone he could hear creeping into his voice. His back suddenly ached worse than it had all day. Or maybe it wasn’t just his back, but his entire body. His heart. Everything felt heavy. He didn’t bother turning to look at Adam’s back. “We have to do it.”

Adam laughed dryly and started to open the door. “When the fuck is it going to get through your heads I’m not apart of The Elite anymore?” Matt didn’t answer and Adam didn’t wait around for him to. He took off through the open door, leaving Matt alone to stomach the sour taste on his tongue.

#hangman page #matt jackson #aew fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction #hangman page fanfiction #matt jackson fanfiction #theres no point to this except I wanted to try writing from matt's pov #and i like torturing myself by having matt and adam fight apparently #anyways holy shit I can't believe I actually finished something all my fics have been getting stopped and not picked up again akjsdfkjsdf #mine: fanfiction #my fics: hangman adam page #my fics: matt jackson

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terreisa · 7 years ago

Text

Of Heroes and Villains: Turn and Face the Strange (Emma)

Killian and Emma have faced witches, lost memories, and curses and have defeated them all side by side. Their return to the Enchanted Forest was supposed to be filled with joy. Instead, they find a war threatening to tear the realm apart and the Dark One let loose from his cage. Worst of all the final battle may be against something they can’t defeat, themselves. Final installment of The Swan and Firebird Trilogy.

Author’s Note, Prologue, Ch 1

AO3

ff.net

Emma rolled over, stretching her arm out to the side and was unsurprised to find there was only a tangle of blankets piled on the cot that was next to hers. Letting out a sigh she blinked the sleep away, focusing blearily on the space that Killian had been lying in only a couple of hours before. As she lay in the grey light of dawn, watching her breath cloud in the frigid air, she vaguely wondered if she was already paying the price for breaking the curse.

It had been chaos the day before when the smoke had cleared and they had found themselves in a snow covered field. No sooner had she felt the low hum of magic coursing through her veins that Roland was crying out to her, close to panic over how much blood Marty had lost. In near panic herself she had dropped to her knees to heal Marty. Somehow, in her frenzied state, she had managed to get out the words that sent Red off to find Killian.

Even with how quickly she had acted she almost hadn’t been in time, Marty’s skin had become so pale it was almost grey and his breathing had been shallow and weak. Roland had been sobbing beside her as her palms had glowed gold and she’d focused every part of herself into willing Marty back to life. She was convinced it hadn’t worked, right up until Marty took a gasping breath, color flooding back into his cheeks. He had coughed his thanks as Roland nearly squeezed the life out of her, tears still running down his face.

They’d had to wait nearly an hour before Red had returned with Killian. Every second of that hour she had imagined the terrible things that could have happened to him and then proceeded to think of other outcomes that were even worse. It was all Roland could do to keep her from running after Red, only the fact that she hadn’t seen where she’d gone and therefore impossible to track held her fast. By the time Killian and Red had emerged from the trees Emma worn a muddy path across the length of the field from her pacing. She had been unable to help herself and leapt into Killian’s arms, promising herself that she’d never leave his side again.

When Robin’s group had joined them she had been overjoyed and relieved that it appeared those brought back by the destruction of the curse hadn’t been scattered too far. Watching Roland and Turner reunite as her and Killian had only heightened her joy, and lessened her guilt. Her elation was short lived, however, when Robin handed down Marty’s punishment and the guilt had flooded her once again as Marty had protested his fate. It had been under her leadership that he had felt the need to act out and when she’d tried to keep him tethered he’d only gone and gotten himself stabbed. Only Killian’s warm hand in hers had given her the strength to withstand Marty’s pleas and Robin’s indifference to them.

The ensuing fight with Regina had only compounded her guilt almost making her bow under its weight. Where she had argued avidly for Regina to have a sense of freedom when they’d first found her as a prisoner in her own palace, she had realized that she felt wary about allowing her the use of her magic. Even with the threat of the Dark One looming over them all she couldn’t bring herself to remove the restricting cuff from Regina’s wrist. Not when she’d been secretive about her dealings in Storybrooke when Emma had allowed her a berth on the Jewel.

Denying Regina the use of her magic, however, came with its own repercussions, namely Emma having to use her own powers. It was foolish, really. She knew how desperately they needed shelter, having decided to stay in the clearing for the night, and yet she still hesitated. Her magic had come easily when she’d healed Marty but it had been months since she’d purposefully used it and even then she had already been fighting against the tremors using it caused. The whispers in the back of her mind reminding her about the prophecy and her role as savior only caused her to hesitate more, the expectations almost as heavy as her guilt.

In the end it had been Killian’s gentle encouragement that had allowed her to conjure the huts, childishly closing her eyes to focus her intentions and block out the eager stares. What she hadn’t anticipated was how far her magic would extend itself. She had merely hoped to conjure the type of tent she remembered sleeping in when they had stayed with the Merry Men. Instead she had created several wooden huts that were far more capable of withstanding the elements than the wooden poles and canvas she had been picturing. For a moment she had felt fear at her loss of control but when she had looked up to see Killian’s reaction he had only been looking at her with pride and she’d felt all the worse for it.

From that moment on she had only clung to Killian all the more. She knew that he had noticed and loved him all the more for not asking her to explain herself. Instead he would tuck her arm in his or twist their fingers together and followed her lead as she flitted around the camp. He was there to steady her when she looked in one of the huts and saw that there were cots and bedrolls in each of them. The seemingly limitlessness of her power had made her slightly woozy and she had practically dragged him to the woods to gather more firewood, fleeing as best she could.

When Red returned with her father in tow she had nearly sobbed in relief once again. She had been able to step away from Killian but found herself latching onto David instead. Dimly she had realized that something was beginning to take hold, a fear of being forced away from the people she loved and it was making her act in ways she had once considered a weakness in others. As she had questioned David about where he’d arrived while they walked around the camp she tried to convince herself that her fears would eventually pass. Instead as they walked she only felt that they were taking root deep in her heart and only growing stronger.

Things had only become worse after Killian had gone to invite Regina to join everyone at the fire for their evening meal. She had suspected something was wrong when he’d been nearly unable to meet her eye after talking with Turner. Their plan to send out a scouting party had surprised her and Killian’s reluctance at first to let her go along had roused her suspicions. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to allow her to go along but she could sense that something was troubling him. When he’d volunteered to get Regina she had thought nothing of it but when they had arrived at the fireside Regina had been smirking smugly and Killian looked as though he was headed for the gallows.

He had put on a convincing show for the rest of the night, for everyone but her at least. She could see through his feigned smiles, hear the aloofness in his voice, and worst of all she could feel him trying to distance himself from her. Whenever she had moved closer to him he would stiffen before relaxing and within minutes he would move to lean forward to talk to someone or move away under the pretense of adding more wood to the fire, returning to her side with a definite space between them that she eventually stopped trying to diminish. When they had settled for the night she had half expected him to choose any other hut but the one she’d claimed as her own. She had been about to climb onto her cot when Killian had entered the hut and given her a half-hearted smile. No words had been spoken between them as he had set up his own cot but she could have sworn she had heard him whisper an apology to her right before sleep had claimed her. In the growing light of the morning she wondered what exactly it was he had been trying to atone for.

Emma remained laying in her cot for nearly another quarter of an hour, staring at the mess of blankets beside her. As much as she wanted to she couldn’t find it in herself to blame Killian. The past few days had been a whirlwind for her and she could only imagine how much more disorienting it was for those who had been cursed. She decided she’d forgive Killian for his aloofness but they had much to discuss once he returned.

When she finally emerged from the hut she was surprised to see only a few people gathered around the rebuilt fire. Roland and Robin were carefully watching over the rabbits they had roasting over it as her father sat across from them with a blanket around his shoulders, clearly keeping an eye out for her appearance. David gave her a wan smile and waved her over with one hand still holding onto his blanket. She blinked back the ever present tears at being able to sit beside him whenever she wished as she made her way to him.

“Good morning, my swan princess,” David greeted, wrapping his arm around her the moment she sat next to him and kissing her temple.

“Morning,” she murmured, helping him adjust the blanket over her shoulder.

“Uh oh, from that exuberant greeting you either slept terribly or Killian didn’t wake you when he left,” he said half jokingly.

“Both,” she sighed before she could catch herself. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted David to guess about her troubles with Killian and therefore sought to change the subject, “Do you think we should stay here another night or move on once the scouting party comes back?”

David hummed contemplatively, digging his heel into the dirt, “I guess it all depends on what they find. If we do leave we’ll need to stay close to the stream we’ve been getting water from. It might even lead us to a farmstead or even a village further downstream.”

“Maybe it’ll lead us to Mom,” she said hopefully. She looked up at David and saw that he was staring at the fire with a wistful smile, “I let her know that we made it back.”

“What?” He looked at her in surprise. “How?”

“Like this.”

Emma held up her hand in front of her and thought of a simple message. As soon as the words formed in her mind a golden hummingbird glimmered into existence. With the ease of another thought it flitted to David, darting around his head until he held out his own hand. The hummingbird landed and immediately transformed into a small slip of shimmering parchment. Once he read the words it blinked out of existence leaving only a hint of golden glitter in the air.

“I missed you too,” he said thickly, gruffly clearing his throat as he pulled her closer to his side. “Will your mother be able to use it to find her way to us?”

“No,” she said gently. “At least mine don’t leave a puddle in your hand once you’ve finished reading it.”

“Elsa? Queen Elsa of Arendelle?” David asked, surprise in his voice. “How did you manage to get on first name basis with the Ice Queen?”

“Dad-” Emma elbowed him lightly, shaking her head as a grin threatened to break free, “She’s actually really nice. More welcoming than she should’ve been considering how we arrived in her kingdom.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

The grin that had been tugging at her lips dipped into a frown. It was clear he believed it to be an interesting tale, one filled with humor and perhaps a little drama but one that could be easily told. He had no way of knowing that her arrival in Arendelle was only a small interlude in the cascade of events that had started with an order from Zelena to end Captain Swan and led to her sitting at his side, contemplating what exactly to tell him.

“It’s a long one,” she warned, vaguely noticing that Robin and Roland seemed to be listening as well.

David looked around at the quiet huts and then off towards the forest before shrugging, “We’ve got the time.”

She decided to begin her story at the moment she’d heard rumor that the Evil Queen had put a price on her head and that the Jewel of the Realm was the one on the hunt. When she was explaining how Red had gone behind her back to lead Killian to Agrabah Roland and Robin were listening raptly and the rest of the camp was beginning to stir. By the time she got to Blackbeard’s attack on the Brooke she had a captive audience consisting of everyone that hadn’t gone with the scouting party. Even Regina was listening intently, wrapped up in the story as much as the others.

Emma became aware that she was keeping details to herself as she described the fight between her crew and that of the Revenge. She had never really shared the full extent of story with anyone else. Even Snow had received only bits and pieces of what had happened over the course of the year before Emma had found her. There were things she’d done that she wasn’t proud of, especially from the time before the tale she’d started, and the instinct to hide her magic away was still too strong. She reasoned with herself that the whole of the story would remain intact, that her use of magic wasn’t overly important, that the darker deeds she’d committed were nothing in comparison to the good that would eventually come from it.

A few minutes later when she reached the point where they had arrived in Arendelle she knew she couldn’t end the tale there. She could see that the group was hanging on her every word. David had even moved so that he could watch her speak without straining his neck. It was clear they wouldn’t be satisfied with her stopping the story right when she had met Elsa but to continue was to dredge up the painful memories that followed. Hewitt’s murder, the subterfuge they’d uncovered in Regina’s palace, and Thompson. Emma realized couldn’t bring herself to tell what had happened to him, not without Killian there and perhaps not even then for it wasn’t her heartbreak to share.

David seemed to notice her hesitation. With a gentle press of his hand to her knee he stood and cleared his throat.

“I think we’ve made Emma share enough for now. She hasn’t even had her morning meal yet. How about we let her eat while we gather up some more wood and water. We’ll need to check the traps to see if we’ll have anything for the scouting group when they come back. Robin, a word if you please.”

Robin looked taken aback by being addressed directly but allowed himself to be ushered away by David. Emma sighed with relief as the others spread out through the camp without complaint. She had forgotten how easily her father could hold sway over a crowd, as much as a humble man or as a king. It was a skill she was fairly certain she hadn’t inherited.

Roland made his way towards her and sat in the spot David had vacated. He gave her a wan smile and looked towards the far edge of camp. Emma followed his gaze.

“I don’t think Papa likes what your father is saying,” he observed.

Across the camp David talked as Robin started to frown, which became more of a grimace. He cut David off, gesturing back at the camp and then out towards the woods before settling a steely gaze on him. David seemed to try and placate him but to her it looked like Robin only grew more incensed.

“Do you know what they’re talking about?” She asked, still watching as David appeared to be growing frustrated as well.

“No, but I have an idea,” Roland sighed, looking back at her. “Before you woke Papa and I were talking about Marty’s punishment. Your father was apparently listening more closely than we realized and it looks like he doesn’t agree with Papa’s decision.”

“I don’t really agree with it either,” Emma muttered, trying and failing to not sound judgemental.

“You wouldn’t understand because you’re not a part of the Merry Men,” Roland said with an easy shrug. “We may live a lawless life but we’ve only remained uncaptured, survived really, because we follow a strict set of rules. Marty has been testing their limits practically since he could walk. Stowing away on your ship was enough to get him cut off from the Merry Men for a year.”

Emma gasped, “Robin wouldn’t do that!”

“He would and he has,” he said grimly. “There’s no greater crime for the Merry Men than putting the rest of us at risk.”

“But-”

“He was sailing under your orders, a part of your crew, and he blatantly disregarded nearly every order you gave him. Disobeying orders, working for Zelena, not keeping his mouth shut when he was caught? He’s lucky Papa is taking him back to Will and Belle and not leaving him behind to fend for himself. If you and the others weren’t here he would have.”

She was stunned into silence. As a captain she’d heard her fair share of mutiny stories, mostly over pints of ale as she tried to get information about Misthaven and the Evil Queen. It was a problem she’d never once had to worry about. Her crew was her family, they would have no sooner turned on her than turned on themselves. She turned back to look at Robin and wondered how he could be so cold hearted.

“Marty’s just a kid,” she argued.

Roland gave an exasperated sigh, “You still don’t get it. He almost died and got the rest of us killed by just trying to prove himself. It’s happened before and the Merry Men vowed it would never happen again.”

“What happened?” She asked, trying desperately to understand.

“Someone we trusted wasn’t happy with where he stood in the Men. Nicolas thought he deserved to be Papa’s right hand man instead of Little John and loathed that Will was above him in rank even though Will had been with the Men for a lot longer. He decided that he’d prove his worth by going against Papa’s wishes and spying on Lord John’s court.

“I was ten when Lord John’s men attacked our camp in the middle of the night. Most of us escaped but some didn’t. We learned later from Friar Tuck that Nicolas had been caught and instead of holding his tongue had spilled every secret he knew about the Merry Men. Twelve of our number died that night, women and children included. All because Nicolas thought he deserved more. Papa changed after that night, we all did.”

“I’m so sorry,” Emma whispered, aghast.

“It’s been over twenty years but I still have nightmares,” Roland said quietly, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Marty’s grown up knowing what happened, why we have the rules we do. Him being a kid is no excuse, not when he’s been at every remembrance bonfire we have every year on the night that it happened. At the very spot where it happened. Even Will won’t argue with Papa’s decision.”

“What’ll happen to him?”

“He’ll probably be sent to his sister’s and end up apprenticing with her husband. He’s a carpenter,” Roland mused with a half-smile. It faltered slightly, “Belle was never thrilled he wanted to follow in Will’s footsteps but just like Colette takes after her Marty takes after his father. She won’t be happy it’s come to this though.”

“He can come with me, us. Wherever we go next,” she offered almost frantically.

“Emma, you said it yourself: he’s still a kid. It’s up to Will and Belle to decide where he’ll go.”

She opened her mouth to argue but found that there was nothing she could say. There was no denying that Marty had put them all in jeopardy by disobeying orders time and again. Her own punishments for him hadn’t been lenient and with a start she realized that had she the choice she would have sent him back to his parents after the first time he’d deliberately slipped away from Roland and Turner. While she couldn’t bring herself to agree with Robin banning him from the Merry Men completely she could begin to understand why he had done it.

“Do you think your father will let him back in?”

“I don’t know,” Roland sighed. “Being with the Merry Men is all Marty’s known but he’s young enough to learn a new way of life-”

“Or old enough to harbor a grudge for the rest of it,” Emma said bitterly.

“True, he might be angry for a while but don’t forget he’s as much Belle’s son as Will’s. He’ll eventually forgive Papa and maybe, in time, he’ll earn his way back to us.”

Whatever distraction she’d been looking for from having to tell her story to the others contemplating Marty’s fate hadn’t been it. Looking around the camp she found him sitting sullenly by one of the huts stripping the twigs and leaves from dried branches to use for kindling. As though he felt her eyes on him he looked up at her and almost immediately dropped his eyes back to his task, a deep flush rising in his cheeks. Feeling helpless she balled up her fists and forced herself to count to ten, breathing deeply to calm herself.

“When do you think the others will be back?” She asked without thinking.

“Daniel wasn’t sure. He said not to expect him back before the midday meal and maybe not even for supper-” Roland gave a frustrated sigh, “He wasn’t happy that I didn’t want to go and even more so that Killian wouldn’t give him a straight answer last night or this morning about how long it would take. Or answering any of his questions really... wait, Killian didn’t tell you anything?”

Emma’s stomach dropped, “No.”

If Turner had talked to Roland long enough to complain after having spoken to Killian then there would have been enough time for Killian to have woke her, to have at least said goodbye. The sudden confirmation that he had been avoiding her felt like she’d taken a dull blow to the back of her head. She found that she wasn’t sure how to feel, unmoored from any sense of what was up or down. Killian had been the one constant in her mind for so long that his absence left her floundering.

“Emma, what’s going on?” Roland turned to her fully, concern plain on his face.

“I don’t know,” she whispered helplessly. “Something happened yesterday but I don't know what and Killian won't talk to me.”

“He did seem a bit off last night-”

“It started before that,” she bit out frustratedly, “When he came here with Red he seemed fine and I thought we could talk about... everything, you know? Then the whole thing with the huts and my magic and then my dad got here. It was even worse after he talked to Regina. I have no idea what's going on!”

The flames of the fire in front of them exploded to at least ten feet in height before quickly returning to normal. Emma took in an unsteady breath as she tried to calm herself and quell the uncontrollable shaking of her hands. She felt like she was eight, her magic completely out of her control and prone to cause more problems for it. Luckily nobody but Roland had noticed the outburst.

“Emma!” he yelped.

“I got it,” she whispered half to herself as she clenched her hands between her thighs. She drew in another deep breath and blew it out slowly, “I'm fine.”

“Are you sure? You nearly set the entire camp on fire!”

“Keep it down,” she muttered furiously, glaring at him. “I'm just getting used to my magic again.”

“Alright,” he said with a hint of skepticism. Then his eyebrows furrowed in concern, “Do you think the Dark One is having the same problem? Could that be why he hasn't shown up yet?”

“Maybe but that could also mean he's even more dangerous than before,” she said with distracted worry, still forcing herself to take deep, steady breaths.

“I thought you breaking that stupid curse would be the end of it,” Roland said exasperatedly.

“You and me both,” she sighed. Cautiously releasing her hands she was relieved to find that the shaking had stopped, “Seems like breaking it just made everything worse somehow.”

“Papa doesn’t feel that way,” he quickly interjected. “He wasn’t at all happy under the curse, especially having to spend most of his days with that idiot sheriff. I’m sure he’ll tell you himself once he’s done arguing with your father but he wants to thank you for bringing back his true memories. He also wants to apologize.”

She looked at him in surprise, “What? Why?”

“For how he treated you and Killian when he believed he was Deputy Archer. He spent most of last night apologizing to me and Daniel, even though he barely saw me since I tried to stay as far away from him as I could.”

Roland gave her a half-hearted smile. She tried to return it but it quickly turned into a frown when she caught sight of Robin storming away from her father who shook his head and began walking in the opposite direction. Looking back at Roland she saw that he was already getting to his feet.

“Do you think-”

“I’m not going to try and change his mind,” Roland said stubbornly.

She held up her hands placatingly, “I was just going to ask if he’d be willing to tell me what he remembers about working with Walsh and Zelena. Once he’s in a better mood, obviously.”

“I’m sure he will-” he looked off to where Robin was stalking into the woods, “In a couple of hours or so.”

Emma hummed in agreement, knowing that David would probably need just as much time to calm down himself. With a gentle squeeze of her shoulder Roland ambled off after Robin, leaving her to herself. Not wanting to be alone with her thoughts for too long, lest she begin to overthink why Killian was pulling away from her, she stood and began to walk in the direction David had taken. She could handle her father’s pique, especially when she felt the same as he did about the situation.

When she caught up with him he was at the banks of the creek they’d been getting water from, hands on his hips and frowning off into the distance. The image was so familiar that her steps stuttered to a halt. He had done much the same after the council meetings where the shouting could be heard from nearly every room along the same corridor or after Blue gave yet another unsatisfactory answer for what the limits of Emma’s magic were or, on the very rare occasion, after he and her mother had a fight. She would always find him looking out over the lake their castle resided on, mulling over whatever had happened and calming himself down. Every time she’d silently move to his side, waiting for him to give a deep sigh and drop his arm over her shoulders. Sometimes he’d tell her what was bothering him if he felt there was a lesson about ruling she could learn but more often than not they’d stand quietly side by side until he was ready to think rationally about the problem. Without further hesitation she sidled up next to him and only a moment later she heard him sigh and his arm went around her shoulders.

“I thought I’d be able to make him see even a little bit of reason,” David huffed.

“Roland wasn’t much better,” she murmured. “Did Robin tell you why?”

“He did and I understand, in a way, but Marty’s just a kid!” He said heatedly, his arm around her twitching in his frustration. “I thought that because we worked together in Storybrooke it would be enough to sway him. Apparently not.”

Emma frowned, “But that was memories from the curse right? It wasn’t real.”

“But it was real, until you broke the curse. It still feels real at times, even now,” he sighed. “Under the curse the first thing I did when I woke up was to say good morning to a picture of your mother. I remember doing it every morning for the past fourteen years. When I woke up today I turned to do it again and it took me longer than I’d care to admit to remember that she’s still alive.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t break it sooner,” she whispered despondently.

“It’s not your fault, Emma, and no one blames you for any of it, least of all me,” he said vehemently. “Zelena got what she wanted when she cast the curse and paid the price for it too. Nothing more than what she deserved, if you ask me.”

She winced. David had never been one to soften the meaning of his words but he had never been so blunt. It was as though the bitter man she’d met in Storybrooke had taken control of her father’s tongue without him realizing. Suddenly Emma was struck with a harrowing realization. It was as though a bolt of lightning had struck and for the barest of moments she could see everything clearly.

“Dad? What was Killian like under the curse?”

David stiffened before pulling away from her, a look of trepidation on his face. Emma knew that people had disliked Killian, maybe even hated him. She had seen it time and again in how the townspeople had treated him with open disdain. What she didn’t know was what he had done to deserve such animosity and she had been so relieved to have found him again that she hadn’t cared. If her father was right and the cursed memories were as real as the ones of their true lives then she was almost certain it was Killian’s memories that were pulling him away from her.

“He… he wasn’t a good man,” David said haltingly. She frowned and he rushed to continue, “A lot of what I remember about him is just memories from the curse, they didn’t really happen.”

“But you feel like they did,” she pointed out. “Even Regina had a hard time picking the two apart and she was never fully under the curse. Then there’s the year you were cursed. Not memories, actually doing things.”

“I don’t know how much really was real, though,” he said with a hint of frustration. “I can’t explain it but even when it felt like I was living my life none of it felt real until you came into town. It was like waking up from a reoccuring dream only because one tiny thing had changed. I can’t even pick out the moment the Dark Curse deposited us in Storybrooke.”

“Regina said that time had stopped, that everyone had been living the same day every day,” she said eagerly. “So Killian might not have done anything at all.”

“Emma-”

“And even if he did, I don’t care.”

As soon as she said it she knew it to be true. There were things in her past she wasn’t proud of. Things that at some point, sooner or later, she’d have to answer for. Killian had been a good, honorable man before the curse took him away and if he was pulling away from her to spare her it meant he was still that man despite who he had believed himself to be for the past year. For the first time that morning Emma felt herself relax and she took a deep, bolstering breath.

“Killian has always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. It’s time I do the same for him.”

“Then, as I said back in Storybrooke, I’m willing to give Killian the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure in time others will too,” David said encouragingly but with a hint of caution. He then smiled wistfully, “You know, the last time we had a serious talk like this you were adamant that you’d never get married. I think you were mostly annoyed by all the suitors at your birthday ball but you had that stubborn frown you get when you’re getting ready to dig in your heels. Which you’re doing now by the way.”

She quickly smoothed out her face but it only made David smile wider. In truth she didn’t remember much from that ball. Zelena’s attack that had separated them had happened only a few days later and that she remembered with perfect clarity. What she did remember from the ball was it had been the last time that she and her parents had been happy and together.

Emma looked across the span of the camp at the few people that were milling about. Aside from Grace’s twins Killian had known them all in one way or another before the curse. That any one of them would hold whatever deeds he did during the curse against him, especially her, seemed absurd to her. She only had to convince Killian of that fact.

“I wish you’d met him,” she said softly, “You know, before.”

“The curse?”

“Yes and no-” she huffed out a frustrated sigh. “Before… before a lot of things actually. He’s had almost as much bad luck with Zelena as we have.”

“Even with his kingdom’s alliance with her?” He asked in surprise.

“She had King Brennan killed and made it seem that Killian was the one that did it, remember?” She reminded him gently, having told the story only an hour or so before. “That was only the beginning of it. She didn’t exactly let up after that.”

“Too bad the Dark One killed her,” David said without a hint of sympathy, causing Emma to wince. “I wouldn’t have minded keeping her locked in a barely habitable dungeon for a decade or two to see how she liked it.”

“I think you’d have had to fight Balliolshire for that right. Although, I’m pretty sure Liam would have had her executed for what she’d done to Killian alone.”

He hummed, “We probably would have had to flip a coin for that privilege.”

“Dad!”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t think about it too,” he scoffed.

“You know, I don’t remember you being this cold hearted,” she snapped back.

David’s eyes widened as his mouth dropped open. He looked stricken, as though she had slapped him instead. She was on the verge of apologizing when he dropped his gaze to the ground and ran his hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck.

“I’m not sure if it’s me or who I was under the curse,” he sighed, dropping his hand but not lifting his eyes. “I spent so long alone, first isolated in the cell Zelena kept me in and then by choice in Storybrooke. It’s harder than I thought it would be to go back to being a fair and just leader. It doesn’t help that your mother was always the one to appeal to my gentler sensibilities.”

“Well, you’ll be with her soon enough and she’ll thaw that icy heart of yours,” she teased, hoping to ease the sting of her rebuke.

“I can’t wait,” David said sincerely, finally raising his head and giving her a gentle smile.

She was about to return it with one of her own when her stomach rumbled loudly. David raised a brow at her as she scowled.

“You didn’t eat did you?”

“I forgot?” She said meekly.

“Come on then,” he said with exasperated fondness.

After David watched her eat her fill she quietly told him what she hadn’t been able to tell the others. Of how Hewitt’s murder had forced them to leave Arendelle, their time with the Merry Men, the revelation of Thompson’s betrayal and subsequent death at the hands of Zelena, and how she had abandoned Killian in order to fulfill her role as Savior. She told him how she’d finally found her mother and how they’d worked tirelessly to find a way to get her to where Zelena’s curse had taken the people of Misthaven. When she reached the point where she’d sailed the Jewel through the portal she almost felt like she was falling through again. Her mind was a numb jumble from everything that had happened to her, was still happening to her.

“And then you found us,” David said with a hint of pride.

“Had to live up to the family motto eventually,” she joked halfheartedly.

“How many times do I have to say that I don’t blame you for anything?” He sighed, exasperated. He looked out towards the woods at her back, “If your mother were here she’d… she’d…”

Suddenly David’s face paled as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Emma was about to ask what was wrong when he shot to his feet.

“Snow!”

“Charming!”

Before she even realized it was her mother’s voice echoing across the camp David was running. She had never seen him move with such speed or determination and she barely had time to stand herself, spinning in the direction he’d run.

“Snow! Oh, God, Snow!”

Snow was running too. When they reached each other they collided almost violently, David embracing her so fiercely that her feet lifted off the ground. Emma was too far away to hear what they were saying to each other but she could see that they were both crying, their hands mapping each other’s features even as they brushed away the tears. It was only when their lips met for a deep, passionate, loving kiss that she tore her gaze away, carefully wiping away tears of her own.

“It’s okay love, not everyone gets the chance to see their parents reunited like this.”

Emma turned to look beside her with a tremulous smile. Killian was standing an arm’s length away, dark circles prominent under his eyes and seemingly unable to hold her gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time. A flare of irritation burned in her chest but as quickly as it had appeared it fizzled out when she remembered the promise she had made. It would take patience and her unwavering love to remind him just how much of a good man he truly was.

She took a tentative step towards him. When he didn’t shy away she wrapped her arms around him, resting her forehead on his chest.

“Where did you go?”

His arms settled gently around her as he answered, “We went east. Ru-, er, Red hadn’t gone that way yesterday and we figured it was as good as any other direction, considering we hadn’t a clue where we arrived. There’s nothing but trees and the occasional stream for miles. We were ready to turn back when Red caught a sent and led us north. It was another hour before the rest of us saw anything, even though Red said she could hear at least a dozen people moving towards us.”

Emma lifted her head and looked around to see a few faces she didn’t recognize along with Granny, Grumpy, and others she'd last seen in Storybrooke. Her parents were still lost in each other, ignoring everything and everyone around them. The joy of their reunion was infectious, filling the camp with the sounds of laughter and jubilation. Looking up at Killian she was surprised to see a soft smile on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing, love, just glad to be back here, with you.”

She pulled back slightly, frowning, “I wanted to go with you. I told you that yesterday.”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, stepping back from her completely. She wanted to reach for him but somehow understood he would have just pulled away even more. He looked at her with imploring eyes, “I… There are things that I can’t- and I don’t want you to think that I’m pushing you away-”

Emma cut him off by wrapping her arms around him again, knowing what he was having trouble articulating, “I don’t care.”

“What?” He asked, stiffening in her arms.

“Whatever happened under the curse, whatever you feel like you can’t tell me, I don’t care-” she tightened her grip, “You’re here now. We’re here now. Together.”

“Emma-”

“I love you,” she murmured. “Nothing is going to change that. So if you want to tell me I’ll listen or if you don’t I’ll be fine with that too but nothing, absolutely nothing you say will make me love you any less. Got it?”

“Got it,” he whispered brokenly. He pushed her back gently and peered into her eyes, as though gauging the truth in them, “God I love you.”

He pulled her back to him and as his lips met hers she immediately knew he was done keeping himself away from her. Unlike their kiss that had broken the curse there was no desperation, no mourning of time lost, only the pure elation of being together and loving one another. She deepened the kiss, even as a smile kept breaking through, and he happily kept up, dipping her slightly and threading his hand into her hair while his arm tightened its hold on her.

When they finally broke apart she still clung to him, burying her face in his neck as she breathed him in, grinning wildly. Killian, for his part, was alternating between planting small kisses to her shoulder and whispering endearments in her ear. It was only the sound of a throat clearing behind her that gave her a reason to pull away.

David and Snow were standing there, his arm over her shoulder, hers around his waist and matching smiles of bemusement. Emma could see Snow sizing Killian up, matching what Emma had told her about him to the real thing. Killian fidgeted slightly behind her, clearly understanding what her mother was doing. She caught David’s eye and rolled her own eyes at him, causing his smile to widen.

“Alright, Snow, I think you’ve made him uncomfortable enough.”

“What?” Snow said with mock innocence. She smiled up at David, “I didn’t realize who he was when he first introduced himself. After hearing about him from our daughter for months and then you telling me he’s her True Love you expect me to not take an interest? You can’t have forgotten that much about me, Charming.”

Emma winced at the casual aside about their separation but David merely chuckled and shook his head. Snow nodded in satisfaction and turned to look at her with a soft gaze.

“Hi Mom,” she greeted weakly, suddenly overcome by seeing her parents together, of being together with them, again.

Snow gave her a tremulous smile, “I knew you could do it.”

Emma’s chin wobbled as she moved into her parents’ combined embrace. She could feel Snow clutching at the fabric on her back as David gently cupped the back of her head. When she heard the sound of David sniffling above her she let her own tears fall unchecked. They stayed that way for several minutes and as much as she wanted to remain locked within the comfort of their arms forever she reluctantly pulled back, wiping the last of her tears from her cheeks.

“So, how-” she cleared her throat in an attempt to steady it, “How did you find us?”

“Blue came to our camp yesterday to warn us about something magical that had the fairies had noticed rippling across the land. They didn’t know what it was, just that it was powerful. While we waited for her to look more closely into it your little bird arrived. Granny and Grumpy came walking into our camp like they’d been there the whole time not long after telling us what you’d done,” Snow said proudly. “When Blue returned she told us what direction to go. We left as soon as we could this morning.”

“Blue knew we were here?” She exchanged startled looks with David. “Why didn’t she say anything to us? She didn’t even show herself.”

“She didn’t come this far, sweetie,” Snow said placatingly, gently grasping her wrist. “She came upon another group that made its way over and heard it from them. Once she had she immediately came back to tell me, knowing that I’d want to know as soon as possible. We didn’t even know if we’d find you or someone else this way.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” Killian said quietly, stepping up to Emma’s side, “but you said you were in a camp. Where exactly are we?”

“A day or so’s ride from the southeastern border of Misthaven and Phyrgia-”

Both David and Emma interrupted Snow, the former in slight indignation and the latter in concern.

“What? Why are we so far from the castle, from home?”

“What’s happened?”

Snow sighed and seemed to age at least ten years for it, “George’s forces have taken over most of Phyrgia, many of their people have fled to our kingdom or to Darmancourt. Their capitol still stands for now but it’s only a matter of time before it falls. Abigail and Frederick have refused to flee with their people.”

“They’ll be imprisoned!” Emma gasped causing Killian to grab her hand and squeeze his support.

“No,” Snow whispered. “They’ll be executed. Once Phyrgia is fully under George’s thumb we’ll be next and we don’t have half the fighting force they do.”

“What about Balliolshire?” Emma looked imploringly up at Killian before turning back to her mother. “Liam said he’d help.”

“They have a navy, a great one,” Snow said with an acknowledging tilt of her head at Killian, “but George is fighting us on land. We need an army.”

“You have us now,” Emma said resolutely. “We can defeat him. We will.”

She could feel her magic begin roiling throughout her body, seeking escape. It felt somewhat different than it had that morning, it was thicker somehow, more volatile, but for once completely under her control. Clenching her fists she willed her magic to subside, despite the heady almost giddy feeling that accompanied it. She knew without a doubt that she would be able to call upon it again when the time came. Her family had been torn apart more than its fair share and she’d be damned if it happened again. She failed to notice that Killian was watching her closely, concern swimming deep in his gaze.

If you’d like to be tagged so you don’t miss the next chapter let me know.

Tagging: @teamhook, @galadriel26

#captain swan #cs ff #cs ff au #cs au ff #ouat au ff #of heroes and villains

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svarmodiig · 6 years ago

Text

CHRISTMAS SHORTS

Ⅰ. @fatestouched

✦ ▪ As Inigo’s eyes meet with Owain’s own, he can feel his pulse accelerate, heart beating at such a rate it almost feels like it could implode at any minute, setting free the countless butterflies which swarmed within. His breathing slows, each breath heavier than the last. They’d been friends for years now, and yet each time he laid eyes upon Owain, he had the same reaction. By now, he’d come to realise that it wasn’t normal - he didn’t get this with any of his other friends, but then again, none of them were like Owain. He was special. There was a warm feeling that seemed to surge throughout him when Owain was around, like a blanket, one which wrapped itself around him so tightly he felt comfortable. When they were alone, the world around them felt so distant, nothing more than a backing set to the main stage which they were centered upon. These feelings, they were what everyone dreamed of at some point, whether it be through idle daydreamt illusions, or through envy of a happy couple before them, real or fictional alike. There was something about romance which everyone seemed to want. Everyone wanted their own dream match, and yet that was the beauty in it. Dreams are just that. No one matched with the person of their dreams, not really, and yet as they met with their fated one, those ideals seemed to align into something entirely new. One could dream up someone entirely different to the person they met, and yet that dream would somehow take form of their newly beloved. Aspects of their dream begin to appear before them in a reality they could hardly have dreamt up. Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps dreams purposefully misalign with reality, so that reality can be so much more than the dream. Owain was, by no means, the perfect match that Inigo had once dreamt up, yet such dreams had come to an end, replaced by dreams of him.

He can feel himself staring, but can hardly bring himself to stop. There was something about Owain’s emerald green eyes that he seemed to lose himself in, like a whole other world revealed itself behind those eyes. (In some realities, it likely did. Owain’s imagination was capable of quite nearly anything, yet in this moment, Owain himself was not living in his fantasy world.)

“I- I suppose we should hit the sack, huh?” Inigo manages to ask through his nerves, a smile hiding the fear behind his true self.

Despite having years of friendship behind them, the two had never been forced to share sleeping quarters together before, yet times grew direr and such luxuries could no longer be afforded. He didn’t mind, quite the contrary, in fact. What made it so difficult was these feelings he harbored. Owain was within arm’s reach - literally, rather than figuratively, for once - and yet he couldn’t feel further away. How long could this go on for? He couldn’t say for sure, but something told him these feelings weren’t unreciprocated. He’d picked up on all of the eye contact by now, the way in which Owain seemed to grow defensive of him yet such a sentiment hardly expressed itself for anyone else. There was a soft spot in Owain’s heart, sure, but Inigo couldn’t be sure if it was in the same way as he had a soft spot for him. Was it platonic? Did he think of Inigo as merely a friend? Or was there more there?

“Heh, I suppose you’re right. War waits for no one, we should rest while we have the opportunity, friend!” Owain responds in an unusually calm manner, albeit one still expressed with his usual flare. It unnerved Inigo, he had expected some theatrical monologue about the realm of dreams from Owain, and yet his response had been… normal. A somewhat nervous laugh manages to escape his mouth, though he plays it off with a grin.

“Oh? No dramatic performance this time? Are you feeling alright, Owain?” He asks with a chuckle, watching Owain closely for any attempts to cover up his true feelings behind a mask.

“Ah- sorry to disappoint Inigo, I didn’t realise you secretly enjoyed them. I’m sure I can think up something cool, just… give me a second here.”

“No, No. There’s no need, truly, I was just expecting one, you usually respond with them, it’s a little surreal to hear you talk so casually around me.”

“Hm? Well… I suppose it’s because I feel safe around you. I don’t need to keep the act up, not while we’re alone like this… But to be clear, if you tell anyone about this, I’ll get you back.” Inigo can feel as his heart skips out on a beat, thrown off by Owain’s comment. He watches, with some guilt, as Owain stares out into the empty, unpainted canvas of the night, trying to create something beautiful out of nowhere with his words. Before he can, however, Inigo cuts him off.

“Heh, it’s our little secret, I promise. I’m honoured - happy - to hear you feel comfortable around me… I feel exactly the same.” Inigo smiles affectionately at Owain, mirroring the blond’s own. Unsure of where to take the conversation from here, Inigo abruptly decides to end the moment. Carefully, he turns over to blow out the lantern beside him, dimming the scenery around the two boys, leaving only Owain’s silhouette in his vision as he turns back. “Goodnight, buddy, rest up well.”

“You too, Inigo. Goodnight.” Owain responds, following suit and blowing out the candle on his side. Owain stays facing that direction after, however, unlike Inigo who had turned to look back at Owain. He studies the waves which ran through Owain’s golden locks, the way they curled back into themself on his neck, how they spiked up unruly atop his head. He adored Owain’s hair, it perfectly reflected his own personality, unpredictable and yet presentable in its own unique manner.

A discomforted sigh escapes Inigo’s mouth as he covers himself with the makedo blanket he’d been provided with. Their sleeping situation was hardly a comfortable one, he’d come to expect as such by now. He missed the days when he could sleep comfortably in his own bed, tucked in by his parents after reading a story to send him adrift. Such days were long gone by now, nothing more than distant memories or hopeless dreams.

In the vast emptiness of the prolonged night, time seems to flow in a much crueler manner. Seconds feel like minutes; minutes like hours; and hours a new measure of time somehow immeasurable. With his vision reduced by the darkness, other senses heighten. Each beat of his heart feels infinitely stronger. Each breath feels less unnoticeable. He can hear as Owain shuffles, trying to find a comfortable position no doubt. In the end, he, too, lets out a sigh, accepting the reality of the situation. Inigo could hardly remember the last time he’d slept well. It was only a matter of time until he passed out from pure exhaustion, that was usually how his nights came to an end. Yet, he found some solace in Owain’s discomfort. It was reassuring to know that his experiences were shared by the others. Truly, no one was in this alone.

“Trouble sleeping too?” Inigo asks, after some time, completely abandoning the notion of sleep and hoping ease himself from his nerves. Owain turns suddenly, facing Inigo once again, and even though Inigo can hardly see him, their eyes still meet across the small space in between them.

“I hate to complain, I know this is the best we can do, considering… But I just can’t get comfortable. We’ve all sacrificed so much, I just can’t help but wish for more, you know?”

“I do…” Inigo responds, eyes dropping to the ground before him. “We’re still alive, and that’s more than some could say, and I try so desperately to remind myself of that with each passing moment… But that doesn’t change the fact that these blankets are hardly enough to keep you warm, or comfortable.”

“Right? I can’t remember the last time I slept on any surface that wasn’t the ground.” Owain remarks, letting out a chuckle as he does. Inigo finds himself laughing along, almost forgetting the discomfort he was in. “Still, I suppose we should be thankful. There are people out there suffering each night, unable to defend themselves from the monsters which plague this land, trying to get by every hour of the day… They probably dream about being in a campsite like this… They’d probably appreciate these blankets, because it’s got to be better than nothing….” Owain continues after a moment, his tone serious. Inigo feels a surge of guilt overwhelm him. Even if their situation wasn’t the best, it was better than those of the innocent bystanders who were caught up in Grima’s onslaught. Clenching his first, he shakes himself out of the selfish thoughts which had taken root in his head.

“I suppose you’re right, this may not be the most luxurious life but it’s bearable… And we chose this life… Those people didn’t. That’s why we’re here, now.” With his resolve fixed, Inigo can’t help but let out a slight laugh, shaking his head. “Heh, who would’ve believed that you of all people would help me remember this situation.”

“--HEY! I think about them too you know? I might play the hero all the time, Inigo, but that’s because I have to - because SOMEONE has to. I don’t let it show, because… Honestly, I’m scared I’m not good enough. At least if I pretend, none of you expect anything from me, and I can avoid disappointing my own friends.”

“H-Hey, Owain… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it… It’s just. You always seem so confident in yourself, I look up to you in a way. I wish I could be half as strong as you are, even if it is just a facade.”

“Heh, you look up to me? I look up to YOU Inigo. You’re always so optimistic about things. Always trying to get everyone to smile and not let things get to them… We’d be lost without you Inigo, no one would have any hope, no belief that we’re doing the right thing.”

“Well... Just like you, it’s all one great pretense. I know everyone needs to hear those words, but the truth of the matter is, I need to hear them just as much as the rest of you do.” Wearing a slight smile on his face, Inigo shifts his focus to Owain’s silhouette once more. “I guess we’re all just pretending to be stronger than we are, huh?”

“Do you think....” Owain halts, shaking his head visibly, “No, nevermind.”

“No - Go on, what did you want to ask?”

“Do you think we’ll ever be okay? That this war will ever come to an end? That we can truly win? Or are we just holding onto false hope?” Owain asks with evident hesitance, and he quickly follows up. “Ah, sorry… I didn’t mean to ask so many questions… I just. Even though we’re all always together, it feels so lonely sometimes… I guess it’s nice to have someone to talk to about this.”

“Don’t be sorry, Owain, it’s okay… I ask myself those questions all the time… I wish I could answer, I wish I could help you. The truth is, I don’t know. There’s no real way to know, not really… But we have to hold onto our hope, it’s the only thing we have, the driving force behind everything we do. We can’t let it go, not now. We’ve come too far for that.”

“...Thank you Inigo. You’re right, we can’t afford to let go of our very reasoning for being here.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Owain, that’s what friends are for, after all.” Inigo pauses for a moment, reaching out to rub Owain’s shoulder gently. “You’re not alone. You can always come and talk to me, no matter the time of day, or whatever the topic. I’m here for you.” Though he knows Owain probably can’t see it, he flashes a sympathetic smile. Inigo tenses up slightly as he feels Owain shift, placing his own hand on Inigo’s own, taking his fingers in between his own and squeezing his hand gently. His heart flutters, chest tightening as the action registers in his brain. He clenches his fingers, pulling Owain’s tighter into his own, taking hold of his shoulder more comfortably.

“You’re a god send, Inigo, you know that? I couldn’t ask for a better sleep shift buddy than you.” At the title, Inigo laughs, his smile reforming unknowingly as he does.

“I- I just…” Inigo stutters in response, though no further words manage to follow.

“Hm… Our hands have warmed up a little like this, haven’t they?” Owain asks, leaving Inigo confused for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure of Owain’s train of thought in that moment.”Perhaps we ought to lay side by side, that could warm us up.”

“Y-You mean, like spooning?” Inigo responds, startled by Owain’s suggestion.

“O-Oh… No, No! That wasn’t... I just meant...” Tension rises between the two, one that sends Inigo’s blood boiling, a nervous heat radiating from his body. “...That would be more effective though… If you don’t think it would be weird?” A lump seems to form in Inigo’s throat, choking him ever so slightly. It feels almost as though his heart has ascended - and he’s ready to throw it up, to hand it over to Owain there and then. Through gritted teeth, he brings himself to let out a response.

“N-No…. Of course not, w-with all we’ve been through, I s-suppose spooning is harmless in comp-parison…” Still, his heartbeat fastens, violently pounding against his ribcage, trying to escape, to free itself of the tension which crushed his chest. He hears a few bursts of nervous laughter come from Owain as he desperately tries to look at anything but Inigo.

“I think I already know the answer but… you’d rather be the little spoon, right?” Instinctively, Inigo’s nerves force a laugh, nodding his head in agreement to Owain’s question. He flinches as Owain tosses his blanket at Inigo, telling him to put it atop his own to double the warmth. He narrowly has time to do so as Owain rolls over, coming face to face with Inigo, the tips of their noses touching. They share a small laugh, Inigo staring once again, as he had done so early, He’d never been this close to Owain before, and though he had scanned the blond’s face a few times, there were features he’d never had the opportunity to notice before. His freckles were one he’d noticed a few times now, they were fair, lightly decorated on his face, though he hadn’t observed the pattern they made. They seemed like a constellation of stars, each holding the dreams of the innocent boy they covered. Blending in within them, a few scars serve to remind the cost of the war, close counters that he’d been spared from. He wanted to run his fingers across each scar, to kiss them better, to ease the burden of this war from Owain. Flashing a smile, Inigo pulls himself back to reality, turning away from Owain to allow the blond to wrap his arm across Inigo’s body, resting his hand on his stomach. Abruptly, Owain pulls Inigo closer, resting his chin on Inigo’s shoulder gently, his chest placed against Inigo’s back. Inigo can feel Owain’s pulse match his own, beating furiously from Owain’s chest into his back. He doesn’t say anything, he’s scared to ruin the moment, to make things awkward. “Are you comfortable, Inigo?” Owain asks, his breath warm on Inigo’s shoulder.

“I am… I…” Inigo stops himself from saying he’d never felt more comfortable, that this was all he’d ever wanted, all he’d ever dreamt of since he first saw Owain. This closeness, this intimacy, he wanted this feeling always. “Are you?”

“I am…” Owain replies, and Inigo can feel the smile form on his face. Inigo shifts his right arm up, placing it under Owain’s own against his stomach, and he takes Owain’s hand as he does, holding it tightly.

“Thank you Owain… Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Inigo.” Owain replies, placing a soft kiss on Inigo’s shoulder. Without saying a word, he’d answered all of the questions Inigo never asked. It was mutual.

#▸ ‹ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃ ��ᵉᵐᵒʳʸ ᶜᵃᶰ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵃ ᶠᶫᵒʷᵉʳ ᵇᶫᵒᵒᵐ › 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 #𝒞 ▸ ᶠᵃᶦʳʸ⁻ᵗᵃᶫᵉˢ ʳᵉᶠᶫᵉᶜᵗ ᶦᶰ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉʸᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶫᶦᵖˢ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ʰᵃᵖᵖʸ ᵉᶰᵈᶦᶰᵍ ❥ 𝑜𝓌𝒶𝒾𝓃 #{ Placed under read more due to length #gee i hope you guys didn't think I just posted and left #been working on since last night #and I had to sleep of course #Finished on 2749 words #all for the best boys }

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