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anika-ann · 4 years

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Walk Me Home Tonight (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, songfic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4700

Summary: Sometimes it’s hard to be in a celebratory mood when all you can think of is that life sucks and that being left on your own to drown your sorrows is for the best.

Sometimes people who care about you know better than yourself and come crashing your party of one.

Sometimes, despite the popular belief, you do realize how lucky you are having been introduced to Steve Rogers.

Warnings: mention of blood and violence and death, mention of alcohol, angst, fluff and language

A/N: P!nk’s Walk Me Home just does something to me, alright? Music video included - it’s soooo beautiful.

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

You stared at the amber liquid, lazily making it roll in the glass with idle motions of your wrist. It reflected the rather soft lights of the bar, an exquisite game of colour you found fascinating enough to dull your mind and muffle the noise of the party.

It wasn’t that you were a party pooper, not usually anyway; just… the timing wasn’t ideal.

Of course, Sharon could hardly move her birthday to make it more convenient for you, less so a party her colleagues had decided to throw for her. You knew Agent Carter for quite some time now; she had joined SHIELD about the same time as you, going through the same tough training. Except unlike you – and initially without your knowledge – she had an image to live up to.

You might even call her a friend, your chest bursting in pride for her when her hard work had finally borne some fruit and she had been promoted to an assistant director of the intelligence agency. Among other things, it earned her a lot of new potential friends.

You were hardly acting like one tonight, much to your own annoyance. But for some reason, you found it difficult to leave your momentary emotional baggage at the doorstep, slipping it off as easily as your coat. You had wished her all the best, conversed for a tiny bit and then happily made space for others, for the forming line of guests waiting to celebrate with her as well.

Then you retreated to your spot at the bar, possibly annoying the bartender, who would have been more delighted seeing some heavier drinker occupying your seat, tipping generously, instead of having you nursing each glass of alcohol for about two hours.

You weren’t even sure why you were still here; you had given up on the attempt on small talk with anyone, apparently unwittingly chasing away any potential company. And here you thought misery did love company – perhaps you were wrong, at least when it came to birthday parties of gorgeous women loved by everyone. You might as well pack up your bottom and sulk at home.

You were stubbornly shushing the voice in the back of your skull, whispering about knowing precisely why you remained in your seat; about feeling less alone here, despite being a literal loner in a crowd.

You downed the rest of the bitter scotch, basking in the burn which it left on its way down your throat, your eyelids slipping shut in content, the noise in your brain falling silent completely for few blissful moments.

“Party of one?” a male voice gently asked, the tinniest note of teasing in it and while your heart skipped a startled beat at being addressed, you felt the burn in your throat slip lower, warming your chest and causing the corners of your mouth turn up just a fraction.

There's something in the way you roll your eyes Takes me back to a better time When I saw everything is good But now you're the only thing that's good

“Felt like crashing it?” you hummed in response, side-eyeing the intruder and found a pair of cerulean eyes staring back. He blindly waved off the eager bartender who was about to offer him a drink.

Ah, poor guy. No tips for him tonight.

“Well, I didn’t get an invitation. Looks like crashing was my only option.”

You sighed tiredly despite Steve’s kind teasing. Tonight was just… so exhausting. Tonight. Today. This week. Gah, this whole month. This fucking year--- okay, maybe you were exaggerating, because you were simply crossing the line, moving from relaxed buzzed drunk to a miserable one.

Battling with yourself, arguing whether you should send him to hell – nicely, because Steve was nothing but kind, he was always so kind, goddammit, gentle humour spiced with the ability to become an utter troll, still benign though, that was why you usually enjoyed his company so much after all-… – or call it a night.

Or should you order another drink? Was there a point? You might cross the line to a clingy drunk eventually and you weren’t certain that was a good idea.

It was probably about as good of an idea as coming to a party despite feeling like shit on an emotional roller-coaster, dangerously inclining towards a very bad mood to put it mildly.

You tilted your head to side as you looked at Steve properly, tight blue shirt flattering his supersoldier frame, black pants with desperately needed leather belt considering his thin waist, his blonde hair a mess, gaze fixed on you, observing. Always observing to read people, to anticipate behaviour, evaluate the threat; sometimes simply to be considerate, to… to be compassionate.

Dammit, Steve.

“Must have got lost in the mail then,” you said eventually, offering a weak smile. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” he shrugged it off, the curve of his lips more distinct than yours. As if he was offering to cheer you up. Sweet, but possibly vain effort tonight. Sometimes, things simply piled up and there was no escape. Such was the fate of a government agent. And human, for that matter. “Doesn’t look like much fun and I think it’s about to end anyway.”

“I guess…”

Tryna stand up on my own two feet This conversation ain't comin' easily And darling, I know it's getting late So what do you say we leave this place?

This time, Steve actually made an eye contact with the bartender, who eagerly rushed to him at instant. His excited expression fell when he noticed you were pulling out your wallet to close your tab. You didn’t have the strength to shoot him an apologetic smile.

Steve’s eyes were on you the whole time, you could feel them, and you wondered why. Until he spoke again, as soon as the other man left.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home,” he offered gentlemanly, coaxing you into saying yes, possibly unaware of the effect which such tone had on people.

Or perhaps he knew, using exactly that when he was trying to talk someone down, to calm them, gain their trust. The joke was on him, because it was a vain effort; you trusted him fully already. Surely, he knew that.

Right?

Trust was the solid base the team of Avengers needed and since you somehow found yourself with them, it involved you too. The team stood and fell on trust and mutual respect. But it meant so much more – they were friends. They cared about each other, about their well-being.

Right now, Steve was being a good friend and a good teammate.

And you were being exactly that too when you turned his kind proposition down.

“No, it’s fine. There are still some people who are actually able to speak coherently with you. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be okay.”

“It’s three in the morning,” he pointed out, as if admonishing you for not noticing. Your eyebrow rose deliberately.

“…and?”

“And I’d feel better if you weren’t walking the streets alone,” he replied easily, ignoring the hint of snark in your comeback as you made your way to the coat-stand.

Still walking on the line of miserable and pleasantly buzzed, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mean to him for such patronizing approach. He had been raised this way and despite his open mind and admirable respect to women, he slipped sometimes.

“Steve, I’m a SHIELD agent basically turned Avenger. I can take care of my-“

“But you don’t have to. And-” He gestured subtly back towards the bar and a metaphorical lightbulb flickered above your head.

Not patronizing then, god forbid chauvinist; Peggy Carter would rise from the death to beat him with his own shield, with Natasha’s enthusiastic help, if he was showing any sign of aforementioned qualities and he was well-aware of that.

Just mother-henning then, the way Steve excelled at.

It brought the first honest smile of the night to your lips. You made sure to face him so he could see how wholesome his company was for you.

“I’m not too drunk, Steve. I had like two glasses of scotch,” you assured him, gently brushing his forearm before reaching for your coat and scarf. “And two beers.”

“I know,” he stated, stealing your coat only to hold it out for you to slip into it.

God, the woman who would once win his heart was about to be one lucky bitch.

Jim has never done this for me, flashed through your mind and you instantly shushed the whining voice in your head. Instead, you went over what he just said, blinking in surprise.

Huh? He… knew?

“I… might have kept an eye on you,” he admitted tentatively, the tips of his fingers brushing your shoulder before retreating and letting you to cocoon in the fabric.

“Why?”

Why would he keep an eye on you? Sure, teammates and friends and all that, but for some reason, you doubted he kept an eye on Tony, the only other Avenger (beside Steve, not Steve and you, you don’t count, a voice hissed in your mind and you winced) who attended the party, not being on any mission at the moment.

Why did Steve feel like you needed a chaperone?

No, that was too harsh of a word for him, you were certain his intentions were everything but malicious, but… why?

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside

The genuine wonder must have been audible in your voice, much like your shock must have been clear in your expression, because Steve seemed sheepish all of sudden, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, I mean, I know that you probably wouldn’t-“ he started, only to grimace. “It’s not that I think you’re an alcoholic! It’s just that... you--- and it’s only been-…“

-four days since you got dumped, you finished the unspoken sentence and tried your best to ignore the cold seeping into your bones at the reminder.

One of the reasons why you had been in a sour mood and deciding to drink alone. Your amazing asshole of a boyfriend had dumped you, metaphorically kicking you while you had already been down. Lovely.

“-I was worried. But you didn’t look like you were interested in having company, I didn’t want to be a bother and-“

You pulled Steve out of his misery by placing a hand over his forearm, which stopped the words spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.

He was actually being very sweet and thoughtful. It kinda made you feel bad, because… you weren’t looking for dragging someone down with you. As it was, he had his own reasons to not be happy about partying tonight, but feeling like he had to keep an eye on you probably didn’t help to lift his spirits.

“-and you had to spend some time with the woman of the hour,” you finished instead of him slowly, hoping you sounded at least half as thoughtful as he did and that you didn’t appear to be the greatest bitch, stealing attention from Sharon. “That’s understandable, Steve. It is her birthday party and I’m the one being antisocial.”

You bit down your lip, lowering your gaze, because the infamous worried wrinkle appeared on Steve’s forehead and you just knew he was about to protest and you… honestly felt bad about your behaviour and the welcoming colour of his eyes was not helping to make you feel any better, because of course he probably thought it was perfectly normal to look out for you instead of allowing himself to enjoy the night and- ugh.

“You… you shouldn’t have to look out for me. Your attention could have been fully on the birthday girl.”

Naturally, Steve Rogers basically shrugged it off. Covering your hand on him with his large palm, he slouched to look into your eyes once more. Insistent bastard, no doubt aware of your inability to say no to his amiable face.

“That’s what friends are for. Now, can I walk you home?”

You shook your head with a sad smile, rising your gaze towards the ceiling, hoping it came out as an exasperation at his stubbornness and not as it truly was – you in fact attempting to keep your tears at bay, because, miserable drunk, dumped four days ago apart from other things and there he was, asshole perfect, Steve fucking Rogers, gentleman and friend extraordinaire, caring for your well-being more than Jim ever had.

A twinkle appeared in his eye when he recognized he won and you chuckled, sealing his victory out loud.

“Yes, Steve. You can walk me home. It’s conveniently located on the way to yours.”

He smirked when he shrugged on his own coat. “Happy coincidences…”

There's something in the way I wanna cry That makes me think we'll make it out alive So come on and show me how we're good I think that we could do some good, mhm

Once you left the bar, silence fell on you, feeling heavy as did the cold November air.

Heavy and awkward. While you could tell with certainty you were barely affected by the alcohol you had drunk, your steps were wobbly, knees shaky as if you were a baby horse trying to stand up for the first time.

Steve walked by your side, majestic in his thigh-length coat, hands snugged in its pockets only halfway as if he was waiting for you needing his support. It irritated you as much as it warmed your heart.

On top of everything, you would swear every lone person you met stared at you, staring you up and down until they seemed to register Steve’s imposing frame and quickly went back to their business. It annoyed you to no end; it was just proving Steve’s point that you shouldn’t walk the streets alone at such hour, government agent or not.

“I would have been fine, you know,” you hummed, cautiously breaking the relative quiet.

It was never truly quiet in New York City, only rush hours alternating with calmer ones. You didn’t mind it; you enjoyed the city. Sometimes quiet meant that thoughts won the opportunity to become too loud; tonight, for some reason, despite the silence, Steve prevented that ever since he joined you.

It dawned to you then, how ungrateful you sounded and you quickly added “But thanks.” – a whisper full of honesty.

“Uh-huh.”

Perhaps the silence weighted so much because your mood wasn’t the only cause of it.

Steve was showing you that he worried; surely, you could as well? Because you did, worry about him that was.

“…are you? Okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked distractedly, but you could hear the frown on his face, the image of his nose scrunched in confusion painted in front of your eyes even without looking at him.

“Just… today-” you nudged him once more and vaguely eyed your watch only to be reminded that ‘today’ was a confusing term. “Or, more like, yesterday…”

A sharp inhale was drawn at your side and you could sense as he started closing off, putting up his walls so no one would catch a scent of his weakness. You hated when he tried to do that. You would have thought you were past that. You liked to consider you two friends at least.

Tonight was simply not your night. Of either of you, apparently.

“What about it-?“

You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Were you truly such a crappy company, an insensitive friend or was there something sorrowful and cranky in the air, preventing your communication channels from tuning to the same frequency?

You were aware what the day meant for him – another painful reminder of what he had lost with crashing the plane in the forties only to wake up in a new millennium.

Though this particular loss – of his mother – haunted him even back in what some people called his days. It was an utter non-sense. Steve belonged there as much as he belonged here. He was brave enough to try and stubborn enough to succeed in fitting in.

“Nothing, I guess,” you sighed once more, this time rolling your eyes. “…Mr. Nothing Can Touch Me.”

The wry nickname hung in the air for a while, the faint noise of the night city washing over your pair. When Steve broke it again, there was a barely audible crack in his voice.

“I… I’m okay. I think. I… should be. It’s been so long. Decades,” he mused, turning his gaze to the sky. His eyes glistened and if you didn’t know him, hadn’t witnessed his walls lowering before, you would have thought it was just the streetlights reflecting.

You knew better. Tentatively, your fingers brushed his, not remembering when his hands had left his pockets. You were grateful for it now, especially when he didn’t retrieve from your touch instantly.

“Not for you,” you pointed out quietly, rewarded by the softest squeeze of his warm hand.

The heaviness and tension you had felt before resolved with the gesture. Something finally fell into place and you were almost you again and he was almost him.

Two figures, carrying their griefcases, but functioning and… harmonizing once more.

“How did you know?”

“That’s what friends are for, Steve,” you echoed his earlier words, sending a tiny smile his way, meeting his glassy gaze. “They remember important dates, good or bad.”

“No one else did. Not that I can actually hold it against Buck, of course... but no one… you…” his voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought – or perhaps he had never truly directed it to the station in the first place.

Your shoulders moved a fraction, a hint of a shrug-off. His hand wrapped around yours tighter in silent appreciation, not showing any sign of intending to let go.

And you were alright with that. More than alright.

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

His presence was always immense, overwhelming even; yet so comfortable you didn’t have the slightest problem with opening your heart to him, offering it to him even when it was bleeding. And now, finally tuned together, it was no different.

You bared your heart to him, even if it hurt.

“She didn’t make it,” you whispered, voice pained in the dead of the night and he didn’t react, letting you to gather strength to elaborate. You cleared your throat as the lump grew in it. “Kayla, one of the kids… from last week’s mission. I found out yesterday… she-she didn’t make it, she had too many injuries. Word is that perhaps it was even a blessing. A relief.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve repented, his grip growing stronger just a fraction, enough to make your chest and eyes burn.

“Yeah, so am I.”

Whatever he heard in your voice, it caused his fingers twitch in your hand, his footsteps slowing down. “You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Wasn’t it? If I was faster, if I-“

Steve stopped in his tracks completely, pulling at your hand to make you do the same and face him.

You closed your eyes when his blue ones met them, unable to stand the urgency in them. His free hand curled around your shoulder, caressing in attempt at comfort.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that to yourself.” Hypocrite, you threw back at him in your mind, stubbornly keeping your eyelids shut, simply knowing that if you saw the sincerity in his gaze in addition to the fervour he spoke with, you might actually believe him. “You did your best. I know that, Nat and Buck know, everyone does. A monster you helped to put behind bars hurt the kids. Not you. You saved so many lives.”

You shook your head with a sigh, staring straight ahead as you turned on your heels and continued your path. Steve, never letting go of your hand, followed reluctantly.

“Sometimes I think he might have been right, you know?”

Peripherally, you saw him frown again and you cursed yourself for drinking – it untangled your tongue and his stupid face made your spill your guts to him, vomit emotion. You weren’t too secretive about your feelings most of the time, but damn, you hated how alcohol pushed your boundaries of sharing them.

“… Jim. He said that maybe I should give it up. That I’m just running alongside you, heroes, pretending to be one of you, but in the end, I’m not even close to being as good-“

Steve’s feet took roots in the ground, his steely grip forcing you to stop – as long as you wanted to keep your hand attached, which yeah, you kinda did.

“I feel like taking a detour now,” he muttered darkly and for a short moment, confusion was everything you felt, blissfully overtaking the anger, the sorrow, the helplessness and the feeling of utter uselessness.

“Huh?”

“Where does Jim live?” Steve spitted out the name venomously and you couldn’t help the wave of affection washing over you. Affection towards this treasure of a man who apparently wanted to punch another human being because it offended his friend. “He has no business saying something like that. Especially if his bullshit actually affects you-”

“Steve, he wasn’t wrong, I’m just-“ you sputtered, caught off guard when you registered the fire in his glare.

“We all make mistakes. But that’s beside the point, because you didn’t even make any that day. I read the report, and I know you, you put everything you got and more into the rescue mission. How can he-“ he hissed, literally taking a calming breath as both of his hands balled into fist.

Well, one of them only nearly, since it was still holding yours. It actually stung a bit, the bones in your hand close to grinding against each other.

“-I haven’t met him many times, but if he said that instead of comforting you after an incredibly draining mission, then I’m glad that that asshole is gone from your life. … though I would still appreciate his address.”

Blinking away the few stray tears that welled up, you forced a smile as Steve’s strict glare found yours. It felt good, seeing his indignation; having someone else exasperated on how Jim had reacted. He should have given you a hug and hold you tight; that was what you would wish for. Instead, he told you to stop complaining and when you accused him of not supporting you, he called you a whiny bitch who should make up her damn mind and broke things off.

You deeply appreciated Steve’s display of chivalry, hell, you half-considered giving away the address just so Jim would hear someone else agreeing with you, but you were honestly just tired. And you had a feeling Steve wouldn’t stay only at words and seeing any more blood, any more aggression would have been too much for you tonight.

Tonight, you… you needed serenity and comfort.

“…thank you. That… that means a lot. But… maybe just walk me home? Please? Could you walk me home, Steve?” you pleaded softly, barely audible, not caring it sounded like weeping of a needy child.

Unbeknownst to you, that was the last thing you resembled in Steve’s eyes. Your imploring gaze, vulnerable and open, it moved something inside him, his anger silenced for the moment, leaving him defenceless, unable to say no. Not that he had an intention to do so. He always had trouble saying no to you.

So he forced his fists to relax, running his thumb over the back of your hand and whispered the only word that made sense.

“Always.”

You settled back to the comfortable silence after that.

Walk me home in the dead of night 'Cause I can't be alone with all that's on my mind Say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on

You reached the Tower hand in hand.

Neither of you released the other. Not during the elevator ride, not when you walked the halls lined with doors leading to each’s private quarters.

You were still holding onto each other when you came to a stop in front of your door; rest assured, Steve Rogers would lead you right to your door even if his was only at the end of the very same corridor.

Standing nearly chest to chest, his eyes bored into yours with seriousness that surprised you.

“For the record, you do a great deal of good,” he reassured you, saying it as if he truly meant it. It tugged at your heart, sweet and bitter. “You’re amazing and you’re the most authentic of all of us. I admire you.”

That claim caused you to chuckle. Now he was laying it on a bit thick, downright exaggerating.

“You admire me? Steve, that’s really nice of you to say, but don’t be ridi-“

Your words died in your throat when his large palm splayed over your cheek, cradling it gently. When the paddle of his thumb swiped over your other cheek, soft smile playing on his lips, his irises bright with a promise, time seemingly stopped along with your heart.

“And you’re a great friend to the whole team, a wonderful person. Do me a favour and finally learn to accept a compliment,” he asked of you in hushed voice, the electric blue and green of his eyes locking you in. “If he didn’t praise you enough for you to get used to it, he was doing something wrong.”

You gulped, a silly association with the word ‘praise’ allowing you to break from the cage of his gaze that had previously had your mind gone blank.

“I’m not a dog to be praised, Steve…”

One corner of his lips – and when did they got so close anyway? – twitched. And then a tender kiss landed on your forehead, just the softest brush of lips against your skin. The gesture, utterly incomprehensible for you, had your eyelids flutter shut.

“I’m very much aware. Believe me, doll, I know. Thank you for letting me walk you home.”

You only nodded at the ridiculous statement – why was he thanking you? – too perplexed at the fact his lips had made contact with your skin. When did you cross the line towards the delusional drunk?

His fingertips caressed your face as he let go, wishing you to have a good night. Too baffled, you were unable to respond until he had already made his way to his door and you suddenly missed the warmth of his presence.

Breaking free from your haze, you acted on impulse, apparently startling him when you called his name out of blue so urgently.

“Steve!”

Whipping his head around to look at you, you felt your heart jump into your throat.

“Uh… are you ready to go to bed or… or maybe… would you like to watch a movie or something?” With me?

I don’t think I’m ready to be alone. Ready to be without you.

Even from the distance, you would swear you saw his lips spread in a slow honey-sweet smile.

“I think I’d like that,” he called out lowly. “Ten minutes? I’ll get the blankets. You pick the movie.”

“See you in ten then.”

You pretended that your heart didn’t flutter, sending a wave of familiar tingle through your chest and to your fingers, as you slipped inside your room with your mouth curled up in a content smile.

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong There is so much wrong There is so much wrong going on outside

*✧･ Bonus *✧･

If Tony found them two and half hour later, closing credits rolling, the pair curled up and cuddling on the couch, you fast asleep in Steve’s arms, and he noticed that the supersoldier was in fact only faking to avoid an interrogation from the Ironman himself, he didn’t mention it. He just whispered to FRIDAY to turn off the TV and turn off the dimmed lights completely.

He hoped Rogers would treat you the way you deserved, unlike the man who now had farts announcing a received e-mail or texts, unable to change it, and a laptop turning on randomly, dead-pale children staring at him from the screen with hollow eyes and in clothes dripping water. Tony would hate to have to hack more tech again just to avenge your broken heart without your knowledge any time soon.

He’d rather suffer watching the two of his friends being disgustingly sweet on each other.

Probably.

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

S.R. masterlist

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

Silent thanks to the person who came up with the word ‘griefcase’ as an alternative to emotional baggage.

Also, I’m pretty sure songfics aren’t supposed to be so long... oops?

Thank you for reading!

#fanfiction #songfic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #hurt/comfort #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #avenger reader #shield agent reader #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #walk me home tonight #anika ann

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shinsorokiri · 4 years

Text

S/O Loses Memory and Quirk

Todoroki, Bakugou, and Kirishima HCs

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of stab wounds and blood, a panic attack, spoiler for Bakugou’s hero name, sad bois

A/N: So I had two requests that mentioned these three with this concept and I just finished all of them and I’m so proud that I wanted to post these ones before the other two for Denki and All Might were finished but I’ll get those out as soon as possible. I cried writing Bakugou’s, so... there’s that HAHA please enjoy!

Here’s the first one with Shinsou, Aizawa, Hawks, and Dabi!

Todoroki Shouto | Shouto

Shouto knows you’re a strong woman and that he doesn’t need to constantly be there to protect you

But he does prefer to be there if something bad is happening

The only problem is that you two went to two different agencies after graduating

And in doing so were on opposite sides of the city

Now he always knew when something was happening on your hero route because I mean

He actually needs to in case something bad happens since it’s his JOB

But he also just really wants to be there for you if you really need it

There hasn’t been a time like that, though

So imagine his utter shock and genuine fear when that time came

He was told to go to where you were patrolling because you’d been attacked and wound up in the hospital

You know the scene with the flame tear? Yeah that but times ten

He goes on patrol like a good little hero

But boy oh BOY did he just want to go to the hospital

You’d never lost a fight before

Not even against him

Your quirk was literally the most powerful quirk he’s ever seen and I mean like, yeah, sure, he might be biased but STILL you were really powerful

So what kind of villain could hurt you so bad you had to go to the hospital???

Luckily, he only had an hour left of patrolling

And as soon as that hour was up

Mans bolted

He was OFF

He ran into that hospital

And he politely asked where your room was

Because although he’s PANICKING he still is a little socially awkward sweetie and he doesn’t wanna be a dick to anyone and be labeled similar to his father no no NO

But as soon as he got the number he was sprinting man

He was so worried

All patrol he was quieter than usual

And he was ridiculously anxious the whole time

His palms were sweaty

He felt like he could throw up at any second

And right now

He thought his heart was about to beat out of his chest

He carefully opens the door

You might be sleeping, he has to be considerate

And sure enough he sees your unconscious form laying in a hospital bed

It looked like you had some broken bones, and multiple bruises and cuts which means someone must have beat the shit out of you

Lovely

That’s what he needed to see

Definitely

Mans doesn’t show emotion that much

But when it comes to you and since it was just you and him in the room

He broke down crying

He couldn’t help it

He grabbed your hand

And just sat there crying

Poor guy can’t lose you

You were the best thing that ever happened to him 🥺

You showed him that it was okay to feel things and express those things and let people in

He let you in and he couldn’t let you go now

He was a genuine mess for the next couple of weeks

Because you weren’t waking up

He went against what Midoriya said and asked around about what happened to you

And what he heard was horrific

Apparently the villain snuck up on you

And hit you in a few different places

And then you fell down

And then you couldn’t access your quirk

And that’s why you were in the hospital

He didn’t want to think about the part that happened after you were virtually defenseless

Around his friends he was spacier than usual

He wasn’t really retaining information

And his agency let him take more days off than usual because they knew he was Going Through It

And luckily on one of those days you woke up

He was next to you as per usual

Holding your hand

Playing with your fingers like he always does when he gets anxious

He missed being able to do that in social situations

Or when you two were cuddling at night and he was thinking about something that was stressing him out and he would start to fiddle with your hand and you would ask him what’s wrong

He missed you

So when he felt your hand start to move by itself

He basically gave himself whiplash with how fast he looked from your hand to your face

Sure enough

Your eyes were open

And you were looking at him

“(Y/n)…”

He whispered your name as not to scare you

You could have a concussion or mild amnesia

He has already considered everything that could be wrong with you

Because he overthinks a lot

And he was nervous about this

And there was one thing he had in the back of his mind

That would probably be the worst case scenario

And much to his fears

That was confirmed to be what was going on almost immediately

“Todoroki?”

He just stares for a moment

You hadn’t called him Todoroki since… well, a long time now

Probably back in your UA days

The two of you began dating in your second year though so

It’s been a while

“You look… older..?”

He clears his throat

Nodding

“Yes. Well… I am 20 years old now. I would hope I look older.”

“Wait, what?”

Oh shit.

He just confused you.

Damnit, Shouto.

“Uhh… well, um. You see…”

“Todoroki what is going on? And why are you holding my hand like that?”

He freezes

He was still playing with your fingers

And it wasn’t that you didn’t want him to

You were just genuinely confused

He knew that

“Before I say anything else that could be detrimental to your mental health, maybe you should ring your nurse.”

You do as he says

And the nurses and a doctor come rushing into your room

They do some evaluations

And sure enough

Your memory has been completely wiped

As has the access to the portion of your brain that allows you to control your quirk

The doctor explains to Todoroki that he’s unsure of how this happened

Bu Todoroki knows it has to be that villain

Whatever that villain did did this to you

And Todoroki isn’t one to show emotions

But boy oh BOY was he riled up right now

He lowkey accidentally caught something on fire

And then to fix it lowkey on purpose just turned it into a block of ice

Even though Endeavor is the worst man on the planet

Mans is persistent on shit that’s for sure

And that’s like

The only trait Shouto got from that literal dumpster fire of a father

And he wasn’t about to let the piece of shit that hurt you get away with it

Of course, when it comes to you as a person he’s very patient

Very understanding

Respects boundaries

But he will not REST

Until the motherfucker who did this to you gets caught by him

And he will find them.

Bakugou Katsuki | DynaMight

OH BOY HERE WE GO

So Bakugou was already very protective over you

I mean that’s expected though

It’s

It’s literally Bakugou

So mans has tabs on you at all times

You don’t know how he does it tbh

He jokes

Yes, Bakugou can joke

He jokes about having a sixth sense when it comes to you

He just gets this feeling about you

If you’re sad? He knows

Happy? He knows

In danger? MANS KNOWS

And I guess he also has a GPS built into his brain???

He just

He knows

Probably because he cares extremely deeply about you

Like really fucking deeply

You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him

Ever since high school

First day

When you weren’t intimidated by him

There was just something special about you

And even though it took until after graduation and you almost DYING on a mission for him to finally accept that he can FEEL THINGS

He officially asked you to be his girlfriend

I say officially because, well

Y’all have basically been dating since like

Second year of high school

Even though it wasn’t official

It was obvious

He was whipped

He still is

He’s known you for five years

You’ve been officially dating for two of those years

You were unofficially dating for four

You were the most important thing in his life

You even surpassed becoming the number one hero somehow

Though he will NEVER admit that

EVER

It took him a while to realize it

But the thought of living without you?

Scared him more than any villain ever could

And that is why

Mans is all dressed up

Lookin nice

Took a day off of patrol at his agency because tonight is a special night

Of course, you don’t know anything

As it should be

He didn’t tell a soul that he was planning on proposing tonight

Okay… maybe that is a lie

He told Kirishima when he got blackout drunk with the boys one night

Long story, don’t ask how it happened, even the boys don’t know

And Kirishima then proceeded to tell everyone of his other friends

So they all knew

But they also all knew to keep it a FUCKING SECRET unless they wanted blown up

But boy oh boy they were excited to see the pictures and the ring and the everything

But I digress

Bakugou is in the house the two of you purchased a while back

It was very much off the damn grid

For ~safety~

And he’s very much just messing with how he looks

He has to look perfect because he knows you’re about to

And he can’t be proposing to you unless he’s on your level

When suddenly

He gets a

Feeling

But it isn’t the warm feeling he gets when you’re happy

Or the doopy one he gets when you’re sad

Or the wave of exhaustion he feels when you’re tired

Or the tingly feeling he gets when you’re mad

It’s the feeling where his spine tenses

And his blood goes cold

And his heart drops to the floor

The one he only felt one other time

The time you almost died

He was out of that house so fast

He didn’t even care if he looked all nice

You were in danger

He blasted his way through the city

Saying he was frantic is an understatement

He was FERAL

He got to where you were just in time to see you get slammed into the concrete by some piece of shit villain

You were unconscious

And you weren’t moving

He saw red

He didn’t even remember blasting over to the villain and punching them in the face

But he did that

And he did it HARD

Of course the villain was like OH FUCK

THIS IS THE NUMBER TWO HERO

I DIDN’T THINK HE’D ACTUALLY GET HERE THIS FAST

Because obviously the villain knew who you were

That’s why you were targeted

Breaking Bakugou’s spirit is needed if villains want to become more fearful and powerful

The villain starts sprinting away

And before Bakugou can catch them

He hears an ambulance siren

He suddenly forgets all about the villain because he whips around to see you getting loaded onto a gurney

Paramedics are doing everything they can to keep you alive at this point

He’s horrified to say the least

You’re the love of his life

The last time he saw you like this is when he accepted it

Seeing you like this again just makes him realize it even deeper somehow

He runs to the ambulance

But the paramedics tell him he needs to go to the hospital separately because you’re badly injured and they need to perform some procedures on the way to the hospital to keep you alive

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until his eyes start to sting

He wants to tell the paramedics to fuck off

Don’t they realize this is supposed to be one of the best days of yours and his lives?

But he can’t

Because before he can

They’re gone

He chases after you though

He needs to be by your side right now

He needs to know that you will be okay

He needs you to be okay

So imagine how nerve-wracking it is for him to learn that you were in surgery

He waited in the waiting room all day long

This incident happened around one in the afternoon

and it was now one in the morning

He was just sitting in the hospital waiting room

Looking down at the little box in his hand

Crying

Which is a sight for anyone who sees him

The ring he bought for you is the only thing he can focus on

He doesn’t even notice the non-stop buzzing in his pocket coming from his and your friends wondering if the two of you are okay because the footage of the fight cut out right before Bakugou punched the villain

They all thought you were both hurt pretty badly

I mean after your quirk was seemingly taken from you…

The only thing that snaps him out of his trance

Is when the doctor comes out and says his name

His head snaps up so fast

He approaches the doctor just as fast

He knows he should expect the worst

But he can’t help but keep repeating that you’re okay

That everything will be fine because you are okay

They fixed you up

You’ll come home all happy

He’ll propose to you in the living room at this point

Today will be fixed

Instead

He hears that although you’re stable

You have what appears to be brain damage

“What kind of fucking brain damage?”

“She has severe amnesia which means that-”

“How severe?”

“Well… according to her brain scan and the fact that she said the year was two and a half years ago, I’m afraid it’s significantly severe.”

Two and a half years

Two and a half years?!

He just stares at the doctor

If you think it’s two and a half years ago

That means he hasn’t asked you out yet

That means in your mind

You’re still in high school

About to graduate

This cannot be happening

There is not way this is happening

“Can I see her?”

His voice sounds foreign to him

The doctor nods

Leading him to your room

He puts the ring back in his pocket out of instinct

And when he enters your room

He wants nothing more than for you to yell something like PSYCH

GOT YOU BLASTY BITCH

HAHAHA

But he’s just met with a your mouth opening wide and eye getting big

“Bakugou?! You’re so dressed up!”

Bakugou

Why didn’t he let you call him Katsuki sooner

Why didn’t he ask you out before two years ago

Why wasn’t he there to save you

“W-Woah… Bakugou, you don’t have to cry this isn’t my first hospital stay… wait, when did you get an undercut?”

He just walks towards you

“You also look… older… is this seriously what you look like when you clean up?”

He watches as your expression falters for a moment

“Wait… are you like… going on a date or something?”

Good to know you still have feelings for him at least

He just nods

And you try to hide the disappointment on your face

“Oh… well, you better tell me all about it when we get back to the dorms.”

Your fake enthusiasm is killing him

What killing him even more though is that the doctors didn’t tell you what was going on

So he’ll tell you instead

“Actually,”

Damnit

His voice is wavering

This is new for him

He clears his throat

“I’m not… I’m not going on a date anymore. I had one but… things didn’t turn out as planned.”

“Oh?”

He almost smiles at the sudden mood shift you had

How can you still be perky like that sitting in a hospital bed

“Yeah… because, um. It was a date with you…”

“…Oh…?”

“You got hurt pretty bad, angel…”

He explains everything to you

Well

As much as he can

And he also finds out about your quirk

And how it’s just

Gone

You have to stay in the hospital tonight for further testing tomorrow

And you insist that he goes home

But he says it isn’t home if you’re not there

He stays in the chair right next to your bed

Watching you as you sleep

He knows you believe him

He knows that you have feeling for him

But he’s broken, truly

Not only was he not your hero today

He didn’t save you

He doesn’t know if you’ll ever remember any of those years with him

Any of your firsts

And that makes him ache

He pulls out your ring again

And just looks at it

The only light in the room is the moonlight peaking in through the window

And in that moment

He swears to himself

And to you

That the villain who did this

Is going to pay

Kirishima Eijirou | Red Riot

Eijirou has always been your rock

Figuratively and literally

He’s there for you through everything

And I mean everything

The two of you have been next door neighbors since you were kids

And he literally always had a crush on you

Of course the feelings were mutual

But neither you nor shark boy knew that

Until y’all got to high school

And Bakugou was very

Annoyed

About the two of you pining for each other

Mina was beyond annoyed

She went to middle school with you two

So when Bakugou finally just

Screamed at the two of you to just shut the fuck up with the flirting and date already

Mina deadass jumped out of her seat at lunch and screamed thank you at the top of her lungs

Of course the two of you were as red as his hair

Which, yes

You did help him pick out the exact shade and helped dye as well

His hands were stained red because he accidentally only bought one pair of gloves and it wouldn’t have been manly to make you help without gloves on

But I digress

The two of you started dating shortly after that

And when I tell you that you were the couple everyone would look at and be all “awwwww”

I MEAN IT

And y’all are just in high school

Granted, it’s your final year and the two of you are both interning and are already confirmed to become sidekicks and Fatgum’s Agency

So y’all do be a little mature

But still

You started dating freshman year

And you’re going strong still

Of course

And words cannot describe how relieved he is that the two of you are at the same agency

Because if anything ever went bad he would be there to save you

And you would be there to save him

But literally nothing could prepare him for what was about to happen to you

It was a normal patrol

The two of you were together

Talking about graduation next week

And how the two of you were excited to move out of the dorms and into the apartment you had picked

And how you would finally be able to adopt the little mutt that the two of you love from the shelter

When out of no where

A villain popped down off of a building

Right behind you

And did something weird to you

They hit you meticulously and in specific places

Before Kirishima could even process what was going on

You were on the ground

Of course

You raised an arm

Ready to fight and use your quirk

But nothing happened

You tried again

Nothing

You and Kirishima make eye contact and he can feel the fear radiating off of you

Now he was worried

Very worried

But you knew how to fight

And he was there, too

So this wouldn’t end too bad

UNTIL THERE WAS A FUCKING EXPLOSION IN THE BUILDING THE VILLAIN JUST POPPED OUT OF

You were already back on your feet

Ready to fight this motherfucker

“Go help the people inside, Red Riot. I can handle this one.”

“But-”

“GO!”

He goes

Reluctantly

But he does know you can hold your own

Even if that villain temporarily blocked your quirk

He hardens

Turning his headpiece into a filtering mask (a great addition he thought of so he could run into burning buildings while hardened to save people and not take damage to his lungs in the process)

And luckily

There were only three people inside

So he grabs them and runs out

Easy

And he’s expecting to be met with you handcuffing the bad guy

But instead

He’s met with you getting the life beat out of you

Literally

You’re on the ground

The villain pulled out swords while he was gone

And it was obvious you were down and weren’t gettingup

But the villain just wasn’t letting up

Kirishima’s legs work before his brain

He runs over to the villain and lands a punch to their face

Which causes them to stumble backwards

Before they throw the swords at a random citizen who is observing

He immediately runs to the citizen, deflecting the swords

But the villain ran off in the mean time

Like they disappeared without a trace

But honestly

Even if they were still there

Kirishima would have run to you regardless

He immediately kneels down

“(Y/n)?! (Y/n), can you hear me?!”

He ditched the hero names this time

You weren’t responding

You were out cold

He starts panicking

Full on hyperventilating

You looked bad

You were pierced by the villains swords in your side

Blood was everywhere

Your breathing was shallow

Regardless of the genuine panic attack he was going through right now

He somehow managed to control his breathing so you wouldn’t bleed out on the ground

He needed to help you

He picks you up

Instantly starting to sprint to the ambulances beginning to pull up

As soon as the paramedics see the state you’re in they get you off of him

And speed off to the hospital

Kirishima is left alone

Staring at his hands

Which were dyed red with your blood

All he could see was your face laughing at him because he forgot to get two pairs of gloves the first time you helped him dye his hair

…He didn’t like red all that much right now

After what feels like hours

But was really like two minutes

Tamaki shows up

Because he heard there was something going on

And as soon as he sees Kirishima on the ground and sobbing

He knows something bad has happened to you

He quickly gets him out of there

And back to the agency

Where Kirishima accidentally sees a replay of the fight on television

And he sees that you were fighting the villain just fine

But they were so nimble and fast

And all they did was hit the nape of your neck and then the side of your temple

And you collapsed

Tamaki turned the television off before the full fight was shown

But the damage was done

Kirishima was back on the ground

Tamaki tries to comfort him

But Kirishima is out of commission

“I couldn’t save her, Tamaki! I wasn’t there!”

“…C-Come on, Kirishima… w-we should… go to the hospital…”

Tamaki is trying so hard to get him to calm down

But to no avail

So eventually he just drags him out and to his car

He speeds to the hospital

And Kirishima doesn’t even wait for the car to slow down to run inside

He has to wait to see you

Since you were punctured

But he was willing to wait

And wait he did

For four days

Of course after you were done with your surgery he was allowed in your room

But it was a matter of waiting for you to wake up

He was always with you

He only went home to shower

He slept at the hospital

He needed to be with you

So when you finally woke up

He cried tears of happiness for the first time in days

“(Y/n), thank god you’re awake.”

“Eiji? What happened…?”

“There was a villain attack and they knocked you out and-”

“Why don’t you look 15?”

“What?”

“You look… older… and your hair is longer.”

“…What? You were the one who encouraged me to grow it out…”

“I… I was?”

He stares at you for a moment

His happy tears turning into ones of fear

Before hitting the call nurse button and asking you a question

“(Y/n) what grade are we in?”

“We’re freshmen at UA High School.”

No.

No, no, no, no, no

Before he could answer the doctor and nurses came in the room

They started asking you a bunch of questions

To which you answered the best you could

But it was obvious that you were convinced it was two years ago

The doctors took you off to do scans of your brain

This can’t be happening

You think it’s two years ago

Two years

So much has happened within those two years

The two of you have done so much

Just

Imagine how devastated he is when he hears your memory is just gone

And your quirk with it

You were a hero

Your quirk can’t be gone

“Eiji… please don’t cry, it’ll be okay.”

“I can’t help it, pebble. I wasn’t there to save you and now… now you don’t remember everything we’ve done. And… and your quirk… you’re the best hero I know, and now…”

“Eijirou, I promise you it will be okay. As long as you’ll be with me, like you always are, I will be fine.”

He doesn’t say anything

He just looks at his hand holding yours

At least you still remember he asked you to be his girlfriend

But he is deadset on finding the villain who did this to you

“I will get you out of this.”

“Ei…”

“I will fix this. I promise you. I will save you. I need to.”

432 notes · View notes

riddlecrux · 3 years

Text

The quiet power of emotions - a study of Azriel's feelings (part one)

I would love to preface this meta with my favorite disclaimer that everything I will discuss is based on what I have gathered from SJM writing. The quotes used in this post will serve as a starting point for further analysis. Additionally, I will use symbolism, metaphors, and literary device methods to build up my reasoning and beliefs. On another note, this, as usual, is strictly pro-Elriel meta. If they are not your cup of tea and you wish to comment, please be civil and bring arguments supported by the text.

I've wanted to study Azriel’s behavior in ACOFAS, since it's an official novella and it was translated and published in many countries. Since it has come to my attention that some people say that without Azriel's POV, Elriel wouldn't have anything to be based on (which is totally wrong) I decided to tackle Azriel's behavior and show how he had exhibited his feelings for Elain even before ACOSF came out. The scene I would like to start with this series (meta series if I may call it that way) is the one where Rhys and Azriel talk about Illyria, Jurian, and Vassa. Rhys constantly observes Azriel, and he decides to drop this.

“Send Lucien, then. As our human emissary.” I studied the tenseness in Azriel’s shoulders, the shadows veiling half of him from the sunlight. “Lucien is away right now.”

We can see that Azriel is uncomfortable. He's tense and he even shields himself from Rhys' prying gaze. It's all because Lucien was mentioned - which is a bit telling at this point.

Az’s brows rose. “Where?” I winked at him. “You’re my spymaster. Shouldn’t you know?”

Rhys is kind of testing the waters as well, you can say he's railing up Azriel to bring some reaction. However, the question is why would he? What is the reason behind this behavior? It came out of nowhere in the novella, so it's even more surprising to us to reflect upon it, taking into account what transpired in the bonus POV in ACOSF.

Az crossed his arms, face as elegant and cold as the legendary dagger at his side. “I don’t make a point of looking after his movements.” “Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I highlighted Azriel's body language because it's very important. Here we have the notion of crossing arms, which can mean that someone is anxious, resistant, tense, insecure, afraid, or defensive. As we can pinpoint some of these emotions are present in this particular scene - Azriel definitely shields himself up, not only by physically crossing arms but also in the indignation of his expressionless face. The fascinating thing is the addition of the comparison between Azriel's cold face and his legendary dagger - which only further solidifies that Truth Teller is in fact a big part of Shadowsinger. Summarizing up with what we got from these passages we have: - tenseness - obstructing oneself from the view - defensive stance - crossing arms - coldness - emotionless

I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.” To know when and if Lucien sought her out. What they did together.

Here comes my favorite part in this conversation - Rhys seeing himself in Azriel at that moment and Azriel keeping in mind Elain's privacy and agency. Some people try to paint Azriel as some sort of a toxic guy, who is so traumatized that he doesn't value anyone but himself. I'm wondering where this reasoning came from - since nothing exclusively supports that theory. It's clear that Azriel shows respect towards Elain, as stated above in the quotes - even if at this moment, he is clearly showing signs of jealousy. Which, once again is totally fine. All bat boys showed jealousy throughout the books, and every one of them loved their significant other with all their flaws and weaknesses. But going back to the quote, we are met with the assumption about Azriel's decision of not spying on Lucien - given by Rhysand. Nevertheless, something must have had triggered such response to Azriel's behavior and his stance - that's why I strongly believe that Rhys knew what Azriel felt like (in ACOFAS he's testing the waters, trying to see if his assumptions are right or wrong, in ACOSF he pulls a rank because of the consequences of the possible outcome with Lucien being so close.)

“You sure about that?” I asked quietly. Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

Rhys noticed and understood that his assumptions about Azriel's feelings and emotions are correct, that's why his tone changed. He is constantly observing and giving us very detailed descriptions of the changes undergoing in Azriel's persona while discussing Lucien (and inwardly Elain.) Now, let's look at the metaphor used to underline his emotions in relation to his Siphons. Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. - gutter - flicker and burn unsteadily - foreboding - a feeling that something bad will happen; fearful apprehension

SJM used these words in such a situation - a whole sentence that indicates turmoil that is happening inside Azriel. Behind his aloof expression, we got to know that his emotions are restless, that what he is experiencing is sound and present at this moment. We see that by the description of his Siphons - turning dark at the mention of Lucien's possible whereabouts. We don't necessarily know what Azriel thought - if it was apprehension connected to the possibility of Lucien being in the same house, near Elain, or even somewhere where Azriel wouldn't have expected him to be. Judging by the course of the conversation, I would be inclined to believe that it was thought of Lucien being close to Elain.

I straightened at the pure order in the words. But I said, voice slipping into a drawl, “He went to the Spring Court. He’ll be there for Solstice.”

As we are in Rhys POV we can see that he has been caught off guard by the way Azriel delivers his line, yet he masks it with a drawl. Was it because something that Rhys suspected came true? As in, for example, some validation about Azriel and Elain's relationship? We can guess, however, the text clearly states that Rhys was somehow surprised by the tone of his friend. The pure order is what initially made me reread ACOFAS and this scene few times since it carries a heavy chunk of foreshadowing, but also the weight of Azriel's emotions.

Azriel doesn't let anything on his face, which is almost devoid of emotions while talking to Rhys about Lucien - yet, we get so many descriptions about the way his tone changes, his body language, his Siphons, and gaze. Even if he doesn't show externally that he is feeling all those emotions, that doesn't mean that he lacks them. Because, clearly what we have in the text, suggests that Azriel exhibits symptoms of jealousy. This is completely understandable since in the books we get to know that he and Elain have already started getting to know each other off the pages. Another interesting thing is, how structured and written this scene is. We have an insight into Rhysand's thoughts and he is thinking about Feyre and Tamlin.

With Tamlin, it was more complicated than that. More complicated than I let myself usually dwell on. He was still in love with Feyre. I couldn’t blame him for it. Even if it made me want to rip out his throat. I shoved the thought away.

Rhysand acknowledges the fact that the whole thing with Tamlin is complicated, as he repeats in his mind - the situation was something that literally destroyed one of the Courts. It's also peculiar and worth noticing that Rhys is aware of the love Tamlin has for Feyre, and even if he knows that, he is ready to kill Tamlin.

In the contrast, the talk is about Azriel, Lucien, and... Elain. Another triangle that is, in fact, complicated.

“I’ll discuss Vassa and Jurian with Lucien when he returns. See if he’s up for another visit.” I angled my head. “Do you think he can handle being around Graysen?” Az’s expressionless face was precisely the reason he’d never lost to us at cards. “Why should I be the judge of that?”

Rhys asks about Lucien and how Azriel sees him behaving around Graysen, which in my opinion is another instance of testing Spymaster. I angled my head, which is what Rhysand does and synonym to angle is tilt. Once again we are going to look at what does body language says about it. It can indicate curiosity, suspicion, and in some cases even uncertainty. In this particular moment, I believe it's curiosity mixed with suspicion - Rhys has been observing Azriel the moment he changed the subject of the conversation to Lucien. We also have another description of Azriel's expressionless face - showing us, readers, that Rhys notes the changes in his behavior. Azriel even proceeds with questioning his friend about the purpose of that inquiry and how he of all people is the one who is capable of being a judge in this case. I think we can see it as some sort of dodging, stalling even.

“You mean to tell me that you weren’t bluffing when you said you didn’t track Lucien’s every movement?” Nothing. Absolutely nothing on that face, on his scent. The shadows, whatever the hell they were, hid too well. Too much. Azriel only said coldly, “If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance.”

Even if Azriel is described as expressionless and almost emotionless in this scene, we do see the moments when his feelings came up to the surface. Just like here, Azriel bottles down his anger and other emotions, letting out only his coldness. However, the question is why? Why so much iciness and apprehension? If the conversation and subjects of it weren't important to him, he would have probably behaved as usual - with his aloofness, but not necessarily hostility hid behind the frostiness. What's even more notable is the fact that Rhys comments about how his shadows hid his emotions/feelings, even on his scent. Azriel did it on purpose, he covered himself so he wouldn't be detected - or better to say to cover up his true emotions that Rhysand could have easily spotted. The biggest tell about it is the addition of "too much". If there wasn't anything to hide or the emotions under the cover were vain or small - Rhysand wouldn't have had added that thought.

No. Sort of. “I’d think bankrolling her apartment and drinking was gift enough.” Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

The conversation changes its topic - and Rhys starts to discuss sisters and presents. We see that Azriel's first reaction is rooted in body language. He is running his hand through his hair which suggests nervousness, frustration, stress, or even a sign of disagreement over whatever is being said. From all these things I think we can lean towards nervousness the most or even frustration - since just before that leap of the topic he was immersed deep down inside his feelings and tried to mask his true emotions about Lucien and Elain. Another thing is that Rhysand also notices that it's unusual for Azriel to stutter, stumble with his words which he does after he runs his hand through his hair. He's nervous.

“No,” I said, and meant it. Az seemed to loose a sigh of relief. Seemed to, since all but a breath of air passed from his lips. “I don’t think Nesta gives a shit, and I don’t think Elain expects to receive anything from us. I’d leave the sisters to exchange presents amongst themselves.” Az nodded distantly.

Rhysand doesn't even know if he can call Azriel's sigh a sigh since it seems that all it was, was just a short exhale. I do think that it was a sigh - of relief. However, we can speculate about what the relief is connected to. If it is for not buying gifts or maybe because the conversation steered in another direction and all these pent-up emotions, feelings, and even frustrations could finally be released? What's clear is that Azriel feels a lot, in this scene particularly. He is hiding it behind his shadows, obstructing it from Rhys, but also from the reader's point of view. Nevertheless, SJM used an enormous chunk of body language to show us what Azriel is feeling - jealousy. Another thing is that he seemed to think about what's being said about sisters and their gifts - because he was described to be nodding distantly.

Az nodded knowingly. He’d always understood me best—more than the others. Save my mate. Whether it was his gifts that allowed him to do so, or merely the fact that he and I were more similar than most realized, I’d never learned.

I love this quote and that it comes from Rhysand's POV as well. It shows that Rhysand knew and his suspicions were, in fact, correct - because he probably saw himself and his infatuation with Feyre in the way Azriel behaved with Elain. I do also think that it will come back in the next book - the bond between Azriel and Rhysand, and probably some of the small fallout because of what had happened with them in Azriel's POV. SJM put Lucien, Elain, and Azriel in here, while Rhysand thought about his situation with Feyre and Tamlin. Two triangles, two different, complicated outcomes, and relationships. Forbidden romance? Yes. Politically connected? Yes. Could start a war? Yes. There are so many similarities between them.

The thing with Azriel is that his feelings aren't over the top - he's not vocal about them. The power of his emotions lies in the quietness and his actions. If we sat back and looked at scenes in which he acts towards Mor or Elain, we can see that his strength in loving someone isn't connected to words, but rather than that - presence and behavior.

#elriel #pro elriel #elain and azriel #elain x azriel #pro azriel #elriel meta #elriel theory #azriel

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jjheejz · 3 years

Text

What is Fate?

[Part 3/5] After filming, before broadcast

*Rather than pointing out what fate pointers there were, will just point out the internal process building up on this Fate of a real life novel*

- Two actors, who went deep into their character, ends up probably having feelings for each other, as themselves. Take a quote I came across in fanworks when I was into The Untamed, "It just happens that the person I fell for, is a guy."

- Filming ended on 23 September 2020. Immediately, both of them went to opposite directions in China for holiday. Yea. Holiday. Separately or together, it's probably the latter... To take a breather departing their characters, or actually went on a date together [Dong Yang Lake saga].

- Because of [ZZH’s weibo rebellion saga], it was probably the reason why GJ did not attend ZZH’s first (mini) concert on 18 October 2020. There might also be other reasons/factors eg. GJ being affirmative (for someone who can’t lie) in the interview later that he had work that day, still it was broad daylight obvious what state ZZH was in at his concert.

- ZZH is called 'princess' for a reason as well. He wore branded clothings, has houses in different states, picked up a we-all-know-is-expensive sport etc, has one of his best buddies be his personal assistant, is under the care of Zhao Wei etc. Was so extremely passionate in basketball, he won MVP, got injured but had to film another drama and missed the crucial period for recovery, it became a permanent damage and he could no longer play basketball. He is a man with huge achievements and money, but with both emotional and physical scars.

GJ on the other hand, can share with you when is the best promotion period to buy something, bargain for a 50% cut and regret not cutting more, has a "发财" phone case for years (aka get rich, this word has connotation of 'suddenly get rich' as well, believe it or not, Chinese New Year's default greeting literally is not "Happy New Year", it's "恭喜发财 (Gong Xi Fa Cai) Hope you get rich" - Yes, 'Gong' is also inside that greeting) and specifically advice you that a red cover is much 灵 (will come true) than a green one. Has a box of facial masks and only use the expensive ones for big events, which he had yet to finish using in his 5 years after purchase. He is a happy go lucky man with little achievements but a big appetite for perseverance.

= There is a feeling of not being up to ZZH's standard, so GJ mentioned before he feels like he is Nobita, ZZH indirectly mentioned before he is Shizuka [Doraemon saga]

= This is also another difference between starting out as an independent studio and signing under a big agency (during filming, ZZH had already moved to an independent studio, what I'm referring here is before he was independent).

- But still, despite these differences in background, they accepted each other, and their own feelings. [One night in Nan Jing Saga] + [Blue heart Saga] + [Blue boy aka the drama: Love, Simon saga]

Summaries for sagas mentioned above can be found in link here

- However, this is an industry and country that does not tolerate this kind of relationship. [Cross reference to Addicted's real life actors Saga - 5 years ban from contacting each other] + [Cross reference to The Untamed Saga, where solo fans expect their bias to be completely torn away from the other actor]

- So both of them had to be low key. And act like they weren't close. In this pre-broadcast promotion interview especially. (But it's also the interview with the most ZZH cuts - ZZH probably was on daredevil mode. Also had the most decipherable body language showing they had a thing).

Bonus

- The production budget for WOH was a mere USD7.8mil, in comparison to other production budget: HYX is USD38mil, The Untamed was USD46.5mil. This also meant that WOH had limited Marketing and Promotion, so the drama quietly went up on YouKu.

🌻To returning readers: Updated info are in purple for your easy references!

🌸Part 1 - Before filming here

🌸Part 2 - During filming here

🌸Part 4 - Broadcast/Promotion period here

🌸Part 5 - WOH concert and after

🌻[Ongoing updates] Will add if I remember or found new ones

🌻For long posts like this, I tend to look back for grammar and phrasing mistakes (sometimes info updates), so when you reblog for future references, do keep in mind that there may be updates in the original post! :)

#shl #woh #langlangding #zzh #张哲瀚 #junzhe #zhang zhehan #龚俊 #gj #gong jun

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notavah · 3 years

Text

BSD HEADCANNONS

It's my first writing ever so hope you enjoy! Also English isn't my first language so excuse my mistakes

||Dazai and Ranpo reacting to their GN!s/o randomly teasing them||

TW: none, it's.....slightly suggestive

DAZAI OSAMU:

This little rascal

He probably teases you every time he gets a chance

So when you decided to take out Uno reverse card he was like: 😮😏

He was not expecting you to just tease him without warning

Especially in the office in front of everyone

Nobody really payed attention

They got used to you both

Even kunikida...😰

He was sick just to busy with calming down Kenji and Ranpo which decided to read his "ideal"

Anyway let's get back to where it started

You watched your boyfriend from afar, as one one of the agency clients comes up to him

And starts being all giggly and nice

It wasn't something to be worried about

Because you trusted your man

BUT this woman was visibly flirting with him

So u got a bit jelly

As soon as she left your confidence boosted

So you came up in front of his chair

Delicately took his chin up with one finger

He watched your actions with his a-hole smirk

"belladonna what brings you to m-"

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence

Because your soft lips were already connected with his

He was still a bit in shock at first

But when he realised what is going on, he immediately returned the kiss

You placed yourself on Dazai's lap

He pulled you closer by your waist, lowering one hand to your hip

THREE OTHER MEN ARE STILL IN THE OFFICE (and still fighting)

You smiled through the kiss and "positioned yourself better" on his lap

He let out a quiet groan

When this happened

With full satisfaction you IMMEDIATELY pulled back from him and walked away

Leaving him confused and speechless

He decided to not mention it to you while you are still at work

He just scanned your every movement throughout the rest of your work shift

When everyone went home (yes kunikida received his notebook back)

You stayed with dazai last minutes and were about to leave the office

But someone's grip on your wrist stopped you

" ay ay ay my little belladonna, where do you think you're going without an apology" your felt your blood rush hot when you heard the voice of Dazai whispering to your ear

You knew at that moment, that today you both will stay after shift for a while

EDOGAWA RANPO:

Oh my love

He's a BIG TEASE

But only when you're alone with him

You like to tease him sometimes too so it's kinda balanced between both of you

This man is unsuprisable

But when it comes to teasing him he can never expected

He has been paying less attention to you lately, because of the new book, that Poe made for him

So you decided to do something about it, and use the power of teasing that somehow he didn't expected

he did, just never admitted that cus he loved to see you trying your best to suprise him

He was simply laying on the couch with the book in his hand, and a bag of candies was being tossed somewhere on the floor where his hands can reach it

You've got an idea 🐱

When there were only 3 left, you reached them out of the bag and hid two of them in the hem of your pockets and went to kitchen

He was so involved into the book ( NOT LITERALLY) that he didn't even noticed when the last bag of his favourite candies was gone

He knew it was your mischief that lead to their loss

He walked up to the kitchen counter in which near you were "doll did you stole my candies?" He asked you, even though Ranpo already knew

"well I think you know the answer" you smiled and and sat on the earlier mentioned counter

"I even have the game for you, don't worry it'll be very easy" you said still keeping a mischievous grin on your face

" do I have to find them?" He asked rising his brow

" not only, you have to get them too if you want to feel their taste today again" you looked up at him from the counter

He showed his hands into your pockets and took two candies out

"OI" You yelped, sometimes you forgot how good he is, kinda hoped finding the third candy will be as easy for him as it was with the previous ones

"I found the third one". He smiled and kissed you, pulling his tounge against yours.

He grabbed your hips and pulled himself closer, as you placed your hands under his shirt

You were now having a heated make out session with Ranpo B))

He knew from the very beginning that candy was eaten by you a while ago

But he also knew, that your lips and tongue will taste as sweet as grape candies

He pulled off the kiss " I guess I have to take another stuff right now" and continued doing the stuff you are the stuff. 😳

As I said before, that's my first work and second language, so I know it's not perfect. But it was definitely fun to try, and if you enjoyed it let me know! I'll try to write some more! Thank u for staying❤️

#bsd x reader #bsd dazai #bsd dazai x reader #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x you #ranpo x reader #dazai x you #bsd headcanons #bsd fanfic

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yandere-romanticaa · 4 years

Note

Hey, I know this is gonna sound crazy(and it is) but just humor me for a little bit. Instead of just one or even two yanderes from Bungou Stray Dogs, what if the all main characters from the ADA and the Port Mafia were yandere for this poor girl who just wants to leave Yokohama but she literally can’t now with all of them on her tail. Female pronouns would be appreciated, thank you in advance!

This was an interesting request, thank you!

Chances are the s/o in question was a foreigner and seeing someone like that in Yokohama is just bound to attract attention... Be it good or bad.

When she first met the Armed Detective Agency it was probably through Dazai's flirting, surprise, surprise. The girl was just minding her own business but Dazai being Dazai, he just had to make a move. The two hit it off and s/o eventually meet the rest of the agency - Atsushi is smitten almost instantly, how could he not be? He is actually talking to a really pretty girl and she is... nice! Kind! Patient! He's sweating like crazy and he is one of the first ones to form a crush, slowly blossoming into a delusional obsession. He knows he's nothing, he knows he's worthless but... Atsushi can't let that kindness get away from him, he's not that selfless. Ranpo is intrigued to say the least and his obsession is a slow burn but it will get there at some point. The longer he waits, the stronger his desire becomes. Kunikida is in furious denial of his feelings. No, he is not attracted to this random woman, she does not fit his ideals...! Stop looking at him like that, he is being serious!! Despite his denial, Kunikida keeps an extensive record of his s/o - her whereabouts, hobbies, likes, dislikes, the whole lot! Tanizaki pays no mind to s/o but he becomes more interested because of his sisters influence. Naomi is a sweetheart and it is so nice to have another girl around!~ Kenji is a sweetie, but you never did notice the dark glint in his eyes once your back was turned to him, did you? Yosano is openly flirty, but not quite like Dazai. She's a lot more subtle and her body language betrays her words. One look in her eye and you'd see that her jokes aren't all that easygoing... Dazai is shameless, plain and simple. He states his affections proudly and openly but s/o doesn't take him seriously because of how dramatic he is. He might look innocent but out of everyone he is one of the most intense yanderes s/o would have to deal with. Things will heat up even more once the Port Mafia gets involved.

Chuuya's a flirt but he is not like Dazai. He is a lot more ernest and just downright sweet. He makes it clear from the start that if you decide to be his lady, he will treat you like royalty, no questions asked. Elise probably saw you before Mori did and that's how he grew fond of you - Elise wanted you by her side, how could he ever turn down her requests?! He had his own motives though aside from Elise's whining... Kaji is over the moon and is flashy as Hell when it comes to his affections. Akutagawa is downright pissed that you're such a massive distraction for him. Gin loves you but please, don't force her to say it out loud, she might just die from blushing... Yet another thing she has in common with her brother. Higuchi says that she hates you, but that's a lie and everyone knows it. She is needy and it shows...

So just imagine the Hell you'd cause by trying to leave Yokohama. The city might as well be destroyed the moment someone sees you gone! This is one of those times when the two organisations will have to work together, even if they really don't want to. The moment one side gets to you, you can bet they'll stab the other in the back. This would also be the perfect chance for any outsiders to sneak in or make a move... Fyodor's a rat and he knows it. So imagine him getting the info about the ADA and the mafia hunting down this one little girl? How amusing!~ Or perhaps the Guild will snatch you up first who knows... Or, if you're really unlucky, the Hunting Dogs might just be forced to step in and set things back in order.

Remember one thing and one thing only: no matter what you choose, it will be the wrong choice.

There is no going back.

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

i want your last name

summary: it’s only a year...

word count: 16k+ (holy crap i’m sorry)

warnings: idiot-strangers to lovers, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), frightening situations & suspense, alcohol consumption and drunkenness, language, innuendo, timeline inaccuracies

a/n: please bear with me as this is my first time writing rog and i’m relatively unsure about it. anyway, have a vaguely spooky fic just in time for halloween! xoxo! also: big thank you to @ineloqueent for helping with this fic! y’all, she literally held my hand and walked me through every paragraph what a saint

january, 1982.

“you’re off your rocker if you think i’m going to go through with this, jim.”

from his place on the couch, john snorts. “what? afraid she won’t be pretty enough for you, rog?”

roger levels john an uncharacteristically dark look, jabbing his finger through the air like a knight brandishing his sword or a cowboy his gun. “watch your mouth, deacon.” john holds his hands upwards in surrender, and roger returns his piercing gaze to jim. “i’m not getting married. that’s absolutely out of the question.”

long-suffering band manger and unofficial rockstar wrangler, jim beach drops his face to his hands with a harsh groan. roger cringes in his seat, shifting uncomfortably. he knows what this is about; they all know what this is about.

the end-of-tour party in montreal.

god, he’d gotten so wasted. even now, two months later, he can barely remember that night.

brian, ever the diplomatic, is the first to break the tense silence. he leans forward from his place on the couch beside john and offers roger his most sympathetic look. it does nothing to ease the growing knot of dread in roger’s stomach. “maybe we should leave you and jim to talk, rog.”

jim lifts his head. “i think that might be best, yes.”

roger huffs and falls slack against his chair. he drops his head back, and the ceiling turns topsy-turvy. if jim and the rest of management get their way, his life is bound to feel the same: flipped upside down, all that he knows turned on its head.

john squeezes roger’s shoulder as he slides by, a silent expression of solidarity, but it doesn’t feel like much. john’s got a wife, a parcel of kids. he’s happy at home. roger—he’s never been that way, never seen the point in all the domestics. he isn’t about to join the bloody women’s institute just because a little fun upset a few highbrow jackasses who can’t tell a party from a funeral.

the door to jim’s office shuts with a soft click, and roger imagines the lid of his coffin closing with the same resolute noise. he sits up and runs a hand through his hair. from behind his tinted shades, jim stares across the expanse of his desk. he drums his fingers, worrying his lower lip. roger’s nose twitches to the side. jim isn’t playing around. the proposal typed and printed in the manila folder under jim’s hand is serious, deadly so.

roger removes his sunglasses.

“it was just a party, jim.”

there’s a heavy beat of silence. jim blinks once. “roger, you went streaking through a group of nuns and priests.”

roger squeezes his eyes shut against the words, thankful, for once, that he has no memory of the event. “did i?” he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “honestly couldn’t tell you what i did or didn’t do that night.”

“you did.” jim opens the manila folder and reads from a crumbled newspaper article. “queen’s roger taylor bared all this evening after the explosive conclusion to the game tour, filmed before thousands in montreal’s biggest arena. in a rare display of vulnerability, taylor stripped naked and exposed himself in the hotel lobby where queen resided. he stood on a table and beat his chest like a wild gorilla, chanting about the success of the evening’s filmed concert. lookers-on included none other than a group of nuns and priests recently arrived to canada on special assignment from the vatican. john deacon, bassist for queen, could also be seen laughing in the background.”

jim’s hand thumps against the desk as he drops the article, his stare decidedly unimpressed. “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

running his tongue over his teeth, roger hesitates. not his best moment, he would give jim that. but if he remembers anything about that party, it’s that he wasn’t the only sinner present that evening. john had gotten into his fair share of antics; crystal, too. it seems arbitrary that he should be the one singled out for punishment—and with a strange, archaic, probably-unethical punishment at that.

he shrugs, tossing his hands up in defeat. “i’m not going to be able to say what you want me to say. it was just a party. it got a little out of control. that’s all. i’m sorry if i gave the nuns a little show. i’ll—i dunno—write a letter if you want me to.”

jim scoffs. “write a letter if you think it’ll make me feel better—which it won’t—but that’s not the issue here.”

“then what is the issue? and where the hell does marriage come into it? because i’m not seeing the connection.”

jim sighs. his desk chair creaks as he leans back. taking off his glasses, he pinches the bridge of his nose before meeting roger’s eyes again. “this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, rog. remember new orleans?”

roger holds up an accusatory finger. “you were in new orleans too, jim, so you can’t attack me on that front.”

jim leans forward, his glasses between his hands. he runs his finger back and forth across the top of the frames. “i’ll be blunt. some other people in the office think you’re becoming too—how shall i say it?—explicit for the band. you’re not twenty any more, and raucous parties don’t fit queen’s image. they’re concerned that if more incidents like this hit the press, there will be a drop in sales or concert attendance because nice, suburban families don’t want to go to a concert with a drummer who flashes nuns. do you get what i’m saying?”

roger itches his temple and pushes against the sudden pain behind his left eye. “yeah. yeah, i do.”

“the marriage thing—that was barnaby potter’s idea. if you have beef with it, take it up with him.”

it’s roger’s turn to scoff. he throws his head back on the sound and curls his hands against the cool wooden arms of his chair. when he looks back at jim, he is surprised to see the older man rifling through a filing cabinet in the corner, his back turned.

roger surges forward with his ire anyway. “of course i have beef with it! slap my ass and scold me, sure, but hitch me to a woman i don’t even know for publicity? you’ve got to be joking.”

“personally, i think it’s an idea that will work if you give it a chance.” jim returns to chair and hands roger a sealed packet. “we’ve already got it all lined up, picked the lass and everything. it’s just for a year or so, until the tabloids calm down. then you can get divorced and go your separate ways.”

“wait, hold on—you picked her? without telling me? before even approaching me with the idea?”

“roger—” jim’s tone borders on a warning, but roger ignores his better judgement and cuts the other man off.

“you won’t even give me the option to choose the woman i have to shack up with? god, jim, i’m getting fuckin’ railroaded here!”

jim clenches his jaw. “i’m sure it feels that way, and i’m sorry for that. but it’s this—well, to be frank, it’s this or you’re out. the montreal party was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”

roger can’t be sure but he thinks he sees red. never in his life has he so badly wanted to wring someone’s neck. it takes every fiber of his being, every molecule in his body, to keep from lunging across the room and tackling jim to the floor. he bites his tongue hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. it coats his mouth in a metallic taste, but it’s nothing compared to the rage boiling in his stomach.

still, he knows what his answer must be. it’s this—a sham marriage, a year of hell—or losing the life he’s worked so hard to build.

he rips the envelope from jim’s hand as roughly as he can when he stands from his chair. he hopes he gave the man a papercut.

“i’ll do it, you bastard,” he mutters. “but i damn well won’t be happy about it.”

“you look beautiful, [y/n].”

with a playful roll of your eyes, you offer ivy a smile. “thanks, love, but you and i both know this is just part of the job.”

ivy laughs and steps closer to adjust the puffed sleeves of your dress. “it might be a job, but damn, if it isn’t a comfortable one. i just about fell out of my seat when you told me you were quitting the agency to marry roger fucking taylor.”

you slide ivy a bemused smirk in the reflection of the long, oval mirror before you. “we’re not really getting married, ivy. you know that, right?”

ivy frowns and jabs her thumb over her shoulder, confusion awash on her round face. “unless i’m mistaken, we’re at a church, you’re in a wedding dress, roger taylor is the groom, and there’s a priest waiting for you right outside. did you read the memo wrong or something? feels like a wedding to me.”

sighing, you turn away from the mirror and reach for your bouquet of flowers. the white roses interspersed with springs of green leaves smell sweet, their stems tied together with a long white ribbon. you adjust one of the wayward petals then sit on the edge of a cushioned chair to slip on your heels. ivy leans against the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

“are you happy?” she asks, her voice soft.

you look up and pause. the heel of your white mary janes squeezes around your achilles’ tendon, and you wince as you shove your foot into the shoe. “what do you mean—am i happy?”

“i dunno.” ivy shrugs. she picks at an invisible piece of lint on the shoulder of her blue bridesmaid gown. “when we were kids, you always used to talk about your wedding day. now it’s here and—”

“ivy.” you rise from the chair and cross the floor to grab her arm. when you speak, you keep your tone firm and stare into her wide, brown eyes. “i’m doing this for the money and nothing else. it’s not a big deal. i don’t even consider today my wedding day. when roger and i get divorced i’ll find some other chap and make my childhood dreams come true, but that’s not today, and i’m okay with it. so yes, i am happy. this is what i want.”

ivy doesn’t appear convinced what with the way she continues to gnaw at her lower lip and shift her concerned look about your face. but she relents when someone knocks on the door, moving to allow you to grab the doorknob.

“wait, [y/n].” you turn at the door, eyebrows lifted in expectation. “how much are you getting paid?”

you press your pointer finger to your lips. “handsomely,” you whisper, dipping your head as though you are about to spill a secret. ivy leans in. her eyes sparkle with interest, and you inwardly smirk. she’s always been a sucker for drama and intrigue, your cousin. “but,” you continue. “that’s for me to know and you not to know.”

before ivy can respond, you pull open the door to see none other than your future husband waiting for you in the vestibule of the chapel.

he stands poised to flee the premises. he’s half-turned toward the closed chapel door, his hands worrying before his waist, his gaze hinged on the flurry of life outside the chapel, visible through the windows on either side of the door. you realize he’s fiddling with an unlit cigarette, not merely rubbing his hands together in an external sign of nervousness. you can’t make out whether or not his eyes are wild with fear or anger or some other emotion; the black tint of his sunglasses obscures the majority of his eyes. he’s handsome in his suit, but, then again, he’s roger taylor. you would be surprised to find a time in which he isn’t handsome.

when you clear your throat, his head whips to face you, and his fingers stop fidgeting. “sorry,” he mutters. “i was just—” he rubs a hand across the back of his neck and sighs. “they’re ready for you.”

“okay.” you nod with a smile and hope the gesture will ease whatever consternation plagues him. “i’ll be up in a moment.”

“right.” he nods once.

from behind his shades, you see his eyes trail from the top of your head to the soles of your shoes. it’s not sexual, not lewd; he’s just inspecting you, and you don’t blame him. who are you to him other than the model pulled out of a catalog, prepared and willing to be his wife until his time served is complete? you’ve spoken only once before this moment, and that phone-call was terse at best. roger made it perfectly clear his opinions on the arrangement, and he wanted to be sure—no, he needed to be sure—you understood his feelings on the matter. you assured him you had heard him loud and clear; your ear had rung for the next hour if only to remind you of his extreme distaste.

“roger,” you say, pulling his attention back from wherever his mind has drifted off to, his stare gone vacant but hardly serene.

his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to focus. “hm?”

“i said i’ll be up in a moment. you can go in now.”

he nods again, this time his chin smacking his collarbone in his urgency. he rubs his jaw, mutters something unintelligible beneath his breath, and turns on his heel, slipping back into the chapel sanctuary with heavy footfalls. your brows rise on your forehead in the wake of his exit. ivy hovers behind your shoulder.

“that’s him?” she squeaks. “that’s roger taylor?”

“yes.” your mouth twists in pity. “poor dear. he really doesn’t want this.” after waiting the appropriate amount of time to be sure roger has made his way to the front of the church, you step towards the entryway, but not before you can ask ivy one last question. “do i look okay? the pictures taken today are bound to be published in the papers.”

ivy chuckles and shakes her head as she lightly pushes your shoulder. “you look gorgeous and you know it. now go get married to a rockstar, you lucky bitch.”

the actual wedding ceremony itself is a formality. truly, it cannot be called a ceremony. there’s no wedding march, no attendees gently dabbing their tear-filled eyes, no heartfelt vows or kiss to signal the joining of two souls. instead, there’s you and there’s roger and there’s a red-faced, balding priest who points to the solid lines on which you must affix your signature to make the marriage certificate valid. roger signs first, and his knuckles are white against the ballpoint pen. you sign second, and the pen feels overly-warm against your cool palms. the priest blesses you with a sign of the cross and promises the certificate will be notarized and sent to your home address within the week.

then it’s done. you’re married. you feel largely the same as you did this morning. if it weren’t for the giant rock on your ring finger and the recent transfer of seventy-five-thousand pounds into your bank account, you might wonder if this was all a product of your over-active imagination, run away with a plot stolen from a b-list film.

the most vital part of the day, the reason you’re here and dressed in a gown with your hair crimped and nails painted, comes right after the priest scurries away to tend to his more important duties. jim beach stands from his place in one of the pews and ushers a photographer forward. he points between you and roger.

“all right, get snug, you two.” jim chews on a large wad of gum, and his words are slurred with an excess of saliva. “just a few pictures and then we’ll go eat. we all know that’s the only reason john showed up today.”

lounged against a pew, john raises his finger in agreement, and his wife elbows him in the chest. he sputters, doubling over in pain, while freddie laughs in amusement. beside you, roger watches the interaction with a back as straight as the pew benches, his jaw tight. you push your arm around his elbow and tug lightly. he inhales before turning to meet your eyes.

“what?” his voice is not cruel or unkind; it’s just tired.

“try and look happy, yeah?” you say, offering him a gentle smile similar to the one you’d given him in the vestibule. it’s the only thing you have to give him other than your hand in marriage and a chance to salvage his reputation; yet, again, it does not alleviate the tension pinching his brow. “the faster we smile the faster we can eat.”

roger shifts, as though he wants to pull away from you, but knows he shouldn’t. his feet dance back and forth on the carpeted stairs leading to the sanctuary state. “i should be telling you to try and look happy. this is just as much an inconvenience for you.”

you shake your head with a chuckle. “hardly. i make my living pretending to be happy, or moody, or sultry. whatever the director wants. i’m a pro at this. and besides,” you add. “it’s my job to make you look good. though, to be honest, that’s not very hard. you look good all on your own.”

roger sniffs and rubs the underside of his nose. he ignores your compliment and keeps his eyes trained on the photographer setting up his equipment at the base of the stairs. “maybe i could use some tips…”

he’s being glib but you take the opportunity to try and break the ice—the rock solid, absolutely frigid, polar ice-cap style ice—between you both. holding up a finger to the photographer, you slide to stand in front of roger. he’s taller than you, not by much, but enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye-contact. his blue eyes very much resemble the ice with which he’s surrounded himself. you can feel the chill on his shoulders, even as you smooth the wrinkles on his tailored dress-shirt.

“whenever i have to fake a smile,” you say, adjusting his thin tie. “i always think about the thing that makes me happiest.” he doesn’t ask you to expand, but you do anyway. “for me, it’s when my cousin ivy moved in with my mother and me. i was seven and she was six and it’s been one giant slumber party ever since.”

“is that your cousin?” roger’s eyes flick to the girl sitting across the aisle from the band and management. ivy has her hands beneath her thighs, her head dipped, her dark black hair covering a curtain over her face.

you nod. “mhmm.”

“she doesn’t look like you.”

you lift an eyebrow. “she’s adopted.”

“right, sorry.” roger exhales deeply, and the weight of the world slips from one of his shoulders to the other, tilting his body in a stiff hunch. “i’m feeling out of sorts today, as you can probably imagine.”

“just think about what makes you happy, roger.” you dare to lift a hand and press it against his cheek. his skin is smooth beneath your fingers. he must have shaved his morning. he looks boyish up close, and you wonder if, like you, he had ever dreamt of what his wedding day might look like. you wonder if, like you, he had given up those dreams to make today a reality.

the photographer takes a picture of your hand against roger’s cheek, and the sudden flash of light has you blinking in surprise. you look over your shoulder, mouth slightly parted and eyelashes fluttering to clear the white spots over your vision.

the photographer just shrugs. “ready now?”

the shrill of a ringing telephone wakes you the morning after the wedding, and you groan, pulled from a heavy slumber by the incessant and high-pitched tone. there’s a dull ache at the base of your skull, and your tongue feels like it’s coated with a fine layer of sand. beside you, a man snores softly, his face pink and eyelashes soft on his cheekbones.

oh yes, that’s right. you’re married to roger taylor, aren’t you? you’d drunk so much at the celebration supper that you’d nearly forgotten. the evening itself is but a hazy memory, but you think you recall freddie imitating a russian style jig atop a table, and phoebe going into great detail about all the fabulous dress-up parties you’ll be expected to attend now.

one thing you can’t remember is how you ended up in roger’s bed, dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts. your hair is still stiff with sticky hairspray, your legs still encased in a pair of nylon tights, and you don’t feel… sated, for lack of a better word. it’s probably safe to assume that you did not sleep with roger; you merely slept beside him. why you didn’t take up residence in his guest room will be the first question out of your mouth once his day starts.

you might be his wife and he might be your husband, but you don’t want him getting any funny ideas about the nature of your relationship.

this is a job for you. nothing more.

the phone continues ringing and, lest roger wake before he is ready, you move to reach across him for the phone on his bedside table. you speak into the receiver on a whisper, adjusting your fist on the mattress to keep from falling flat on roger’s stomach.

“hello?”

“uh—hi.” there’s a pause, as if the speaker is uncertain how to react to your voice on roger’s line. “is this [y/n]?”

“yes. who is this?”

“it’s brian. we met yesterday.”

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “yes, i know who you are, brian.”

he chuckles softly. “sorry—i can’t remember much of last evening. it’s probably best i make a second introduction if i can’t recall the first.”

“well then, i’m [y/n] [y/l/n]. [y/n] taylor now, i suppose. pleased to meet you.”

“brian may. the pleasure is all mine. ours, really—me and the guys. what you’re doing is—we appreciate it, truly. you’ve saved the band, in a way.”

“that’s kind of you, brian.” you glance at roger out of the corner of your eye. he hasn’t moved a muscle, and his face is the most serene you’ve ever seen it. saved the band? you doubt it. smoothed a few ruffled feathers? that’s certainly more likely. “it’s no trouble, though. it’s just my job. what was it you called for?”

“roger was supposed to be at the studio an hour ago. we have a recording session today.”

“shit, really?” pressing the receiver to your shoulder, you twist your wrist upwards, but find your watch missing. you scan the unfamiliar room. a digital clock glows red on a built-in bookshelf. “is it really nearly one o’clock?!”

“afraid so.”

“shit, i’m sorry. i only just woke up. yesterday was hectic—to say the very least. i’ll have roger out the door in half an hour.”

“thanks, [y/n]. you’ll find this happens a lot after a night out. but, hey, at least you’re not shouting at me like rog does.”

after passing pleasantries a moment more—brian asks you about ivy, who you are surprised he remembers, and you ask him about his stargazing habits—you reassure brian that roger will be on his way as soon as possible. you drop the receiver on its base with more force than necessary, but the crack of plastic on plastic and the slight ring of the internal bell gets roger moving.

he grunts, twisting his head away from the noise.

you shake his shoulder gently. “wakey wakey, sleeping beauty. the day is already half gone.”

roger yawns as his eyes blink open. he rubs a hand down his face and arches his back like a cat as he stretches. slumping back against his pillows, he stares at you for a moment, his eyes roaming your face.

“are you an angel?”

you laugh at this, and he winces, holding the heel of his hand to his forehead. “no. i’m your wife. are you still drunk?”

“maybe a little.” his eyelashes flutter rapidly as he adjusts to the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. he waves his hand around your head, and you lean back slightly, away from the exposed skin of his chest and striking collarbones. “you look like an angel with the sun all around your head. ‘s like a halo.”

“that’s kind of you.”

he shrugs, shaking his head. “just sayin’.”

“i think you’re still drunk.”

as if to prove your point, he hiccups then falls to his side on the bed. “maybe.” his cheek is pressed firmly against the mattress, smushing half of his face flat. soft, steady breaths filter in and out of his parted lips, and his eyelids begin to grow heavy as he is dragged back to his dream world. he looks more tired child than grown man, but the sight is endearing. still, your current job is getting him out the door and on his way to the studio. you can’t let him be any later than he already is.

“oh no, you don’t.” grabbing his arm, you pull as you slide from the bed. roger resists your strength and moves to push his entire face against the mattress. he mumbles something against the sheets, but you can’t make out the words. “brian already called. you’re late, pretty boy.”

roger rolls over onto his back, and the movement causes you to lose your grip on his wrist. you stumble backwards then plant your hands on your hips.

“come on, roger. you’ve got to get up.”

“i don’t want to. yesterday was shit, and all i want to do is stay in bed.”

with a sigh, you gather your wedding dress from its heap on the floor. you lay it over your forearm and pull open the closet door. “nice to know you thought our wedding day was shit,” you say.

you mean it only as a joke, but roger sits up fast, swaying slightly with the movement. he catches your eye as you exit the walk-in closet, and you pause, turning the light off slowly, held by his angry stare.

“fuck off,” he says. “i don’t want this. i don’t want you.”

to say his words don’t sting would be a falsehood. no one wants to hear such a thing, least of all from their spouse. the words make your heart clench painfully in your chest, and you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. he doesn’t look at you, though; he cradles his forehead in his hands, his back hunched where he sits on the edge of the bed.

inhaling deeply, you reach up and begin to remove some of the pins lost in your hair. you head for the bedroom door. “well, while you sit and sulk, i’ll pack you a lunch. you’d better shower, though. you reek.”

from your place puttering about the kitchen, you hear the shower start up a few moments later. good—at least he’s moving. you haven’t the foggiest idea where anything is in his kitchen, but you make do with what you can find in the poorly stocked fridge, and pack him a light lunch. you start a pot of coffee, too, and lean against the counter as you wait for the pot to fill.

the ancient coffee pot takes too long, and you can hear roger humming in the shower down the hall.

your nails tap against the counter.

you’re antsy, unsure of what to do with yourself now that the wedding is over. how do you be a wife to someone who doesn’t want a wife? how do you be a friend to someone who doesn’t want a friend?

it’s too big of a problem to solve in the span of time it takes for roger to finish his shower, so you slip into the bedroom and peel off your stockings and his tee-shirt. you put on a sweater, some jeans, and wipe the day-old makeup from your face with a wet-wipe. the movements are tried and true, and they calm your racing thoughts.

you have an entire year to figure out how to live with roger taylor. you don’t need to have it all figured out this morning.

the coffee pot dings, its job complete, just as you and roger both enter the kitchen.

but he hesitates before taking another step, and so do you.

his hair is wet from the shower. a white sweatshirt swallows his torso. part of the hem is tucked into his white-washed jeans, and you’re struck by the narrowness of his hips. the weariness is gone from his face, replaced with a youthful sort of glow and stubborn cheekiness. you aren’t sure how he’s managed it, but he looks well-rested.

you lift a hand to your cheek. you must look a state. it takes a lot longer for you to put yourself back together after a night out.

he stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head and crosses the kitchen to fill a travel mug with hot coffee. gnawing on your lower lip, you lean your hip bones against the kitchen island as he putters about the room, quiet as the grave.

it’s only your first day as husband and wife, and under such unique circumstances, you shouldn’t expect him to—what? make conversation? ask about you and your life?

“so… what do you think you’ll work on today? in the studio, i mean.”

he glances over his shoulder then shrugs. “not sure. probably something related to the rest of the tour.” bending at the waist, he pulls a drawer out from beneath the sink. his ass looks good in those jeans, but you doubt he’d like you staring, so you look away, mouth screwed to the side. “do you know where the sugar packets are?”

you frown and push away from the island, rounding it to stand beside him. “no?” he turns at the sound of your confused voice, and his head jolts backward to see you standing so close. “i don’t live here, remember?”

“well, you do now.” he swivels on his heel and pulls a small white jar across the counter. lifting the lid, he sighs. “i can’t find the sugar.”

“actually, about living here now...” you follow as he starts for the door, grabbing his keys from a small table in the foyer. “the bedroom situation? i figured we’d have separate bedrooms but last night—”

roger opens the front door and silences you with a hard stare. “the only other bedroom is my practice room.”

your shoulders slump. “oh.”

“i wasn’t going to make it a guest room if you’ll be gone in a year.”

“but where will i—”

“fuck it all, [y/n].” he curls his hand around the doorframe, hanging his head. a cold winter breeze sweeps through the hall, and you pull your jumper tight around your waist. “just sleep in my bed, okay? i don’t fuckin’ care.”

you swallow hard, nod. you’d been prepared for some measure of hostility, some measure of resentment. what you hadn’t been prepared for is the way his rebuffs settle like dead weight in your stomach. he alone can be blamed for this; it was his actions that drove management to force you upon him. yet, he seems to look at you with nothing more than dread and disgust. perhaps it is because you are the physical embodiment of his wrongdoing. his antics created you, and he is powerless to wipe you from his eyesight as he might a clump of dirt. you are a permanent stain—at least for the next year.

maybe you can’t begrudge him his disdainful attitude, then.

you come to when a car horn blares outside.

roger is gone, the door open, void of his claustrophobic presence. leaning around the frame, you catch sight of him and his blond hair as he reaches his car parked on the side of the road. spinning on your heel, you grab his sacked lunch from the fridge and race after him.

“roger!”

he looks up from his car door, and you can’t help but note the way his shoulders lift, tensing at the sight of you running barefoot down the sidewalk. the winter air quickens your steps, and you’re out of breath and huffing when you reach his side. white plumes escape your mouth and drift towards the gray sky.

“you forgot this,” you say, pushing the brown paper sack against his chest. you curl your toes against the frigid bricks beneath your feet.

his brow pinches. “what is it?”

“a lunch. you haven’t eaten yet.”

for the first time since meeting him, the ghost of a true smile lifts the corners of his mouth as he stares down at the sacked lunch. he lifts a hand, and you are surprised by its warmth when he covers your knuckles with his palm. his eyes flick upwards, meeting yours.

“thanks, [y/n].” he tilts his head to the side. “i’m sorry i’ve been a prick. this is all… really new for me.”

you slip your hand from his grasp, sure that your smile is somewhere between girlish and shy. a sharp wind whips through the stitching of your sweater, and you shiver.

“we’ll figure it out,” you say, and it’s a message to both him and yourself. you will figure this out.

“yeah.” he slides his key into the slot on the car door. “yeah, we will.”

“oh. rog, wait.” you stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder. when he twists at the waist, you wind your arms around his neck before he has time to react. you squeeze tight, your toes skimming the ground. he feels firm, stiff like a board. “hug me back,” you whisper against his ear. “there’s someone across the street taking photos.”

the sound he makes in your ear—a grumble, a low growl—sends your blood pumping into overdrive. he’s angry, but he dutifully embraces you as any newlywed husband might. his arms are strong around your lower back, and you melt into him.

god, he feels good. you can’t remember the last time you were held like this. he smells like the soap from his shower, and his sweatshirt is soft. his hair brushes against your cheek, and your eyelashes flutter in response. you should pull away; you’ve hugged him long enough to appear the besotted wife, desperate for her husband to stay home the day after their wedding. the paparazzi surely got what they wanted.

so, why is it so hard for you to let go?

you shake yourself free of the feeling, whether it be longing or desire or something else entirely.

sliding your hands across roger’s shoulders, you drop from your raised stance. you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and without hesitation. just in case.

“go on.” you hurry to step back, to allow him the space the leave. “you don’t want to keep the boys waiting any longer.”

roger’s eyes linger a moment more, his stare somewhere between searching and assessing. then he mumbles an oath beneath his breath, wrenches open his car door, and slips inside. the door slams behind him, and the engine roars to life. you retreat further at the sound, wrapping your arms around your stomach when the car tires squeal against gravel in his haste to get away.

some blissfully wed husband he makes.

biting the inside of your lip, you turn back to the house. the front door remains open wide, and it’s likely the heat has long since left the warmth of the halls. you pause long enough to lift the paper from the front stoop. what you see beneath the fold makes you hesitate all the longer.

there’s a photo of you and roger on the left side of the page beneath the headline, roger taylor marries model. the grainy, black and white image of your wedding day presents you, the smiling bride, and roger, the smiling husband, joined hand-in-hand beneath a heavy wooden cross. to the untrained eye, all is joy in the taylor household. the article describes the ceremony, though the details are patchy and entirely false, as intimate and “drenched with love.”

you scoff before you can stop yourself. clearly, the author of the article has encountered roger taylor under duress.

but it’s not the article which holds you frozen to the front stoop, your exposed toes and fingers sticking like icicles to the newspaper. rather, it’s the smear of red paint slashed over your picture. it’s the word slag scrawled over the article, an arrow pointed in the direction of the wedding photo.

still, in a one-on-one meeting you’d had with jim beach prior to the wedding, he’d warned you of something like this. though all four queen members are undeniably attractive, it is roger who makes the fans go gaga.

maybe it’s his boyish good looks contrasted with his raspy voice. maybe it’s the frenzy with which he plays, his easy charm and sunkissed skin. whatever it is—roger’s fans are a possessive lot.

jim had told you to prepared for a few nasty letters or scathing criticism in the papers. he had told you it wouldn’t last long, just until the initial shock of the marriage wore off, just until roger’s fans accepted the reality that they were not be his lawfully wedded wife.

so, truly, the first incident does not scare you. you just hadn’t realized the scrutiny would begin so soon. if anything, the painted paper makes you chuckle. roger’s fans certainly don’t like to waste time.

you toss the paper in the bin beside the stoop, and it’s forgotten before the day is over.

a week bleeds into a month, and you find yourself falling into some semblance of a life with roger.

you cohabitate for the most part. he does not outright rebuff your attempts at friendship, nor does he accept any olive branch you extend.

conversation is stilted, his contributions terse and monosyllabic. he prefers your home-cooked meals be eaten before the television, and not at the dinner table, where he would be forced to engage with you. he doesn’t even give in when you ask if there’s anything he’d like to rant about. he just shakes his head and bangs on his drums well into the evening, despite having banged on them the whole day at the studio.

yet he sleeps beside you, allows you to sleep beside him.

without fail, he appears more at ease come nightfall. he sheds whatever protective shell he wears throughout the day in favor of something softer, something more tender. you’re not sure what changes him when he walks over the threshold of the bedroom, but something does. perhaps it’s the soft lamplight or the hum of the fan he insists be kept on despite the chill of winter.

there’s a part of you that wonders if it might be your very presence that softens him, but you’ve taken to silencing that part as of late. he’s long-since proven that you hold no sway over him whatsoever, and that’s okay. your job is to be a buffer between his antics and the all-seeing eyes of the public. nothing more.

two months to the day after your wedding, you’re stood in the hallway, slipping on a pair of earrings, and brushing away roger’s hurried attempts to get you through the door. he has one hand on the doorknob, the other wrist tilted to expose his watch face.

“[y/n], please!”

“roger, the party doesn’t start until queen arrives. give me just a minute more.”

tonight, the savoy hotel, the first music industry party you’ll attend by roger’s side as his wife.

you’re nervous.

your hands shake as you press the earrings into your ears, and you rub your lips back and forth, feeling the slick lipstick rub over the flesh. you’re thankful the dress you chose is a gauzy sort of chiffon. if you sweat, no one will be able to tell, thanks to the pale blue of the fabric.

impatient as ever, roger drags himself from the door to stand behind you, as though prepared to throw you over his shoulder. however, a smirk pulls at your mouth when he pauses in his frustration long enough to primp and preen his hair in the mirror. you catch his eye, your fingers paused in snapping your clutch closed. he sees your smirk, and his own lips pull on a wry smile.

the moment hangs in the air, thick with—what? tension? no. something else. camaraderie comes to mind.

your eyes remain locked with his, and his grin spreads until he is shaking his head with amusement. he pushes your shoulder, but the touch is friendly, almost brotherly in nature.

“come on,” he says. “i don’t want to miss all the good wine.”

nodding, you start for the door, trailing behind him to flick the lights off. darkness engulfs the house, the only light the white glow of the moon spilling through the window above the kitchen sink and a night light plugged in along the hallway baseboard.

but then the phone rings.

roger stamps his foot against the floor, the door already half-open. “fuckin’ hell!”

“let me get it.” you’re halfway down the hall before he can stop you. “i’ll tell them to buzz off. hold on!”

“i’m going to get the car started,” he says. his voice echoes through the hall to meet you where the phone hangs in the kitchen. “you have two minutes, [y/n]. two minutes!”

lifting the phone from the receiver, you press it against your ear. “hello?”

at first, you hear nothing on the other end.

but you’re sure you heard the phone ring, so you lean closer to the receiver and plug your opposite ear in a piss poor attempt to hear better. “hello? this is [y/n] taylor speaking.”

the sound of heavy breathing—deep inhales, hard exhales—meets your ear. deep inhale, hard exhale. over and over and over.

your throat tightens, but you push past the lump. “hello? who’s there?”

a stuttering of breath on the inhale, a shaky exhale. a croak, voice poised to speak.

only you slam the phone back on the receiver before the person on the other end can say a word.

for a moment, you stand still, eyes glued to the phone, mouth parted in shock.

but then roger honks the car horn, and you shake yourself free of the unsettling feeling. a missed connection, you tell yourself. a wrong number. a mistake. that’s all it was—a mistake.

still, you are shaking when you slide into the passenger seat of roger’s car. he glances at you before pulling into the busy street.

“are you cold?” he asks. he turns the heat up, blasting the air against your face. “you’re shaking.”

“no,” you say, and, truly, you aren’t. he loaned you an ostentatious fur coat for the occasion, lined with a smooth brown fabric, and you are comfortably warm beneath the heavy material. “just nervous.”

roger snorts, his eyes sliding to you. “nervous? surely you’ve been to parties before. you’re a model, for god’s sake.”

“i’m not sure what kind of model you think i was, rog. i did mostly print, never runway. parties were never a part of my nine-to-five.”

“oh.” his mouth screws to the side. “i guess—well, to be honest, i kinda thought models all did the same kind of work.”

“most people do. that’s in the past now, though.” you shift, glance out the window, and watch the streetlights blur in a hazy streak of orange and yellow. he’s driving fast, and you grip the side of the door, willing your heart to stop racing.

the car slows to a stop beneath a red light. roger taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and the silence in the car is deafening.

you should strike up a conversation. he seems willing tonight, and maybe that’s due to the cramped nature of the car, but it’s an opportunity nonetheless.

only you can’t stop thinking about the phone call, about the heavy breathing and the unanswered questions. you shut your eyes and find yourself mirroring the caller’s breathing patterns.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

“so, you’re done with modeling?”

you open your eyes and turn to look at his profile. why he insists on wearing sunglasses in the dead of night you will never understand, but the sight alone makes you smirk. he knows he’s attractive; you have to give him credit for embracing it.

“that’s why i married you,” you say.

roger laughs—and you realize it’s probably the first time you’ve heard the sound. his laugh aligns with the light timbre of his voice, and the anxiety in your chest eases to hear him sound something other than malcontent.

“i knew you were a gold digger!” it’s a joke—you can tell by the quirk of his mouth and the lines around his eyes—but you rush to defend yourself all the same.

“no, i’m not!” you hesitate before shrugging with a rueful chuckle. “well… maybe a little. i won’t deny that the money i get from this arrangement really helps. i was looking for a way out of modeling, anyway.”

“really?” roger’s eyebrow arches, and, as the car turns into the savoy, the wrap-around drive clogged with limousines, sport cars, and photographers jostling for a good spot, you catch a glimpse of admiration on his face. “what do you want to do now?”

“i’m not sure. go back to school. i’ve got a head for maths, so maybe accounting or something.”

roger twists his head to meet your eyes, and his smile is earnest. it steals the breath from your lungs.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

“you don’t strike me as an accountant, dove.”

“why not?”

“accountants are stuffy, greasy men. you’re… you know…” he waves a hand, inches the car forward as the line moves. camera bulbs flash in the world outside, but within the car, all you can focus on is roger and his next words.

“i’m…?” you’re fishing, but this is the first time he’s given you more than the time of day, and you’re eager to get something, anything, out of your husband.

he shrugs, and his hands curl around the steering wheel. a muscle in his jaw ticks. “you’re too nice.”

you look away. “ah—nice.” not what you’d been expecting him to say.

he pulls the car to a stop along the hotel’s entrance, and a sharply dressed attendant opens the door. sliding out after roger, you instinctively reach for his hand. he spares you a short glance and squeezes your fingers together in a gesture of encouragement.

a black—not red—carpet lines the walkway from the drive to the open hotel doors. velvet ropes hold back the crowd of photographers, reporters, and fans lucky enough to have squeezed their way to such a prime viewing spot. camera flashes paint the inside of your eyelids with bright, white spots. despite the chill of winter, the air is hot, heady with glitz and glamor. it’s hard to distinguish any one voice over the plethora of people vying for attention, and your head swims in the chaos of it all.

roger moves easily from one side of the rope to another. he is in his element, grinning for the cameras and joking with reporters who grab him long enough for a quote. his moments with the press are short, few and far between. he much prefers the fans—their simpering smiles, tear-stained cheeks, and waving slips of paper begging for a signature. you don’t blame him. who could ever resist such unfettered adoration?

near the end of the carpet, a reporter snags roger’s attention with his waving arm. palm still clasped in roger’s, you trail behind your husband, hovering just behind his shoulder. the cool smile you perfected in your modeling days remains fixed on your face, even as the reporter acknowledges you with a tilt of his head.

“is this your wife, roger?”

the reporter has to shout to be heard over the sudden surge of excitement as a new celebrity takes their first step on the carpet. it’s kate bush, if you aren’t mistaken. you could be wrong, though. the reporter’s query pricks your ears, dividing your focus between the cacophony around you and the question at hand. thus far, you’ve remained nameless by roger’s side. no one—fan or press alike—has asked after you, and you’re happy for it.

roger turns to look at you, and his grin spreads. he goes so far as to slip his arm around your waist, tugging you against his side, keeping his gaze on your profile. a sudden rush of blood floods your cheeks, and you duck your head beneath his watchful eyes. yet you find your own smile widening. the action is not one you have to force or fake, though. it’s easy to smile when roger is smiling.

“yes, this is my bride,” roger says. “[y/n].”

the hand he’s placed on your waist squeezes the flesh of your hip, pushing you further against him. to keep from tripping over your own legs, you press a hand against his chest to steady yourself. you can feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers; his heart pulses to a steady rhythm. your own heart beats twice as fast.

the reporter checks something on his small pad of paper. “is it true that you used to be a model, [y/n]? there are rumors that this marriage is a publicity stunt.” he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder as someone bumps his back, pushing him against the velvet rope. once righted, he continues. “there are rumors that you were hired to get the press to stop talking negatively about the montreal incident.”

you open your mouth to speak, but roger jumps in before you can utter a single syllable.

“are you joking?” he tosses his head back in an easy laugh and pulls you even tighter against his side. you’re afraid if he draws you any nearer you will absorb into him completely. but with the way the lights dance off his eyelashes and his hair looks perfectly tousled and his body feels strong against yours, you aren’t sure that would be a bad thing.

“i’m crazy about my wife!” he says, and the words go straight to your heart like a wildfire. “you should get yourself one, mate.” he playfully slaps the reporter’s upper arm. “they’re great fun!”

the reporter arches an eyebrow. “it’s just that i know you’ve gone on record as not exactly believing in marriage and—”

“what do you want me to do? kiss ‘er? would that make you happy?” a shit-eating grin rises on his face, indignant and cocky all at once. he shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye; you bite your lip. “will that get you off my back?”

“that’s not really—”

“here.” he taps the wrist of a bystanding photographer then points to you, twisting his body so that you stand face to face. “put this in your bloody paper!”

grabbing either side of your face, roger dips his head to capture your lips with his. for a moment, you remain unsure. you hold fast to his wrists, your mouth unmoving. the blood in your veins stands frozen in shock, and your heart presses painfully against your ribcage. somewhere in the back of your mind, your conscious screams for you to react, to play along, but it’s not until roger slides one hand from your cheek to the small of your back that you register what part you must play.

thank god it’s not a difficult role.

with a tilt of your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold tight. he tastes faintly of cigarettes and the mints he uses to freshen his breath. his lips are soft, softer than you’d anticipated. you can hear the clicking of cameras, feel the blinding light of flashbulbs pierce your eyelids, sense the growing interest in your display of affection, but none of it penetrates the bubble—the bubble of you and roger, of his lips and your lips, of his arms holding you close, his very air becoming yours.

he pulls away entirely too soon, and his smile is all the more cheeky. you press your fingertips to your lips, lower your face, and draw in a sharp breath.

“there! that could enough for you?”

roger steers you away from the reporters and into the sanctuary of the hotel at last. a rush of cool air meets you and, though it is mid-winter, you sweat beneath roger’s fur coat. the gentle whoosh of air-conditioning is a blessing against your hot skin.

as you enter the ballroom transformed for the event, roger lowers his mouth to your ear. “sorry about that, poppet.” the low register of his voice and the feeling of his breath against the back of your neck sends a shiver down your spine. “i’ve dealt with that tosser before, and he really grinds my gears.”

“‘s fine, roger,” you manage to say through your tight throat. “it’s what i’m here for, yeah?”

he stops walking, and his hand moves from your back to your wrist. his eyes drift over your face, calculating, searching. you let him look. you aren’t sure what he’s looking for, but you get the feeling that he’s truly seeing you for the first time. even in the manufactured blue light of the room, even with the myriad of tables surrounded by producers and singers and agents alike, his face visibly softens and his hand curls around your wrist.

“roger! [y/n]! over here!”

three tables away, freddie waves his hand, beckoning you over. roger drags you along, his fingers intertwining with yours as you sidestep people already lounging at their seats. once at the table set aside for queen and guests, roger pulls out your chair, and you sit, smoothing your hands over your skirt. he sits beside you and leans to his side to whisper something to john. on your right sits chrissie may, and you offer her a smile in greeting.

the function—a charity benefit organized to bring awareness to the falklands disagreement—comes and goes without issue. the dinner is bland, but the wine is good. chrissie is pleasant, and it’s your first chance to speak to another band member’s wife since the wedding. you appreciate her advice, laugh at her stories, and enjoy yourself without restraint. it doesn’t hurt that as roger drinks more, he more pays attention to you. you really shouldn’t encourage him, but when he slings an arm around your chair and pulls you closer, when he turns his head to whisper a joke in your ear at brian’s expense, when he plays with a loose lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger, it’s all you can do not to melt like the ice-sculpture in the center of the room.

come the end of the event, you find yourself walking between chrissie and veronica, your steps slow as the boys stumble through the hall. roger and john cannot stop laughing, though no one has said anything remotely funny for the last few minutes. they cling to one another like koalas to trees, as though the other might drop to the ground if released. brian and freddie aren’t any better. they sing off-key, their voices bouncing off the empty walls and laminate floors. you aren’t sure what part of the hotel you’ve wound up in, but it’s certainly less plush than the ballroom. still, you smile when roger slides his sunglasses over his eyes and snorts at one of john’s inane comments.

your smile falters when the sound of veronica’s labored breathing, pregnant as she is, reaches your ears.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

in the flurry of the evening—amidst the kiss and the dinner and the joking and the drinking—you’d forgotten about the phone call.

chrissie reaches out to grab your arm when your steps stutter. “are you okay?” she asks.

you stop walking. if the boys get into trouble around the corner, you’ll surely hear it.

meeting chrissie’s wide eyes, you frown. you hate the put a damper on the evening’s chipper mood, but the memory of the phone call crashes to the surface, bringing with it anxiety and unease. roger doesn’t need to know, but perhaps the other wives experienced a similar phenomenon. perhaps it’s all in your head. either way, you’d like a second opinion.

“this is going to sound weird, but… have either of you ever gotten a strange phone call?”

“phone call?” veronica rubs a hand over her swollen stomach. “what do you mean?”

you explain the events prior to your departure earlier in the evening, and the concerned looks that settle on chrissie and veronica’s faces stir the uncertainty in your stomach.

“that doesn’t sound good, [y/n],” chrissie says.

you gnaw at your lower lip. “no, i suppose it doesn’t.”

“have you told rog?”

you shake your head. “i don’t want to trouble him. not if it’s just some practical joke. it very well could be our kid neighbor having a lark.”

another memory drifts to the surface: the newspaper, the red paint dripping across your photograph. slag, they’d written.

you’d forgotten about that too.

veronica pulls you back to the present with her even tone. “i think you should tell him. if someone is harassing you, even if it’s just the once, don’t you think he should know?”

“i guess but—”

“hey, party people!” john sticks his head around the corner, breaking the conversation with his over-loud voice. “guess what we found?”

“judging by your wet trousers, i’d say a pool.”

john trips down the hall to grab veronica’s arm. “have i ever told you that you’re brilliant?” he presses a noisy kiss to her cheek, and even veronica isn’t capable of remaining firm under such affection.

like a child who has found an interesting twig, john crooks his arm in a follow-me motion, tugging his wife toward the pool. “come on. come see!”

veronica follows john around the corner, but before you can follow, chrissie presses her palm to your shoulder.

“you should tell roger,” she says. “before it gets serious.”

you nod, promise her you will, then make your way to the indoor swimming pool, knowing full well roger won’t hear a word of the incident.

the savoy’s pool room is understated in comparison with the rest of the hotel. though the ceiling stretches high, skylights allowing moonlight to shimmer over the undisturbed water, the room is just as hot, just as stuffy, as any other hotel pool. you drop your coat and rog’s to a plastic lounge chair as soon as you enter, swamped as you are by the thick air.

all nerves, all worries about the phone call, fade away as you slip your shoes off and watch roger and john’s poor poolside rendition of abbott and costello’s “who’s on first” routine. roger can’t keep up with john no matter how hard he tries, but their combined effort is valiant.

laughing, you clap as they take their theatrical bows and only laugh harder when john trips over the edge of the pool mid-bow. he lands belly-first in the clear water, rising a sputtering, drenched mess, his hair and clothes sodden to the bone, though his eyes are bright with mischief. he swims to where veronica sits with her ankles in the water and, before she can sternly admonish him, has her pulled into the churning pool beside him.

brian is next in. he cannonballs in the deep end, and chrissie follows of her own volition. the impact of their jump launches a tidal wave of water in your direction, and you screech, nearly falling in your attempt to avoid getting wet.

but then a pair of arms wrap around your waist, lifting you from the cool, albeit slippery, floor.

“roger, no!” you twist in his tight hold. “no, roger, don’t!”

your voice echoes in the room, bouncing off the windows and walls; yet roger ignores your pleas for release. he shuffles to the edge of the pool at the behest and cheering of his friends, each treading water, watching as you struggle to break free.

the water beneath your feet rises and falls, sloshing this way and that. you can see the bottom of the pool from where roger holds you, and there’s a delicate, inlaid design of a turtle twelve feet down on the pool’s stone foundation.

you curl your nails in roger’s arm. “roger, i can’t—”

he tosses you in before you can finish the sentence.

you fall through the air with a scream, land on your back, and sink beneath the surface of the water. chemically-laced water fills your mouth, your nose, and your lungs scream for air.

for a moment, fear grips you, not unlike the way it gripped you in the hallway of your own home, the phone cradled against your ear. only this time, you know exactly what will happen if you don’t get help.

this is not a battle you can win yourself.

kicking to the top, you break through the water and cough, shaking your head. tears cloud your vision when you open your eyes, but the liquid that’s caught in your eyelashes disguises them, and for that you’re thankful. roger bobs beside you, a grin on his face, looking much too pleased with himself and his antics. without a second thought, you reach for him.

“roger, i can’t swim,” you say.

his face falls. “oh.” he blinks then, realization striking as you grab onto his shoulders. “fuck, [y/n]. i’m sorry.”

clinging to him, you wrap your arms around his chest, your legs around his waist. you rest your cheek against the back of his neck and sigh, inhaling deeply. “i tried to tell you,” you whisper.

beneath the water, his hand curls around the skin of your ankle. he squeezes, and it’s all the apology you need.

the band stays in the pool for entirely too long. freddie starts talking about the next album, and the other boys chime in, clamoring for their opinions to be heard over the others. despite their drunken state, music brings a sense of clarity to their speech and thought. it’s their life’s work and something about which they care deeply. there’s no denying that. even when brian tries his hand at a backwards flip and freddie challenges john to a diving contest, they are always thinking, always working, toward their next goal. you admire them for that.

roger remains steady where he stands. you cling to him like a barnacle, even though you just as easily could remove yourself and find a place where your feet touch solid ground. he feels nice, though. his body is a comfort against yours, and as the business talk continues, your head lolls to the side on his shoulder, a gentle smile on your lips.

you could get used to this.

at some point, veronica complains about her aching back and drags john from the pool. they are the first to leave, but brian and chrissie soon follow. you aren’t sure if you want to go, if you want the evening to end. if it means roger will go back to ignoring you, shoving you aside, you think you could stay in this pool until your skin wilted and dripped off your bones.

“we’d better go, love,” roger whispers.

you know he’s right.

“yeah.” you try to keep the disappointment from your voice.

he moves to the side of the pool, and you heave yourself over the edge. your dress is heavy, weighed down by the absorbed water. you wring out the skirt as best you can, but until you can give it a proper wash and dry, it’s really no use. gooseflesh breaks out on your arms where the cool air hits, and you shiver.

roger appears behind you, turns you gently with a hand to the shoulder, and lifts a fluffy white towel. “here. i found these.”

“oh!” you move to take the towel from his grasp. “thank you.”

“i’ve got it.” with a smile—a boyish, gentle sort of smile—roger unfurls the towel and wraps it around your shoulders. he tugs the corners beneath your chin and laughs through a short breath. “comfy?”

you nod, pressing your face against the warm fabric.

“you look like a marshmallow.”

lifting your mouth from behind the towel, you tilt your head with an impish grin. “you once told me i looked like an angel. so, which is it? angel or marshmallow?”

“oh, angel for sure.” he thumbs a finger over the end of your nose. “you always look like an angel.”

you roll your eyes and hope the action does not expose the sudden flutter in your chest. “you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re drunk.”

he shakes his head. “no. i mean it.”

he looks at you for a long time. you look at him for just as long. the unease cadence of your breath, the way his breath whistles through his nose, the lap of the pool against the tiled walls—it all sounds so loud to your ears, though nothing can compare to the beating of your heart. it fills your entire body: bump bump, bump bump, bump bump. your cheeks feel hot with blush, and you finally look away, casting your eyes to the floor. you wiggle your bare feet against the tiled floor; roger wiggles his toes back.

“we should go home,” you say.

“yeah.”

roger pays an attendant to ferry you home, and the drive leaves your entire body close to overheating.

the back seat of his car feels strangely intimate compared to the front seat, but that might just be your imagination. surely, roger didn’t sit so close to you on purpose. surely, his hand isn’t pressed against your leg because he wants it to be. his car is just… cramped.

“did you have fun tonight?” you break the silence, but when you do, your voice sounds strange—slightly strangled, nervous, earthy—and you wish you’d remained quiet. you continue toying with a loose thread on your coat, ignoring the way roger’s eyes traverse your profile.

“mhm. did you?”

you nod, but don’t look up.

from the driver’s seat, the attendant coughs, and your gaze shifts.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

chrissie’s words of earlier surface in your mind: you should tell him about the phone call. it’s only right.

twisting, you look to your right, meet roger’s eyes, and promptly lose all sense of direction. his face is so near, his mouth parted, eyes hooded, cheeks flushed. your throat runs dry, but you can’t look away.

“roger–”

“hmm?” his lips tighten, but his smile is just as sly as it had been the moment before he kissed you in front of the reporters. the touch still lingers on your mouth, but you will the memory away.

“there’s something i should—”

his fingers sift through a lock of your hair, and he moves his head almost in a nuzzling sort of gesture. you swallow hard. “i was wrong about you,” he whispers. when did his voice get so raspy?

“what?”

“i was wrong to judge you,” he says. his hand moves from your hair to the side of your neck, one long finger tracing the lines of your skin. “to be honest, i thought you were some cheap girl looking for a way into my bed, but i was wrong. you’re more than that.”

“what—” deep inhale. “what am i, then?”

his lips quirk upward. “my wife.”

hard exhale.

his mouth claims yours, and you don’t fight him. you melt against him, his chest pressed against yours in the narrow space of the car. you’re vaguely aware that a driver sits not two feet away, more than able to hear the way roger pulls a soft whimper from behind your lips and the rustle of clothes as you both scrabble for any exposed skin. but you don’t really care. you’re drunk off of roger, and have been since you met him. it’s his looks, yes, but tonight—tonight you saw him in his element. you heard him laugh and saw him smile and preened under his attention. you would go to hades and back to live in a world shaped just like tonight, every bit of it.

roger can’t keep his hands off you as you make your way from the sidewalk to the front stoop. his hands roam your body, skimming every inch, squeezing the parts he seems to like most. you giggle like young lovers experiencing one another for the first time, and maybe that’s because you are.

when you drop the front door key because you’re too focused on returning roger’s eager kiss, it doesn’t seem to matter. you just stand on the stoop and kiss beneath the light of the moon a little longer.

when you finally get the door open and his palm hits your ass at the same time, you squeal, and he dissolves into laughter.

when he fumbles with the hallway light because he’s too focused on getting your coat off, you tell him to forget it. you don’t need the light anyway.

halfway down the hall, limbs and lips tangled, the phone rings.

you laugh as you peel yourself from his grasp. he puckers his lower lip in protest.

“i’ll be just a minute,” you say, lifting the phone from the receiver. he sticks his tongue out, but then sheds his shirt, leaving it on the kitchen floor as he slips into the bedroom. you bite the edge of your thumb as you watch him go, your head as muddled as creamy soup.

someone clears their throat on the other end of the line.

“oh, sorry. hello?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

cold dread extinguishes any joy lingering in your chest at the sound of the sickeningly smooth voice.

your fingers curl tight around the phone. “who is this?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

angry tears spring to your eyes as you scoot to stare out the window over the sink. nothing but darkness meets your eyes, but still you try in vain to search for an answer in the inky blackness. “i said: who is this?” your voice cracks, but you push forward. “how did you get this number?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

“i swear i calling the fucking police if you keep this up!”

a beat of hesitation then: “what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

with a helpless groan, you slam the phone down for the second time in one day. your fingers creak as you let go and step back, chest heaving. your skin feels slimy—slimy with roger’s lingering touch, slimy with the possibility that someone had been watching you kiss your husband, slimy with the possibility that someone could be watching you now.

you don’t stop and admire roger, clad only in his boxers, as you make your way to the en suite bathroom. you can’t stand to look at him, to know that somewhere someone cares for him so much they would take to harassing you. god, it makes you want to vomit.

you don’t bother with the bathroom door so intent are you at getting in the shower and scrubbing your slimy skin raw. you struggle with the zipper at the top of your spine, the tears hovering over your eyes threatening to spill over if you can’t be rid of your soaked clothing. you stamp your foot with a grunt and drop your hands, hanging your head in defeat.

roger’s soft chuckle sounds from the doorway. you don’t turn to look at him.

your back stiffens when he undoes the zipper, the pads of his fingers pressing along your shoulder blades, your ribs, the small of your back.

“that eager, huh?” he presses a wet kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

you want him; you really do. there’s some part of you that wants to drag him into the shower and work out your fears with the aid of his body against yours. but you won’t do that. you won’t use him, not when he confessed he thinks you better than that.

you twist to face him, holding the dress against your chest. “rog, i…” you place your hand on his smooth chest, feel the small hairs peppering his collarbone. “you’re drunk,” you finally say. “you’re drunk and you should go to bed.”

he smirks and pushes his hips against yours. “so? you’re drunk too.”

you shake your head. “no, not anymore.” you push him away gently. “believe me, roger, i want nothing more than to go to bed with you but—”

he plays with a lock of hair beside your face, and your desire to resist him weakens. “but?”

“i won’t do it while you’re drunk. besides, you’ll be over this by morning. you’ll go back to not wanting me. so i won’t do it—not while you’re drunk.”

with a huff, he lets you go, but not without kissing you once more. a traitorous tear slides down your cheek, and your throat seizes with emotion. somewhere in the back of your clouded mind, you wonder if you love him. or, if at least you are on the edge of loving him.

but it doesn’t matter. you’ll be gone in a year, and he will move on to someone else, someone strong enough to withstand his rabid fans.

he pulls away first and kisses your temple. “goodnight, angel,” he whispers.

you wrap your arms around your stomach and, once stood beneath the hot water of the shower, let the sound of the creaking pipes drown out the sound of your crying.

roger is gone before you wake the next morning.

he leaves you a note on the kitchen island, scrawled in his plain script: “angel, i’m hungover now, not drunk. i’d still like you in my bed. – rog”

the note should send a thrill to your stomach, but it manifests itself in a ball of dread instead.

what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?

it’s heaven, but the price is hell.

you crumple the note and toss it in the bin, jumping when the phone rings. you hesitate, your gaze locked on the inanimate object that has come to haunt your dreams.

eventually, the phone stops ringing, but the shrill sound echoes in your head as you go about the day.

after the second phone call, tension becomes your constant companion. the days pass, and you withdraw into yourself, scared by the slightest sound, the never-ending line of cars outside the front window, and roger’s growing interest.

he seems to like you now that he knows you. he makes you laugh, asks you questions, even goes so far as to help you research university entrance exams.

but when he comes home from the studio, your stomach takes to twisting with apprehension as you wonder if your faceless friend watched him drive home and wonder further if your faceless friend can see roger kiss the side of your neck.

you try not to push him away. his attention is what you’ve wanted all along, and, though the romantic turn of events was certainly unplanned, he does make your knees weak and your head giddy like a schoolgirl’s.

still, the phone calls persist. it’s not every night and every day. you can’t trace the caller’s pattern because there is none. you never know who will be on the other end of the line. it could be roger calling during his lunch break as he is wont to do; it could be the university to which you’ve applied; or it could be them, the phantom who chills the blood in your veins.

there’s a pad of paper tucked beneath your side of the bed. the words of your faceless friend are scrawled across the page in frenzied handwriting, the handwriting of a madwoman.

what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?

did he buy you those earrings?

will he ask john to help you study for the maths entrance exam?

you should stop answering the phone; you know you should. but each time the phone rings, you respond like a pavlovian dog. you rush to answer, to frantically write down the day’s comment just in case there’s some sliver of information that might shed light on your faceless friend’s identity.

the caller is a woman; that much you know. her voice is deep and gravelly, but she’d referenced herself as the better woman for roger before. she seems to cling to the idea that you will leave him and the position of roger taylor’s wife will fall to her. if only to spite her, you will remain married to roger until your dying day.

you should tell roger too; you know you should.

but he’s happy.

when you first met him, he was sullen, dragging his tail between his legs like a scolded pup after the montreal debacle. it took a while, but you see him now for his true self. he’s carefree in a grounded sort of way, sold out for his music and the lifestyle it affords him. he’s gentle and kind and surprisingly considerate. he picks up the groceries when you ask it of him; he cleans the dishes from supper without complaint. he doesn’t pressure you for anything more than a make-out session on the couch when the lights are low and a record spins on the turntable. you would go further, but you can’t—not right now. he doesn’t ask any questions.

it would break you to tell him about the phone calls, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. each morning, you imagine his crestfallen face. you imagine the anger and the shouting and him calling the authorities and—

it’s easier for him—for everybody—if you just stay quiet.

besides, you’ll be gone in six months.

one evening, after dinner at an expensive restaurant, you let roger to take you to bed. he’d looked so pretty in the candlelight, and he’d listened to you talk about your hopes and dreams for the future. you think you fall in love with him when he drags you onto the bed and whispers sweet praises in your ear the whole night long.

when you wake the next morning, he is still there, and you snuggle into his chest. you breathe him in, and it’s bar soap from the shower and dried sweat and lingering cologne. his arms circle your back, squeezing you tighter.

“mornin’, angel,” he mumbles.

for a moment, you don’t respond. you keep your eyes closed and think back to yesterday.

there’d been no phone call. a blessed reprieve from three days in a row of randomly timed messages. roger had held you, and he holds you still. he is a comfort amidst your turbulent sea.

you should tell him. he can handle it. you’re tired of running from him.

rising to your palm, you meet roger’s gaze. he stares at you through his lashes, a sleepy smile on his mouth. he lifts a hand to cradle your face, and his thumb skims your cheekbone.

“how come you get a halo every morning and i don’t?”

you ignore his compliment before the bravery rushing through your veins dissipates. “rog, there’s something i haven’t told you.”

“yeah? is it about the freckle by your left ass-check?”

gasping, you slap roger’s chest. though he laughs, a red handprint remains in the center of his sternum, and he clutches his skin in pain. once settled, he apologizes and promises to behave.

deep inhale.

“about a month or two ago, i started—”

the phone on the bedside table cuts you off with its sharp bell-like ring.

your stomach plummets to your feet.

your eyes widen as roger holds up a finger and reaches for the earpiece.

he lifts it to his ear. “hello?”

some part of you hopes it’s your faceless friend. roger could deal with her himself. the other part of you prays it’s just a wrong number or john or—

“yes, fred, i know.”

hard exhale.

you slump to the side, leaning your weight against roger’s hip. thank heaven.

roger’s eyes slide to you, and he grins, winking. he squeezes the point of your chin between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes locked on yours as he nods and hums in response to freddie on the other end of the line.

“no, we won’t be late,” roger says. “yes, she’s coming. i promise i won’t forget.” he leans closer to the bedside table in his effort to end the conversation. “okay, fred. yes, i will.” finally, he heaves a sigh. “oh, for fuck’s sake, fuck off! i’m trying to woo my wife, so scram!”

“now,” he says, once the earpiece is on the base. “where were we?”

tugging on the back of your neck, he closes the distance between his mouth and yours. even with a hint of morning breath, you dissolve in his capable hands. he kisses you earnestly, and you struggle to remember what it was you wanted to tell him. he has this way with his mouth and his tongue and his hands that makes you forget everything but the feeling of him.

pulling back a moment later, he mumbles against your mouth: “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

you blink rapidly. “i—” damn, he looks so happy, glowing with youth and perhaps an inkling of love. you press your palm to his cheek then shake your head. “never mind. it can wait.”

he cocks his head to the side. “you sure?”

“mhm.”

“you remember the movie thing tonight, right?” he asks as he slides from the bed, drawing up his sweats from the floor and padding to the window. “that’s what fred called about.”

he throws the curtains open. the morning sun shines through, piercing every hidden corner, and your heart trips in your chest. your hands shake as you lift one of the bed sheets to cover your naked chest.

someone could be watching.

roger grimaces. “oh, shit, sorry, angel.” he tosses you his shirt from the floor, which you gratefully tug over your head. “anyway, tron, you know? we’re supposed to go to the premiere. something about flash gordon and—”

“i remember.”

“good. wear something nice because i don’t give a fuck about this movie, and i’d rather be looking at you anyway.” he smirks as he presses his palms against the mattress and leans in for another kiss.

you oblige him without hesitation.

“gotta go,” he says, pulling away only to firmly kiss you once more. “be ready by six, okay?”

you nod, and he leaves.

the majority of the day, you putter about the house. there’s chores to do—laundry and bills to catch up on and research for university admissions. it’s domestic work, mind-numbingly dull and repetitive. it leaves far too much space for your thoughts to run wild.

you admonish yourself for once more failing to tell roger of your faceless friend. you’d had the moment, and you’d blown it. with his unreliable schedule, there is no telling when you’ll have the chance to sit him down for a serious conversation again. you consider going to jim beach for help, but know once roger hears wind of it, he will fly off the handle because you didn’t come to him first. perhaps rightfully so, too.

you resolve that until you can find another peaceful moment, you will continue to suffer through it. it’s a step in the right direction, though. at least now, you have plans to tell him.

by five-forty-five, you are ready for the event. you sit in the living room, gnawing at your lower-lip as your leg bounces in anticipation. you haven’t gone anywhere with roger since the charity function earlier in the year. your faceless friend will surely be watching tonight, and already you feel sweat gather along your underarms.

roger unlocks the door and sticks his head into the living room upon his arrival. “car’s running. ready to go?”

you lift your handbag from the floor, nodding as you make your way to his side. roger stops you with a flat hand against your stomach. he bends to catch your eyes.

“you okay?”

“yes,” you say, but your voice sounds too rushed and eager even to your own ears.

he doesn’t hassle you for a more illuminative response. he just leads you to the car, opens your door, and makes his way to the theater, foot hard on the gas pedal.

as soon as you see the carpet—red this time—stretched along the sidewalk leading to the movie theater, bile rises in your throat. you reach for roger’s arm and squeeze tight. his head whips to the side.

“roger, i don’t think i can do this,” you breathe.

he frowns. “what do you mean?”

“it’s just that i’ve been—”

he pulls the car to the side. an usher opens the door, sound and light and chaos breaking the comforting quiet of the ride. your eyes flutter shut; you grit your teeth.

“[y/n], what is it?” roger’s voice is low, on the edge of irritation.

this is not the time. yet why do you feel like you’re going to pass out if you don’t—

“mr. taylor?” the usher prompts.

purging the emotions clawing at the front of your mind, you push roger’s shoulder and avoid his searching gaze. “nothing. go on! i’m right behind you.”

roger huffs as he slides from the car, but he dutifully offers his hand to aid you onto the red carpet. as he did before, he leads you toward the theater doors, stopping at the appropriate moments to pose for photographs. you hold on to the back of his jacket so tightly your knuckles crack. your eyes scan the crowd in search of your faceless friend. you will know her when you see her. she is a part of you now, like a demon on your shoulder.

roger rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture and leans to whisper in your ear. “you feel a stiff as a board,” he says. “what is it?”

you shake your head and nudge him further down the carpet. “we can talk about it later.”

“is it something i’ve—”

“no, roger. it’s not you.”

he studies your face a moment longer before nodding and returning his smile to the crowd.

near the entrance to the theater, a gaggle of girls wave their hands in an attempt to grab roger’s attention. he glances at you, and you nod, backing away to allow him one of the moments he so enjoys.

but one of the girls calls out your name. you lift your eyes to stop tracing the intricate weaving of the red carpet and stare at the girl in question until roger has to drag you over with a laugh. the girl shoves a newspaper in your face, your wedding announcement crinkled with affectionate wear-and-tear. she asks for your autograph, and you chuckle, feeling rather ridiculous as you scrawl your name across the page with a fat green marker.

it happens before you have time to react.

your head is bent as you sign the girl’s newspaper, your attention diverted from scanning the crowd for your faceless friend. but you feel her when she arrives, sense her eyes on your neck, and her fingers reaching for the sleeve of your dress. you have time enough to turn and catch sight of her long fingernails descending upon your cheek, but not time enough to stop her.

you scream more out of fear than pain as her nails scrape your face. truly, it does not hurt, though blood does begin to trickle down your chin and along the column of your throat.

it’s just that she’s there, before your very eyes, and she’s much smaller than you imagined. yet her eyes are dark with envy, and her nails are sharp. you recognize her labored breathing—deep inhale, sharp exhale—as she tries to move backwards and disappear within the crowd before she can be seen. you cannot look away from her, even when roger grabs your shoulders and wrenches you away from the iron gate. he’s shouting in your ear, cradling your uninjured cheek, but everything sounds like you’re underwater.

her face—round and childlike in its innocence—does not match the picture you’d created of her in your mind. she does not resemble the evil witch of your childhood fairy tales. she’s just a child, a little girl with a heart full of love for someone she cannot have.

your faceless friend is pointed out by the girl with the newspaper, and someone—maybe theater security, maybe queen security, maybe a good samaritan—drags her away.

roger grips your chin harder than he should considering the circumstances, but it brings your attention back to him. his eyes are ablaze with fury, and you suddenly feel the urge to cry.

“are you all right?” he demands. “are you hurt anywhere else?”

only my pride, you think.

“no,” you manage with a shake of your head. “no.”

“come on.” he slips his arm around your waist and pushes your head into the curve of his neck, away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. “we’re going home.”

the trip home is silent. your head moves back and forth across the passenger window, in time with the bumps and dips and curves of the road. there’s a fast-food napkin pressed against your cheek to stem the blood. you aren’t sure if it helps. roger keeps his hand firm on your thigh.

once inside the house, he forces you to sit in the middle of the bed as he scurries to retrieve the first aid kit. while he roots around in the bathroom, muttering to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for fast enough, you strip yourself of your dress and return his old t-shirt over your head. you lift the collar to your nose and inhale his scent. when you draw the collar away, crimson blood and fresh tears stain the fabric. you sigh.

“fuckin’ hell.” roger drops to sit in front of you, his legs skewed to the side. a white, plastic box sits in his lap, and when he opens it, the contexts spill onto the bed sheets. “i’ve had this thing for ages. i think brian got it for me when i moved in.”

his hand returns to your chin; only his touch is gentle now. he looks over your wound, frowning at the sight.

“this is gonna sting, angel,” he warns.

it does. the antiseptic hurts, and you wince, but he keeps you from drawing away, his grip on your chin firm. he unwraps a butterfly bandage and presses it over the shallow scratch on your face. then he shakes his head, his face drawn tight.

“what is it you weren’t telling me?”

“there is—was this girl… and she kept calling, saying things.” you twist and unearth the pad of paper from under the bed. rubbing your eye, you hand it to him and watch his face darken as he reads the words.

he looks up, and you can’t bear to see the anger—the anger directed at you—in his gaze. “why didn’t you tell me?”

your first instinct is to shrug, to obfuscate, but he deserves the truth.

“you never wanted a wife,” you say. “you certainly didn’t want a wife who brought a stalker into the house. i figured—” deep inhale. “i figured i could live with it until our year was up.”

“oh, baby.” roger presses his forehead to yours. he cups your untainted cheek. “fucking up in montreal was the best thing that ever happened to me. it brought you to me, didn’t it?”

“you’re just saying that ‘cause—”

“no.” he draws back and grabs both shoulders in his hands. “i mean it. i never was one for marriage. didn’t make sense. but i get it now. it’s about partnership, yeah, but it’s about more than that. it’s about trust, too.” he smiles softly, pressing his thumb against your lip. “it’s about affection.”

he goes quiet then removes his hands from your shoulders.

“i wish you would have trusted me.”

“i’m—”

“don’t apologize. this whole arrangement is weird, and i don’t blame you for keeping quiet. i just wish you would have told me so i could help you.”

you sigh, dropping your head. “what do you want, roger?”

he lifts your chin, and you are struck by the love so firmly etched in his eyes. it knocks the wind from your lungs, leaves you breathless.

“i want you to keep my last name,” he says.

“what?”

“you heard me: i want you keep my last name.”

tears flood your vision, but not for fear or worry or regret.

you begin to smile, but the skin of your cheek pulls tight, and you wince, touching your injury. “ow,” you mutter.

roger laughs and pulls your fingers away from the bandage. he kisses each knuckle then rubs the wedding band along your ring finger. “can we give each other another chance?” he asks. “can we forget all the assumptions and just be us? i think we started on the wrong foot and somewhere along the way we switched—”

“yes.”

he stops mid-sentence, his brows drawing together in confusion. “what?”

“i said yes. i’ll keep your last name. i want your last name, roger taylor.”

he grins, and the happiness in every line on his face outshines even the sun’s rays. “god, you’re perfect.” he kisses you hard, and you laugh as you drop against the pillows, pulling him with you. he stops attacking your neck with his lips long enough to prop himself up and stare down at you. “but don’t you ever pull something like that again! if someone starts nagging you, tell me first thing. promise?”

you nod, stunned by his firm tone.

“say it.”

“i promise.”

he smooths the hair on your forehead, and your stomach somersaults to watch him examine you so openly “good girl,” he mumbles before lowering his mouth to yours again.

you lose yourself in him. he loses himself in you. somewhere along the way, you find one another, and all is bliss.

in the morning, legs tangled in the sheets and steady rain pelting the window, roger adjusts his hold on your waist. he’s still asleep, his chest rising and falling in time with his gentle breath. you pull his arm tight around you and smile into your pillow.

your cheek is still sore, and you’re sure there’s some poor nun who remains scarred for life after witnessing roger’s montreal incident.

but this morning you cannot find it within yourself to feel bothered by your faceless friend, nor by the scarred nun. indeed, you think, you should write them each a thank you card, because in a funny sort of way, they brought you to your husband. in a funny sort of way, they gave you love of your life. and for that, you are indebted to them.

you twist at the sound of roger’s yawn. taking his face in your hands, you smile at him. “good morning, husband,” you whisper.

he grins back. “good morning, wife.”

now this—this you could get used to.

taglist (italicized handles wouldn’t work): @im-an-adult-ish @bluewillowmom @deakygurl @aprilaady @dancingdiscofloof @six-bloodyminutes

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #queen #queen fic #j writes

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maxwell--lord · 3 years

Text

Always Been You

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F!Reader

Rating: M

Words: 2182

Warnings: Sexual tension, language, some angst, fluff.

Summary: Maxwell Lord and you were dating for two years when you walked in on him in the office with an investor and you called it quits- now he’s reaching out to you, a year later, to give you some closure before you leave forever, but what he doesn’t expect is that you feel the same way about him as he still feels about you.

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever really written anything other than poetry and I hope this is received well. I’ve also never uploaded anything like this to tumblr before, so hopefully this works out correctly for me. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

Maxwell groans, gripping the bed sheet in his hand, he's been dreaming of you again- while laying next to another one night stand. He grips the sheet harder before letting out a breathy moan of your name, before he sits straight up in bed and glances at the time. 3:02 am, he's drenched in sweat and the cool air on his skin sends chills down his spine, he sighs and whips the blanket off of him before climbing out of bed. He grabs his phone, tapping the screen to scroll his contact list, selects your name and chooses to send you a text. "Y/N, can we talk? It's been a while- I know. I fucked up- and I wanted to clear the air, before you leave New York forever. I know the timing is bad, I'm sorry. Please give me a call later", he presses send and places his hand to his forehead, squeezing gently and pulling his hand down his face. He looks back at the woman, who is peacefully sleeping, and he thinks that sending you that message might have been a mistake. His eyes widen as he feels his phone buzz in his hand and he thinks "there's no way that she's calling me now, she shouldn't even be awake". He quickly looks down at the phone to see your name across his screen and he scrambles to get out of his bedroom quickly, shutting the door behind him, he swipes his finger across the phone and slowly raises it to his ear "Hello? Maxwell???" you softly speak and his voice trembles "H-hey Y/N" , "Why did you text me? Why do you want to talk? The last time we spoke you couldn't even give me an explanation for what I saw in your office. You literally broke my heart, Max." you say, with pain in your voice and he can sense it, the hurt, still as fresh as it was, a year ago. He sighs "Y/N, I fucked up. I was only worried about how I could keep the business running. I wasn't worried about the one thing that mattered most to me", you cut him off "Oh, and now, suddenly, a year later you want to talk to me about it? Now that I am going to leave to get away from seeing you in everything I look at? Maxwell, please spare me the bullshit" anger now penetrating your voice "Y/N, listen please. What you saw wasn't me- I mean it was me, but it wasn't me. Alice was our biggest investor and I didn't think she was a threat to our relationship, not until that day... Not until she pulled me into her.. I know what it looked like and I know I should have heeded your warnings and your feelings before, but I promise you- I never wanted anything to do with her" he sputtered with anguish in his voice. You softly spoke "Max, a-are you t-telling me that she propositioned you and..." you trail off, your breath hitching as you gasp for air, your throat swelling and your eyes filling with tears. Maxwell can tell you're beginning to cry and he inhales sharply "Y/N, please don't cry. It would be easier to talk to you in person, I know its now.." he looks over at the clock "3:30 am, but if you want to meet for breakfast at the Radio?", your lip trembles and tears stream down your cheeks.. a year has gone by and you're just finding out the truth, learning that what happened wasn't his idea and he wasn't comfortable with the situation and your breath trembles as you speak "M-max, I don't think I can wait- is there any chance we can meet now? You can come to my place" you ask. Max looks over his shoulder at the woman sleeping in his bed and he thinks for a second "Yes, I would like that more than waiting. Let me get dressed and I'll drive over" he says and you can feel a smile crack at the sides of your mouth "Okay Max, I'll unlock the door for you. I'll see you soon." you sigh and you hang up the phone.

Maxwell walks over to the bed, sighing and looking at the clock, it blinks 3:45 am and he gently nudges the woman until she wakes and softly says "I will have an uber here for you in 15, you need to go, please. I'm sorry I brought you here, it was a mistake" and she looks up at him in the glow of the light from the city "It's alright, Maxwell, I was going to sneak out while you were on the phone, but you were pacing around the room and I didn't want to startle you or make a ruckus, it seemed like you are trying to fix a relationship that meant everything to you, and I truly hope that she is everything you’ve ever wanted" she said, without any regrets or anger in her voice. He walks to his bathroom, flicks on the shower and removes his boxers, slipping into the shower, as his guest shows herself out. Meanwhile, you're scrambling around your apartment, tidying up, you didn't want him to see your vulnerability and the sadness still lingering in your apartment. You set the Keurig up to brew some coffee and place a cup on the machine and press the button, nervously pacing your kitchen as you wait for the brew to finish so that you could make a second cup for Maxwell.

You look over at the clock and it says 4:25 am and you startle a bit as you hear the handle on your front door grind as Maxwell opens it and enters your apartment. You hear his footsteps louder than you've ever noticed before as he walks in and closes your door, turning around and walking towards you in the kitchen. He looks so perfect, so composed and you have your hair up in a messy ponytail, a loose shirt, tired bags under your eyes and you keep staring at him as he crosses the floor to you. "H-hey M-maxwell, you look amazing" you stutter out, holding up his cup of coffee towards him as he approaches, and you sip yours as he gently takes the cup out of your hand and leans against the counter across from you, smiling before saying "You look as beautiful as ever, Y/N, I've missed you so much, it hurts every single day", you blush and shift on your feet, while looking at him "So, what are we doing, Maxwell?" you avert your eyes so he can't see your tears welling up. Maxwell sets his cup down on the counter, gently, with a clink and steps towards you, slowly lifting your chin to look him in the eyes. Your eyes meet his soft brown eyes as they gaze into yours and you tremble, he takes your cup and places it on the counter next to you.

"Y/N, I know you've taken the job in DC and that you'll be leaving in a few days, but I couldn't let you go without telling you what happened- giving you that closure and asking for you to not hate me anymore" he swallows sharply and his lips pull back in when he does "I'm not here to ask you to stay, or to stop you from going, I just want to give you the closure that I've heard you have been wanting." he says as he's looking down into your gaze. Your eyes well up with tears and you place your hand on his wrist to pull his hand from your chin, sighing, "Max, I took that job because I was being haunted by seeing you everywhere, in everything I did. It's been a year and I am still so deeply in love with you, that hearing about your escapades just keep destroying me and I need to get away. I didn't even want this job with the agency, I don't want to work for them. I want to go back to my normal office job, with you. But every time I did something and started feeling happy again- someone came around and rubbed you in my face" you say breath hitching and tears rolling down your face "asking why I ever let you go and shit I just don't want to go back into". He lifts his other hand and gently wipes the tears from your cheeks with a sigh, looking away, you can see the pain in his eyes.

"I told you I made a mistake and I threw away everything we had, to try to advance our companies investments. When you left me that day, my heart broke into a thousand pieces and I went looking for anything to fill that void... the loss of you, I turned to meaningless sex, I've slept with 6 women since then... I've not called any of them again, and I felt sick after each one, always dreaming of you- waking up in a sweat, gripping my bed sheets. Standing here in front of you, is the happiest I've been since you left. Y/N, I am still in love with you. You're all I've ever wanted." he chuckles lightly and cups your cheeks with his hands "remember that song by Blink-182? "All of This".. the one I sent you 6 months back?" he smirks a bit and you nod your head and speak softly “yes, the one that I responded to telling you to not contact me...but contact is all I wanted from you”, still anxiously shaking in his hands "Again, I wait for this to pull apart, to break my time in two, another night with her, but I'm always wanting you" he says- "It's always been you, I want to ask you to give me a second chance but I also don't want to take away from you, this opportunity to work with the agency, even if you say you don't want this, it’s all you’ve dreamed of for years, Y/N." and you bite your lower lip gently, looking away from his eyes and fidgeting your fingers into each other, you inhale sharply "Max, kiss me. Kiss me like you're never going to see me again- please" Maxwell smiles "I thought you'd never ask" and he leans down and places his lips against yours, his warm but familiar lips send a shiver down your spine as you wrap your arms over his shoulders and place one of your hands in his hair, his hand still on your cheek, his other hand drops to the small of your back and pulls you in close against him and he kisses you with the passion he had the very last time you kissed him. Your hand plays with his hair and he gently pulls away from the kiss, looking at you, holding you against him. Your breath hitching and your heart rate is higher than usual, you lick your lips, longing to still feel his lips against yours.

"Max, I.. I don't want to go to DC and be away from you, I want to be with you, be by your side" you blink several times and your shaky voice begins to calm "You won't be taking this opportunity away from me. I had the option of staying here and working or going to DC. If you will have me again, I'll request that I stay here for this job, I'll just need to turn a room into an office here". Maxwell's eyes light up at you asking if he'd have you "Y/N, I'll always have you, I love you more than words can express." He glances around your apartment before looking back into your eyes "You don't need to make an office here, you can have a private office, next to mine, in our building". You look at him, smiling and your thoughts racing with how much you've missed him and how right this feels to you. "Max, I love you. I would love to have an office next to you" your breath hitches a little "I will call the agency when the main office opens at 8:00 am, and change my assignment to here, instead of DC." as you run your fingers through the hair at the back of his head still, "I won't leave you again, Max. I don't think either of our hearts could handle it". He chuckles gently and then moves both of his hands down to your butt, lifting you up to sit you on the counter in front of him. " 'll never make another mistake where I could lose you, ever. I promise you, Y/N, I love you- more than any words can express", looking into your eyes, that are now level with his. You pull his lips into yours and kiss him deeply as the sun rises and fills your apartment with orange and yellow hues against both of your flesh, and the sunlight glinting off of the glass buildings surrounding your Skytop apartment.

Tag list:

@starlightmornings

#maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord fanfic #maxwell lord fluff #maxwell lord angst #maxwell lord x y/n #max lord x reader #max lord fluff #max lord angst #max lord fanfic

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nanasarea · 4 years

Text

Na Jaemin as your idol bf

Genre: fluff

Pairing: jaemin x idol!reader

Prompt: na jaemin being the best bf

Request: Hey! I love your idol!nct series it’s so cute! I was wondering if you can if you could write one for jaemin? the dreamies are really killing it right now

Word count: 1180 (i might have gotten carried away haha)

a/n: next idol bf is chenle so watch out for that in the next few days also me and proofreading still haven’t met.

Haechan / Yuta / Mark / Jeno / Chenle / Renjun / Jisung / Jaehyun

you were childhood friends with Haechan

so when both of you got into the kpop industry

neither of you were surprised

he did debut before you

and he kept teasing you for it

insisted you call him your senior

so because you two were friends,

you spent a lot of time together

even in your trainee days,

you would have practice and then go to get boba after

sometimes that meant more than just you and hyuck

sometimes that meant his attractive friends would join

who you may or may not have a crush on

but that’s not the point right now

jaemin is naturally flirty

may i remind you that he doesn’t even know if he’s flirting?

like he did with the nurse back in his predebut days?

yeah, that

he does that with you

and you try not to blush

but who are you kiddin

you’re cheeks are as hot as the sun

hyuck, being one of your best friends, catches on

and he insists on bringing jaemin everywhere

and i mean everywhere

you plan on going to an internet cafe?

jaemin is there

you get a call from haechan to play a game?

jaemin is there

you go for after-practice ice cream?

shocker!

jaemin is there

he’s a smart boy

he realizes why you’re so flustered around him

so it’s not long until he makes a move

you end up going on a date

walking beside han river

eating ice cream

and getting to know each other

you knew a lot before

but not it was a different way of getting to know each other

because you and hyuck have been friends before debut,

people knew that seeing you together meant nothing

just two bros chilling

so when they saw you and jaemin,

they thought nothing of it

they’ve seen you, hyuck, jaemin and other members hang out loads

so they figured you were hanging out without them this time

which was perfect for jaemin

he did not like the idea of being secretive

he loves his fans,

he doesn’t want to hide things from them

and sneaking around was just way too much work

sure, you couldn’t kiss in public yet

which made him whine A LOT

but it was better than nothing

once you got serious

the agency/agencies decided to confirm it

was anyone actually shocked?

does that mean everyone was supportive?

but he didn’t care,

he knew real fans wouldn’t be mad at him

they’d be happy for him

(yes this is me being salty abt ppl unstaning and being mean to jaemin bc of the dating rumors, which ended up being fake anyway)

so let’s say your album just came out recently

he goes to the store

and buys 48 albums himself

does he need them?

YES HE NEEDS ALL THE Y/N CONTENT POSSIBLE

sure, jisung gets lowkey mad that now he has less space in the room for his stuff

but jaemin doesn’t care

he needs to support his baby ???

VARIETY SHOWS

he did not care about the cameras

he want to hug you?

he hugs you

he wants to hold your hand?

he will hold your hand

and if he wasn’t allowed for some reason?

he’d hold your hands behind your backs

same for award shows

whenever your seats are close,

he’s not with his members

he’s with you

loves when your schedules overlap

you’re both at music core?

you bet he’s glued onto you

whenever he can

3 seconds after getting his hair done,

he runs to you

“jaemin, if i’m gonna have to redo that, i will slap you” - stylist

like he cares tho

if he wants to hug his baby, he’s hugging his baby

photographer na

his ig is filled with the best photos of you

and your ig?

half of the posts have

📷 by Photographer Na

because he wants his credit

if not, he nags

have i mentioned he will sulk to you about jisung not accepting his affection?

rants for 3 hours

“-what does that even mean? I basically raised him, I should be his favorite hyung, not chenle! he doesn’t even call chenle hyung! I’m his hyung, the one who cooks for him, cleans up after him, do-”

after that, you need to cuddle him for an additional 3 hours

other than jisung being “an ungrateful brat” (jm’s words)

he doesn’t really complain about much

he does however listen to your complaining

with the biggest smile on his face

is literally so comforting

you know how people have their own love languages?

he uses all of them for you

words of affirmation?

he will literally compliment you for breathing

gifts?

unexpected gifts,

sometimes he buys you a necklace you wanted

sometimes he makes you a cute origami love note

acts of service?

cooks for you whenever

you say you’re hungry and he’s already cooking a 5 course meal

quality time?

takes you to walk along the han river

and just talk

he likes it because it reminds him of your first date

and physical touch?

do i even need to explain?

you end up going on a variety show

where you interact with kids

and jaemin is just like O.o

he’s the mom friend

so when he sees that

he knows he wants a baby

not now of course

but he’s already planning the names

let’s just say that

speaking of babies

jeno and jaemin parent duo?

nah now it’s y/n and jaemin parent duo

sorry jeno, he still loves you but like y/n

and you best bet you lose your mind in the middle of it all

jisung and renjun are screaming because of aliens

jeno is screaming out of frustration of being assigned with washing dishes again

haechan is screaming because he isn’t getting attention

then jeno and haechan are screaming because one of them is a sore loser and the other is a confident winner

chenle is just screaming

jaemin is internally screaming

and so are you

you end up leaving them to continue doing....

that

while you two try and calm down in another room

interpret that as you will

c o l l a b

s t a g e

the stage presence is boom

*lucas voice*

y/n boom

jaemin boom

together

BOOM

we got that boom boom boom boom

you end up being korea’s it couple

i said what i said

convinces you to start acting

so you can star in a drama together

each other’s love interest tho

nothing else is acceptable

because even tho he knows it’s just acting

your lips are just for him

and it shall stay that way

mkay

he doesn’t get jealous that easily when he sees you interact with other idols

but let’s just say this

you touched someone’s arm when you were an mc

and he went feral

“my precious y/n, your hands belong on my body, and my body only, no one else, got that?”

you didn’t know if you should be turned on

or laugh

maybe both?

to sum it up: jaemin best boy(friend)

Someone call an ambulance, my heart isn’t my heart anymore, it’s jaemin’s part-time apartment, why part-time? because when he isn’t living in my heart, he’s living in my brain.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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theodora3022 · 4 years

Note

Since you wrote about Yandere Villians with Y/N having a cute fairy quirk, how about a Yandere Hero having a Y/N with a monstrous quirk? SO...you pick the hero! Pick any male hero who you believe can handle Y/N. You do such amazing writing.

Y/N have to wear a face mask to hide the muzzle she wears going outside. Y/N have a quirk where she goes on a frenzy. Her eyes turn red, her veins pop out of her skin, she starts growling and trying to bite anyone near by. A monster who craves to rip flesh and bones. Y/N can turn on her quirk if she feels so much anger or fear. Y/N doesn't want to hurt anyone. She wants to live a quiet and alone life.

Wolf

Pairing: Best Jeanist x f!reader

Warnings: light yandere content, power abuse, threats

Thank you so much for the compliment, dear anon! I went soft with the monster idea that I just made the reader into a werewolf...hope it is still good! I was torn between Kiri and Best Jeanist! I really like Best Jeanist, I wish he got some more screen time ... Maybe I’ll do another one for the shark boy later.

Some groundwork:

When your quirk manifested at four years old, you were not surprised: you come from a family of Mutant quirks, after all.

Your quirk, wolf, means you can transform into a wolf anytime. The longevity is unknown to you since you barely use it. Even in your normal human form, you still have wolf ears and tail. You also have a sensitive nose, just like canines. You (hair color) fluffy fur is the same color as your hair. In acient times, before quirks become a thing, you would be seen as a werewolf.

While transformed, it is hard to supress the wolf’s wild instincts, the desire to hunt, to kill and consume raw meat (extremely difficult if you are hungry). You hate it, being like a beast instead of human. You had outbursts in the past that nearly killed one of your friends. There fore you stay in human at all times.

So most of the time, you just kept a muzzle near you, just in case you would lose yourself to the beast again.

You always feel this...strange sense of difference between you and normal people, so all of your friends have mutant quirks. You kept your social circle small, only letting those who are deemed trustworthy close to you (you told them to run if they see any signs of you getting wild)

You always had a soft spot for animals, therefore you decided to work in a pet shop. Dogs especially loves you, maybe because your canine quirk. Cats not so much, as they had left quite a few marks on you when you just started.

Now you are the assistant manager, the salary is decent, so you do not look for anything more. You never thought of having a romantic relationship because you do not trust yourself: you do not want to hurt the person you love. So even if you had crushes you just kept those feelings hidden until they went away.

Best Jeanist/Tsunagu Hakamada

Did you know his favorite animal is wolf? Therefore he is a furry

Being the No.4 pro hero means taking on lots of stress, so Tsunagu decides to have an animal friend at home who he can talk to freely, without worrying leaking information (I mean how can animals pass on information).

He went into the nearest pet shop, hoping to find a furry companion, preferably dogs.

What he did not expect is to find you there, with those literal puppy eyes and fluffy ears sticking out of your hair, tending to the puppies.

Tsunagu met people with similar quirks before, and he finds them aesthetically pleasing. But seeing you with a litter of adorable puppies, laughing and petting them? He felt like his heart just melted.

“Hello sir. How may I help you today?” You put on your usual smile. Tsunagu is wearing his civilian clothes, so he is just another customer to you. A fashionable one, though. You took notice at his stylish blonde hair.

Tsunagu would ask you about all the options for adopting a puppy. However he is only half-listening: he is drawn to how your ears twitch towards any abnormal sounds...

“Oh, my ears? Sorry if they are distracting. It’s part of my quirk.”

Would get you to talk to him as much as possible, with lots of polite questions.

When you bid him good day as he walks out the door, holding a poodle puppy with its supplies, Tsunagu is determined to see you more.

You are warm, like a ray of sunlight in this stormy world. Having worked as a pro hero for so long, dealing with many negative things so often, make him attracted to positive people. Those furry wolf ears and tail only added to his admiration.

Whenever Best Jeanist is not needed at his agency, Tsunagu Hakamada would find excuses to drop by your shop. Whether it be buying new accessories for his puppy or simply need some advice on her, he would find a way to talk to you, to hear your voice.

Until he become acquainted with you enough, Tsunagu finally asked for you name.

“I’m (y/n), and you, sir?” “Tsunagu. Tusnagu Hakamada.”

Never have once you associated your friendly customer with the No.4 Pro hero of Japan. Tsunagu is charismatic and talkative (at least to you), never putting on airs like Endeavor. Since he wears a mask, the public does not have a good idea what he looks like.

Then you noticed those small gestures, how Tsunagu’s hands would “unintentionally” brush against yours when you hand over his paid items, how his body would lean in slightly towards you whenever you are talking. Or how his lips would curl upwards whenever your tails wags with excitement. You also seen him way more frequently compare to average customers.

“He got a crush on you.” One of you co workers, teases after Tsunagu left the store.

“No he doesn’t.” You blush, although considering her hypothesis.

You seen some of his clothes in fashion magazines, one of them costs more then your monthly salary. Tsunagu is clearly a rich man, a fashion designer perhaps.

“Ms.(y/n), sorry if this sounds intrusive, but do you have a lover?”

That was...unexpected. “No, I do not. Why did you ask, Mr. Hakamata?”

That saves him trouble. Best Jeanist has got this flawless reputation for years, he prefers not to taint it. But if he must, Tsunagu would not hesitate. You belong with him, and him only. “Well, it’s possible such a beautiful lady like you already has a significant other.”

“Mr. Hakamata...I-” You were not sure to blush or to smile. Now it is clear to you: This blonde is interested in you. However you do not know what to respond.

“Call me Tsunagu, please.”

The next day you would find a lily bouquet wrapped in denim on the store counter?! Who use that as a bouquet wrapper? Flatter as you are, you still find this unsettling. He did not show up for the rest of the day, which gives you time to think.

Tsunagu is handsome and kind. He seems like a perfect choice, but you wonder what he would say if he saw you as a bloodthirsty wolf, feral and hungry for killing.

You decide to turn him down, not wanting to give him false hope.

Some minor villain is causing trouble in the streets when you were walking home. You were just going to sprint away at first, but in the corner of your eye you saw a mother with her toddler daughter being corner by the villain. The way the mother tries to protect her child triggered something in you. You have to do something!

“Grr!!!” Suddenly a piece of flesh is ripped off the villain’s leg. The villain screams in pain, but you dodged every last one of his attacks while leaving deep bite marks on him. Soon the sidewalk is stained crimson with blood. You know the two had already gotten away, you should stop now. But the wolf instincts got the better of you. You crave blood, lots of it. The growing pool under you is not enough.

You heard police sirens, someone yelling for you to stop, but the wolf is not willing to. It seems it would not be satiated unless this villain dies a brutal death.

Streams of fibers wrapped around you, restraining you until you cannot move anymore.

When you regained consciousness, you were in a clean jail cell, still in your wolf form. You assumed that you are being confined in a hero agency since you just lost control.

The door cracked. It is Tsunagu! What is he doing here? And why is he wearing a jean mask?

Then you saw the rest of his outfit. Demin jeans suit from head to toe, the...the No.4?

He is Best Jeanist? What is happening now?

Tsunagu wanted to take things slow, he wanted to date you normally, letting you know everything about him, but this seems like too good of an oppertunity to pass up.

“(y/n), can you understand me?” He crouches down with a concerned look on his face.

You nod. You are not able to speak human languages while in wolf form, another draw back.

“Do your clothes come back when you transform? Or do you need some clothes?”

You left your clothes behind a dumpster before, so you just shook your head. If you were to transform now, it could be quite embarrassing.

Handing you a denim dress, Best Jeanist leaves to give you some privacy to change.

After you are dressed and back in human form, he took you to his office.

“I know you must have lots of question right now, but please allow me to explain somethings first.”

“The villain is in bad shape. You did quite a bit damage on him. His blood loss is immense; he is still in the ICU as we speak.”

Why don’t you just let him die, he’s a threat to society anyway. You ask yourself, silently.

“However, while he is a villain, you still hurt him too much. And it’s not even self-defence. You are not a hero, it’s illegal.”

You tense up. Would you face charges for this? For trying to protect other people.

“Would I go to Tartarus? For how long?”

“Oh, come now. As long as I have any say , I won’t allow that to happen.” Your eyes lit up, wanting to thank him.

“You can be my wife instead. Stay with me, and no charges would be pressed.”

What?

You know he likes you, but just asking to become his wife like that? Without dating first.

“Tsunagu, I... you...this...” He finds your stutters cute, as he traces his fingers along the edge of your wolf ears. Best Jeanist had been wanting to do that for so long, he worked so hard to restrain himself.

“Your choice. Either face court charges, or you can be with me, all is well.”

Tsunagu Hakamada is confident about his chances. An innocent, adorable civilian like you will not last long even in the most outer cells of Tartarus.

Tears slides down your chin as you give a reclutant reply. “I’ll...be with you.”

Who could have thought Tsunagu would do such a thing? He is always so nice and friendly. But now here he is, threatening you with this crime?

“Perfect.” Snapping a denim collar around your neck, he lifts your chin, forcing you to look up to him. “I can’t wait to get you home; you would be such a lovely little wolf. My little wolf.”

“Should you ever try to leave me, I’m sure Tartarus is always avaliable.”

#yandere bnha #bnha #bhna best jeanist #yandere best jeanist #bnha reader insert #best jeanist

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shinsorokiri · 4 years

Note

Can we have a headcannons of shinso,hawks, aizawa, and dabi finds out their female s/o (s/o has a really powerful quirk) was badly injured by an unknown villain and s/o were not going to able use her quirk anymore. By the time their s/o wake up, s/o Actually lost all of her Memories, please?

Shinsou, Hawks, Aizawa, and Dabi HCs

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of stab wounds, sad bois

A/N: This was a trip to write! This was the first time I ever wrote for anyone other than Shinsou, so I hope I did okay! I changed it a little so the reader lost all/most of her memories in regards to her s/o because I didn’t want to go so far back as to take away absolutely everything including her memories on how to walk, talk, etc. because could you imagine how genuinely traumatic that would be? I would have no idea how to properly write about that. Also, the villain is similar to Ty Lee from Avatar: The Last Airbender. They’re able to block someone’s chi flow, and in doing so are able to take away a quirk and people’s memories. I hope this is to your liking, and thank you so much for requesting!!

shinsou hitoshi | mindjack

After graduating UA the two of you immediately became underground heroes

And of course who better to train under than Aizawa

But in all seriousness

You two were a force to be reckoned with

The mix of your insanely powerful quirk and his with his top notch physical combat skills really came in handy for catching and apprehending criminals

The only problem was that you two constantly tried to save each other

If anything went wrong

One of you guaranteed would sacrifice yourselves to save each other

And so far it hadn’t been anything too bad

A few broken bones

A couple of scars

Lots of reprimanding on both ends

But today was different

You and Shinsou were fighting a new villain

And his hand to hand combat rivaled Shinsou’s

And while they were fighting

You saw him about to strike Shinsou on the back of his neck

You being you

Jumped in the way

Instead getting whatever punch that villain was about to throw

You thought that was it

Until you felt the villain hit you a few more times

And you fell down on the ground

But hey that’s nothing

You can still defend yourself with your quirk

Obviously

But wait

Why isn’t your quirk working?

What is going on?

You keep trying to activate your quirk but literally nothing is happening

Which is not good

Especially considering the villain has his attention focused all on you now

“Hitoshi! He-”

You can’t even finish your sentence before the villain is hurting you

And they’re hurting you bad

Hitoshi catches him in his binding cloth as fast as he can

But not before the villain knocks you unconscious

The craziest thing Hitoshi noticed was that the villain knocked you unconscious with just one hit to the back of the neck

The one he tried to use on him earlier

Weird

Hitoshi keeps him trapped in his binding cloth

And is high-key glaring at this dude

“What did you do to her?!”

The villain just laughs

No response

And Hitoshi can’t help it

His anger overtook him

And next thing he knew

The bad guy was also unconscious on the ground

Oops

He runs over to you

Saying your name to see if your responsive

Which you aren’t

Which scares him

He notifies the hero agencies in the area about the villain

And waits until some of them show up before hurrying you to the hospital

Luckily you have a pulse

You’re just very beat up right now

And for some reason you weren’t using your quirk earlier

Hitoshi noticed that

He also noticed the fear in your voice when you screamed his name

That was uncharacteristic of you

Regardless he gets you to the hospital

And they take you back right away

The best healing quirks in the place get to work on you as soon as possible

All the while Hitoshi just waits

He’s absolutely terrified

He can’t lose you

You’ve been the best thing in his life since high school

There’s absolutely no way he can lose you and make it out okay

He’s notified that you’re in stable condition

But probably won’t wake up for a few days

And that when they did a scan of your brain to see if you had a concussion or brain damage

Something seemed wrong with it

Parts of your brain that should be working just weren’t

And of course that freaked him out

But he pretended like he understood everything

In front of the doctor at least

When he was in the room with you alone though?

Boy was sobbing

He was a mess

All he wanted was to turn back time and make sure none of this ever happened

He blames himself

Of course he does

He was there

And he still couldn’t save you

He stays by your side for the next multiple days

He will be there when you wake up

And every day you’re getting better

And eventually

You wake up

now he’s ecstatic when you wake up

Even though you look very confused

You’re awake

That’s the best thing ever

“Oh my god (Y/n) you had me so worried I thought you were never going to wake up again and I was just so freaked out and-”

“Shinsou? Why do you look, like… older…?”

Wait

What

Two things

You haven’t called him Shinsou in years

The last time you did was probably a few weeks into you two dating

Then you made the transfer to Hitoshi

Because you were his girlfriend

Granted you started dating your third year at UA

But you were friends for a year before that

And older?

What was that supposed to mean?

“Uh… what do you mean…?”

“You don’t look seventeen anymore… you look like… a little older? What’s going on?”

Seventeen

Did you think that he was seventeen?

What

He must have look confused

Because you started blushing

He always found it cute when he made you blush like that

Not making sense in front of him was something that you hated because he would turn it around and make fun of your for it later

But he didn’t like it right now

“(Y/n)… have we graduated UA yet…?”

“What? No… we’re in our second year… right…?”

Ouch

Big fucking ouch

You think you’re still in high school

And to make matters worse

It’s the year before you two started dating

You don’t remember anything you two have done together

At all

“Shinsou… are you crying?”

Shit

He didn’t even realize there were tears coming out of his eyes

“Uh… yeah. Um. We’re not in high school anymore. We graduated.”

He presses the call nurse button

And then a nurse and a doctor come in the room

You look at him with a confused expression as he just stares at the ground

The best parts of his life are gone from your memory

That’s what the doctor meant by parts of your brain weren’t working

And he was devastated

And maybe this had something to do with you not using your quirk during the fight

The only thing he could think about was going to the prison that villain was in

And he didn’t care what he had to do

He would get answers from him

He would find a way to fix this

He had to

aizawa shouta | eraser head

Workplace romances are such a cliché

But that didn’t stop you and Shouta

I mean how could it when he looked like that

Y’all had lowkey crushes on each other ever since you first met each other two years ago

But it escalated into something much more intense

Not that either of you were complaining

And yes

The kids did ship you two

And yes

The kids were scared of both of you

But they loved how strong and how protected they felt with both of you around

And they loved how strong and protected the two of you were over each other every time ether of you saw any danger

You were there to save him

And he was always there to save you from whatever was about to happen to you

He only didn’t make it in time the one moment it mattered the most

The League of Villains infiltrated the school again

And this time at night

When all the teachers were supposed to be sleeping

But fortunately for your students

You and Aizawa had been on edge and taking shift staying up all night to make sure they were safe

And you were awake the moment the League popped in

You immediately got to work

Easily taking down many of the villains

And in the commotion

Aizawa woke up

Along with many of the other pro-hero teachers

So everything should have been fine

That is until a new villain appeared

No one has seen this person before now

And they took no time in fighting you

You were the one who stopped all the others after all

And they were very agile

Very good at hand to hand combat

Aizawa saw what was happening and tried to rush over to assist you

But before he could get there the villain grabbed you

And hit you in multiple points of your body

Aizawa saw panic flash through your eyes as you fell to the ground

You held our your hand to use your quirk

But nothing happened

You tried again

But there was nothing

And that’s when the villain started mercilessly beating you!

Love it

And Aizawa couldn’t even help

Because another villain started going after Aizawa

Which meant he couldn’t get to you

All he could do was hear you getting hurt

And see it out of the corner of his eye while fighting off the villain

It didn’t take him long to capture the villain

But it took long enough

When he ran over to you

You were on the verge of being unconscious

And the villain hit you in the back of your neck

And a weird light thing emitted from their fingertips

And you were knocked out

The villain was about to attack Aizawa

But before they could they were pulled back into one of Kurogiri’s portals

And then they were gone

Aizawa picked you up

Wincing at how bloody, bruised, and broken you looked

Genuinely very panicked

He rushed to the infirmary

And Recovery Girl was woken up in the commotion

Waiting to heal a broken bone or two

She was not expecting to see what Aizawa brought to her

She went to work as soon as you got there, though

Healing most of your injuries

But she could just

Sense that something was wrong

Something was very unnatural about you right now

She let Aizawa know something was wrong

And he started panicking right away

What did she mean something is wrong?

What could that possibly even mean?

He found out that one of the things that meant

Was that you weren’t going to wake up for a few days

Recovery Girl would help heal you every day

Constantly trying to help you wake up

But that weird off feeling never left her

And then you woke up

And after talking with you for five minutes

She knew exactly what was wrong

And then she asked you to use your quirk

And she realized just how genuinely bad this situation you were in was

She went to Aizawa’s class

Calling him out to the hall

He was in the middle of lecturing 1-A

But he left without hesitation

“Did she wake up?”

“Yes… but-”

“But? There’s a but?”

Now Aizawa usually never interrupts Recovery Girl

But this was about you

And she knew that

So she didn’t sass him for once

“She doesn’t remember the past few years of her life.”

“…What?”

“She… she doesn’t know who you are, Aizawa.”

He’s quiet

You didn’t know who he was?

“And she still can’t use her quirk… I don’t know what that villain did to her, but she’s showing no signs in regaining anything. Besides, she didn’t even have a concussion or anything and I’ve never seen a quirk like hers just… get taken away like this.”

Aizawa still says nothing

He’s hearing everything

But he doesn’t really feel like doing anything right now

He just wants to zip himself up in his sleeping bag

I mean

He truthfully just wants to hold you

But now that you don’t know who he is?

That probably wouldn’t go well

And he is not taking it well

He goes back in his room

But he doesn’t resume the lecture

He just says that they’re going to study quietly for the rest of the day

He doesn’t care right now

Besides they do have exams coming up and knowing over half of these kids they could use some goddamn study time

But they can tell something is just wrong

Especially when he just curls up in his sleeping bag

He makes sure to face away from them so they don’t see his tears

Of course after around fifteen minutes of this

Present Mic comes in

He heard about what happened

So he told Aizawa he was there to take over his class

Aizawa left without a word

And beyond his better judgement

He went to the infirmary

He stood outside for a few minutes before Recovery Girl came to the door

“If you want to see her you can, I’m sure she’d love to know who she’s been intimate with for the past year and a half of her life.”

He nods

Making sure he doesn’t look too much like shit

Then walking in

Sure enough you’re awake

But when you look at him he doesn’t see the usual sparkle you get in your eye

And instead of the smile that screams ‘that’s my boyfriend!’

It’s just a polite smile

“Hi… I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

“Yes.”

His voice comes out quieter than he intended

It’s hard to hear that come from you

And he isn’t necessarily happy that it’s coming from you

“Oh… well, um… this is awkward but-”

“I know you don’t remember. And that’s okay. I just… wanted to see you.”

He doesn’t really want to come out and say ‘hey! you’re my girlfriend! we’re in love! i love you!’

But he knows he’ll have to

He could stay quiet

But that wouldn’t be fair to you

And he hates keeping things from you

“Oh? Would you mind telling me who you are?”

He takes a deep breath

Clearing his throat to fight back the tears threatening to start again

He won’t cry in front of you, though

He won’t let himself

He doesn’t want to make it worse for you

“I’m Aizawa Shouta, and we’ve been a couple for the past year and a half. I don’t know if I should have told you that, but honesty is just really important to me and well… I never lied to you or kept anything from you before and I’m not about to start doing that now.”

You stare at him without saying anything for what feels like forever

Until you finally speak again

“Could you… tell me about our relationship…? I have to admit, you’re a very attractive man, so… I’m willing to try if you are.”

Damn

Now he’s crying

And as much as he wants all of your memories to come back

He doesn’t care if they do

He doesn’t even care if you want to actually take him back

All he knows is that you’re never getting hurt again

No matter if it kills him

He’ll keep you safe now

No matter what

keigo takami | hawks

Keigo always worried about you

He couldn’t help it

It’s just the way he is

But no matter how much he worries he always knows that you’re strong and you can defend yourself

I mean, you were one of the best pro-heroes in the field

And yes

He did constantly brag about how you were amazing

He just preferred when you were amazing with him

That way he can assist in making sure you are okay

And in his worrying he may sometimes fly around where you’re patrolling just to check in

He also just misses seeing your face sometimes

Someone is whipped

But yeah he was flying around where you were on patrol today

Just looking to see you and maybe swoop down and annoy you for a bit

But for some reason he can’t??? seem???? to find you????

And now he was concerned and alert

It’s very unlike you to not be where you’re supposed to be

You’re very passionate about helping people after all

He circles keeps flying around until he spots on of your sidekicks

Who admittedly looks very stressed

He lands next to them

Scaring the shit out of them in the process

“Hey kid, any idea where (Y/n) might be? Haven’t seen her and I circled this area like seven times.”

Your sidekick doesn’t say anything for a second

Because they’re thinking of how to phrase what happened

And that extra moment of silence just proved to Keigo that something was definitely wrong

“Where is (Y/n)?”

Keigo’s fun loving demeanor everyone loves s completely gone

He looks very serious

It’s only to cover how scared he is though

Doesn’t mean your sidekick isn’t intimidated

“We were all fighting this villain who made their first appearance today and uh… they kind sorta maybe did something that may have taken away (Y’n)’s quirk and then they kinda ‘made an example of her’ and now she’s in the hospital…”

Keigo immediately takes off for the hospital

He doesn’t even say anything else to your poor sidekick who now thinks Hawks is going to hate them for not helping you

When his phone was constantly buzzing he just assumed it was the Hero Commission getting on his ass for posting that picture of you and him kissing on instagram

So he just let it buzz

He never even looked at his screen

Until now of course

And just as he expected

All the buzzing?

Actually missed calls from you

If he would have checked, then maybe you wouldn’t be hurt

He’s at the hospital in like

Five seconds flat

Don’t underestimate his already speedy self when it comes to you

He hurries in and sees another one of your sidekicks about to leave

“Where is she?”

Your other sidekick points in the direction, telling him your room

He’s about to sprint there when suddenly your other sidekick stops him

“Hawks, I just need to warn you. It’s… pretty bad. Not only did the villain beat her within an inch of her life but she wasn’t able to use her quirk at all after he did this weird hitting pattern thing. She’s probably not going to wake up for some time.”

Keigo just stares at them

And they hurry away

Which causes him to deadass RUN to your hospital room

Sure enough you’re lying there

Lots of machines hooked up to you

He expected it to be bad

But he didn’t expect it to be this bad

He hurries over to you

Grabbing a random chair and sliding it so he could be at your bedside

And he carefully grabs your hand

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he tastes his tears

He could have prevented this

If he would have just come to see you a little bit earlier

If he would have just checked his phone

This is how he feels about the entire situation for the rest of his life

Especially for the two weeks you were unconscious in a hospital bed

Luckily, you were a graduate from UA and when Recovery Girl heard what happened she began helping your healing process

It definitely sped up your recovery a lot

And Keigo was very grateful

He just wanted to talk to you again

Maybe even hug him if he weren’t in deep shit for unintentionally ignoring your calls

So imagine how sad he got when he came to the hospital after his patrol (like he did every day) only to find out you woke up without him being there

Bird boi did a big sad

But he was anxious to finally talk to you again

At this point he would be genuinely happy if you started yelling at him

He missed you 🥺

He made his way to your room

Nervous but excited to see you again

When suddenly

A doctor stops him

“Oh, it’s okay! I’m her boyfriend, I’ve been coming here every-”

“I know. I just need to prepare you for what you’re about to see. Something that that villain did cut off her connection to the part of her brain that has the knowledge and information of her quirk, meaning she has no recollection on how to access it. Now she remembers having a quirk, and not being able or knowing how to use it has been very upsetting for her... how long have you two been together?”

“One year.”

“How long have you known her?”

“We met two and a half years ago when she first became a pro... why?”

Keigo isn’t stupid

He has an idea why the doctor is asking this

But he doesn’t want it to be true

“The villain also cut the connection of her brain that consists of her long term memory. Fortunately, it didn’t make her forget too much...”

Oh thank god, for a second Keigo though that you wouldn’t remem-

“Just the past two years... but I’m sure she’ll still be happy to see you.”

Keigo stares at the doctor with a blank face

The past two years?

That means that you’ll barely know him

Yeah you guys got along before you started dating

Obviously you were friends

Keigo doesn’t trust easily so entering a real relationship with someone he just met is a no go

But this means that so much of what you two have is just

Gone

“Uh... Hawks?”

The doctor is looking down at his arm to which Keigo follows the gaze

Somewhere in his thoughts he latched onto this man’s arm

To be fair he was doing everything in his power to have a mental break right then and there

He let go

“Sorry. I... can I still see her?”

“Yes, just try not to confuse her, please?”

Hawks nods

He walks in the room and sees you sitting up

You’re gazing out the window when you turn your head to look at him

The shock is evident in your face

“Hawks? What are you doing here?”

Two years was before you knew his real name

Ouch

“Thought you could use the company. After all, not many heroes get attacked by an unknown villain and survive.”

“Did Miruko set you up to this? Really, it’s okay, you don’t need to-“

“I’ve had my fair share of close calls, dove, but... I never had to go what you’re going through, and I need to be here to help. Helping people is what I do, after all.”

He sees a small smile break out across your face

“Thank you.”

The two of you talk for a few hours

He catches you up on everything he can

But he can’t bring himself to let you know about your relationship

Or maybe he just can’t say out-loud that you don’t remember who he really is

Maybe it would just hurt too much

Regardless, he has to leave eventually

And when he does he makes it a point to find out who this villain was that just uprooted yours and his lives

And he knows just the person to ask

todoroki touya | dabi

Heroes destroy everything

That’s what Dabi has always thought

And he’s not about to change his mind any time soon

Especially after what happened to you

He normally doesn’t get attached to people

But your annoying ass somehow managed to cling to him

And after about six months he didn’t mind it

He actually really enjoyed it

Not that he’d ever tell you just how much he enjoyed it

But you were the first and only person he’s even let near the real him

So even though he’s a little shit who pretends he doesn’t care about anything

When it comes to you

It’s very obvious just how much he gives a fuck

Which is why the series of events that happened to you absolutely destroyed him

It was just a normal day like any other

He was at the hideout while you and a few others were on a mission for the League

Now was he okay with you going on this mission without him?

Not necessarily

But it turns out that’s what happened anyways

To be fair Dabi did go a little too hard on his last mission and he’s still recovering

But he was still pissed he couldn’t go

Regardless, Dabi was waiting for you and the rest of the League to come back

Casually sitting on the couch

Smoking a cigarette in solitude

When suddenly

The rest of the League burst through one of Kurogiri’s portals

And to say they were frantic was an understatement

Dabi looks over

His usual uninterested expression present on his face

Until he sees who Magne is carrying

Spoiler: it’s you

And you’re unconscious

And you lowkey look dead

And that is the reason his cigarette literally bursts into flames

He’s snatching you from Magne before any of the other villains even have the chance to start speaking

“What the fuck happened.”

He doesn’t necessarily ask

He more demands to know

Shigaraki walks past him, obviously annoyed because he’s scratching at his neck again

“There’s a new Underground Hero after us.”

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me right now, why does my girlfriend look fucking dead you fucking-“

“She threw herself at the hero because unlike you, she somewhat understands that me ending up like how she is right now would put an end to this entire thing.”

Dabi glares at Shigaraki

So the reason the only person he’s ever trusted in this world is severely injured is Shigaraki

“Why wouldn’t you-”

“She’s faster than me. Or she was. Whatever the hero did took away her quirk. That’s why she’s like that. Now leave me alone, I need to reevaluate everything now because of this little incident…”

Shigaraki starts muttering as he walks to his room

Dabi glares at the others before taking you into his room

He lays you on his bed and assesses you for injuries

He isn’t the best at treating things

But the deep cuts where it seems like you could bleed out at any second?

He can help with those

You’re probably going to kill him for the scars, though

He doesn’t really have time to think about that though considering you’re dying on him

He immediately begins cauterizing your wounds

For like the first time ever the familiar scent of burnt flesh makes him frown

But it’s only because he knows that it’s your flesh that’s burning

He carefully removes your destroyed villain costume

Placing you in one of his hoodies

Specifically the one he knows you love

Even though he barely lets you wear it because he knows you love it and he loves to piss you off

You always say it smells like him and you like it

Which he doesn’t really understand because he doesn’t wear cologne and he’s pretty sure he reeks of cigarettes, burning flesh, and alcohol

But you say there’s a comforting kind of campfire smell mixed in there too

Plus, he wears deodorant so there’s that smell too

He figures you’ll appreciate it when you wake up

If you wake up

He begins bandaging you up

He’s very careful to clean everything to ensure nothing becomes infected

Of course he’s just recalling what you do for him from memory

He’s hoping he’s doing well

After he finishes all that, he checks to see if you have any broken bones

Much to his relief, it doesn’t seem like it

Just a lot of bruises in random places

And y’know

Several severe puncture wounds

At least none of them were in lethal places

Damn heroes and their ways of not killing unless absolutely necessary

Just severely injuring

It’s obvious that that hero was trying to prove a point in hurting you like this

But how did he even manage to get you?

You’re usually so quick in fights because your quirk

Yeah

Shigaraki said something about your quirk being gone or something?

Dabi is sure it’s only for a day

Maybe two

It’s not for good...

Right...?

He sighs, getting into his bed with you

He gently pulls you against him

He wants you to know you’re safe when you wake up

As safe as you can be in a bar full of villains and with one of the most dangerous and angry ones holding you in his arms of course

He also just wants to know that you’re here

And you’re okay

Because you have to be okay

He glances at the clock in his room

And sees that it’s late

He should sleep

Key word should

But he’s a little preoccupied in his mind going through the ways he’s going to torture and kill whoever did this to you

And this goes on for a week

He doesn’t sleep

He barely eats

He spends all his time with you

Anyone who gives him shit gets a new burn mark on them

Sorry not sorry Twice

He makes sure to change your bandages and check in on your every day

Which is very unlike him

And he knows it

And honestly he hates it

But you’re special to him

And even though he’s a heartless piece of shit who loves to make fun of you and pretend like he doesn’t care

He does

He really does

So imagine how happy he feels when one day he’s holding you

Like he always does

And then you twitch

He immediately sits up, staring down at you

And sure enough, you open your eyes

He can’t hide the small smile that spreads across his face

“Looks like someone’s lazy ass decided it was time to finally wake up.”

He expects to hear one of your sarcastic quips about how you were just brutally beat and how you don’t need his snarky comments at a time like this

But you just stare at him

And you look... confused?

“What’s wrong, doll?”

His voice changes from sarcastic to concerned

Why were you being quiet?

You were never quiet with him

“I’m sorry it’s just... who are you?”

He genuinely feels like his heart stops beating

That’s not a cute thing to do to him

“Very funny, (Y/n). Can you see how amused I am? How much I’m laughing at this shitty attempt of a joke.”

“I’m being serious, asshole. Who the fuck are you, where the fuck am I, and why does everything hurt so much?”

He freezes

“You really don’t remember me...?”

“Should I?”

“Considering I’m your fucking boyfriend, yeah. You should.”

“Oh. Well, sorry. No idea who you are. Don’t even know your name and, wait boyfriend? I have a boyfriend?”

Okay this is officially not a joke now

He tries to get what happened out of you

But, as he expected, you have no idea

He clenches his fist

A flame appearing

“Woah there, hotshot, calm down. You’re still sexy as hell even if I can’t remember you, so you have a good chance with me again. Just... tell me where I am? What’s going on? Your name...? Why the eerie smell of deaht mixed with a campfire is actually very soothing to me right now?”

He tells you everything

And that campfire comment low-key made his heart swell because awwww his little crazy doll is just genuinely crazy and enjoys the smell without even knowing it’s his how sweet 🥺

But he has to ask Toga for help to explain what happened to you

And he realizes that wow

If your memory is gone then your quirk is probably definitely gone too

He leaves you with Toga so she can tell you all about how good of friends you two are

And goes to Shigaraki’s room

He doesn’t even knock before entering but before Shigaraki can scream at him Dabi asks a simple question

“Where can I find this new hero?”

979 notes · View notes

joe-mazzello-archive · 4 years

Text

Party For One

A Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader fic

Word Count: 4k whoopsssss

Rating: PG

Warnings: language, drinking, angst for most of it, a teeny bit of fluff, joe is a bit of a shithead in this one, sorry gang

A/N: hey remember how i was supposed to be finishing doj part two and instead i word-vomited this out in five hours at work yesterday? anyway, enjoy.

He hasn’t changed a bit, you thought to yourself as you watched him, always the life of the party. He’d been that way all through high school, the summers you saw him between college semesters, and the few gatherings he made appearances at when he was home.

You’d always been right beside him, too. Pre-gaming at a friend’s house, sharing the mic during karaoke, rubbing his back as he leaned over the toilet, crashing on the couch or the floor or wherever you could find a spot.

But now you were out of your element. You were in his other world. You were surrounded by vaguely familiar faces, people you knew you had probably seen in a movie or a tv show but you couldn’t place them exactly. And there he was, across the room, animatedly entertaining a small group with some anecdote you’d probably heard before.

He was obviously the reason you were here. He had been begging you to come out to Los Angeles for years now. Years of you’d love it out here and you and I both know you’d take the industry by storm and I miss my best friend. Eventually, you relented. Mostly because your career in real estate was exhaustingly boring and you needed a change. Acting had always been something you enjoyed but never looked at as a career opportunity until now. But you had to admit, you missed your best friend too.

So you packed up everything, drove across the country, and settled into Joe’s guest room. You had a meeting with his agency on Monday, but of course Joe, always the party host, insisted that you needed a welcoming get-together upon arrival. Which soon turned into a complete blow-out. In fact, you were pretty sure most of the guests in attendance had no idea what the party’s true origin was, let alone who you were.

So there you were, only hours since you had arrived, left to nurse your beer off in the corner. Part of you wished you and Joe could have had a quiet night in, catching up over pizza and a comedy special. But you knew deep down that would have just exacerbated the situation you found yourself in. Seeing Joe in the flesh once again had caused some...feelings to resurface. Feelings that you had worked for years to suppress, and had been hoping were completely gone by now.

All it took was him opening his front door and pulling you into a tight hug for all of those feelings to come rushing right back.

Sometimes he did things that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he felt the same. Like the way he used to wrap a protective arm around you when the two of you walked around Brooklyn at night. The way he could sense when you were having a rough day just through your texts, and suddenly a delivery of Insomnia Cookies would arrive at your apartment door. The way every hello and goodbye hug lasted just a moment longer than was probably appropriate for two friends. But surely you were reading into it.

You knew he wasn’t avoiding you. No, he couldn’t be. Sure, the second other guests had started to arrive, his focus turned from you to them. And sure, he hadn’t given you the time of day since. But he wasn’t avoiding you, no. He was just a popular guy, he always had been.

You pushed those negative thoughts away, not willing to accept them.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” sounded a familiar voice with a British lilt from behind you. You turned and were met with ocean blue eyes and chiseled cheekbones.

“Gwil,” you breathed out, almost in relief. Someone you knew. The tall man pulled you in for a bear hug, immediately putting you at ease. You appreciated the gesture considering you and Gwil weren’t even that close, only meeting each other a few times back when the Borhap cast was briefly in New York.

“Did that asshole leave you here alone at a party full of people you don’t know?” Gwil asked as he pulled away. You chuckled at his frankness.

“You know how he is,” you mused, offering a smile and a shrug. “He’s gotta entertain everybody.”

“Now did I hear correctly that you’re moving out here?” Gwil questioned, casually leaning a shoulder against the wall next to you.

“Got here a few hours ago, in fact,” you explained. “I’ll be occupying the guest room until I find my own place.” Gwil chuckled at that.

“You quite literally just got here and he’s off chatting with people he sees all the time?” Gwil clarified, earning an exasperated nod from you. “I’m going to go ahead and apologize on behalf of that bastard.” You let out a genuine laugh at that, clearly pleasing Gwil if his smile was any indication. “So how was the trip out here?”

And that’s how you found yourself tucked into the hallway of Joe’s apartment, just exchanging stories with Gwil. You welcomed the change in subject, not wanting to harp on the whole Joe situation. You told him about the weird truck stop in Ohio, the delicious pizza you devoured in Chicago, the loud hotel neighbors you encountered in Colorado, and your brief stint in Las Vegas. Gwil offered his own road trip tales before the conversation shifted, and eventually he was regaling stories about various sets he’d worked on, actors he’d worked with, and general knowledge of the business. He even offered some much needed advice, melting away some of your initial anxieties about your career change. All feelings of loneliness and inklings of frustration at Joe were long gone, and you mentally thanked Joe for inviting at least one person you knew.

“Can I ask you something?” Gwil inquired after a little while, the two of you finding yourselves settled out in chairs on Joe’s balcony, enjoying the night air of LA.

“Fire away.”

“Did you and Joe ever date or anything?”

You burst out laughing at the question, shaking your head.

“No, no, definitely not,” you replied before taking a sip of your beer. You chanced a look at Gwil, finding him eyeing you warily.

“That’s surprising,” he admitted before pursing his lips and gently caressing his own beard, a gesture you noticed he did often.

“Why is that surprising?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Just the way he talks about you…” Gwil trailed off, his gaze focusing on the city lights before him. Your heart slammed against your chest at his words. You tried to keep your face neutral, not wanting to let Gwil know just how important what he was saying was to you.

“How...how does he talk about me?” you followed up, attempting to hide the quiver in your voice. Gwil immediately turned back to face you, his eyes glinting mischievously. His lips curved into a soft smile before he said your name gently.

“He...he’s in awe of you,” Gwil confessed. “I swear he talked about you constantly while we were shooting the film. ‘She’d be a great actress if she wanted to be. She’s funny, she’s charming, and she’s got the looks and talent.’ Everything reminded him of a funny story involving you. We practically knew you before we even met you.” Your heart was practically beating out of your chest as Gwil spoke. Sure, Joe had complimented you before. But something about the fact that he had practically bragged about you to people who didn’t even know you made your stomach flutter.

You realized Gwil had stopped talking and you met his gaze, finding his eyes narrowed at you.

“You should tell him,” he finally said after a few moments.

“Tell him what?” you asked, playing dumb. You knew exactly what he was referring to. The man had seen right through you. He smiled, this time seeing right through your act of denial.

“How you feel.”

You ran your hands over your face and let out a groan.

“I literally just moved in, Gwil,” you reasoned. “I don’t want to make him feel awkward about me staying here by telling him about the feelings he very clearly doesn’t reciprocate.” You gestured inside the apartment, where Joe was still talking it up with a few guys you recognized from Undrafted.

Gwil leaned forward, shuffling closer to you and placing a gentle hand on your knee.

“I know his actions tonight make it seem like he couldn’t care less. But I promise you, he’s so happy to have you here. He adores you. More than you even realize.”

You chewed on Gwil’s words, your mind swimming. You believed him; he had no reason to lie to you. But you just wished what Gwil told you lined up with how Joe had been behaving all night.

Eventually the two of you made your way back inside, to find the party had somewhat died down. Joe had shifted into clean up mode while the last small group was starting to make their exit. You instinctively began to straighten up, grabbing beer bottles and paper plates and disposing of them while Joe worked on packing up the leftover food.

You were tying up a full trash bag when Joe brushed past you, not even acknowledging your presence. Your heart sunk, knowing full well you couldn’t use the excuse that Joe was just distracted by others this time.

He was actually ignoring you.

As you opened a new trash bag, you began to wrack your brain for what you could have done already to piss him off. Gwil pulled you from your thoughts, pulling you in for a goodbye hug and a peck on the cheek. When he pulled away, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” It was amazing how quickly Gwil learned how to read you. Or maybe you were just that bad at masking your emotions.

Your lip trembled as you tried to prevent the tears from falling.

“He’s ignoring me now,” you revealed, earning a sympathetic look from Gwil.

“I’m sorry, love,” he offered quietly. “He’ll figure his shit out eventually.” Another hug, this one a bit longer as he held you against his chest. “I’ll text you next time I’m in town, we’ll all grab lunch.” You nodded with a soft smile before pulling away, turning your attention back to your cleaning.

Another minute passed, the last of the voices faded away, and the door clicked closed, leaving a silent apartment. You let out a sigh as you tossed the last of the plates you had found in the new trash bag. Pulling another beer out of the fridge, you ventured into the living room where you found Joe pushing the coffee table back to its original position. You awkwardly leaned against the arm of the loveseat as you waited for him to say something.

But he didn’t. After finishing rearranging, he passed by you once again, not even sparing you a glance, before heading back into the kitchen. You let out another sigh, following after him.

“Okay, can you please tell me what I did so I can fix it?” you pleaded, completely at a loss. Joe silently pulled a bottle of disinfectant and a rag out from under the sink and breezed past you another time, heading back into the living room. You scoffed at his actions, your sadness being replaced with anger at his immature way of handling himself.

You placed your beer down on the counter and trudged back into the living room, stopping in front of where Joe was wiping down the coffee table and crossing your arms.

“Joe? Are you going to talk to me or continue to ignore me like a fucking child?”

He froze, dropping the bottle and the rag on the table before finally, finally looking at you for the first time in hours.

“You’ve been here for what, five minutes? And you’re already trying to fuck my friends?”

Your jaw dropped.

“Excuse me?”

“You and Gwil seemed awfully cozy,” Joe replied before picking up the rag and continuing to wipe down the coffee table. You grabbed the rag from his hand, earning a sharp glare. “Hey--”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you roared, your blood boiling. “I hang out with the one fucking person I knew at my supposed ‘welcoming party’ besides you and suddenly I’m trying to fuck them?” You were shell-shocked at the accusation. Joe simply shrugged.

“The two of you were inseparable all night, what was I supposed to think?” he reasoned as he began to walk back into the kitchen. You scoffed again, tossing the rag onto the table in frustration at his nonchalant tone.

“How about the fact that you left me alone at a party full of strangers so I spent time with Gwil since you were busy with your other friends?” you fired back as you stomped into the kitchen. Joe began to wash his hands, still ignoring your piercing stare. “Like, holy shit, Joe. I know your world does not revolve around me, but the least you could do was acknowledge my existence. It’s my first night here, for fuck’s sake.”

That made him pause. He stared at the counter and you could practically hear how hard he was thinking. Suddenly, he met your gaze once again, a brazen look on his face.

“You could have come up to talk to me. I shouldn’t have to babysit you.”

His words were like a sword through your chest. Your jaw practically hit the floor this time.

“Fuck. You.” You turned on your heels and headed for the guest bedroom, angry hot tears escaping down your cheeks. You thanked your past self for barely unpacking anything before the party as you began to scoop up your toiletries and few pieces of clothing laying out on the bed and threw them back into your suitcase.

You felt ashamed and so so stupid for thinking that this had been a good idea. And the worst feeling of all was the embarrassment at thinking that there was ever a chance of Joe reciprocating any feelings for you. You were nothing but a burden to him. Someone he felt like he would have to “babysit.” You didn’t fit in in his world and you were foolish to think you could.

“What are you doing?”

You jumped at the sound of Joe’s voice behind you; you hadn’t even heard him approach. You swiped at a stray tear and finished zipping up your bag before lugging it onto the floor and pulling up the handle.

“I’m going to check into a hotel,” you explained as you pushed your way past him, luggage dragging behind you. “I don’t feel welcome here.” You began to make your way towards the front door, already feeling overwhelmed by anxiety. You had no idea what your next move was going to be. Stay in LA and try to figure things out? Go back home to two parents who would chant “we told you so” until they were blue in the face?

Joe’s hand caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Please don’t do that,” he pleaded, his tone from earlier completely gone and replaced with a much softer and more desperate one. “I’m sorry. Please stay.” You whipped around to face him.

“Which part are you sorry for?” you asked sharply. “The part where you ignored me? Or where you accused me of trying to sleep with your friend? Or maybe it’s the part where you said you shouldn’t have to ‘babysit me’?”

“All of it,” Joe replied. “I’m sorry I lashed out at you. I’m just--” he trailed off as he turned away, almost bashfully. “I can’t help but feel protective of you.”

You furrowed your brows. It didn’t make sense. He felt protective of you but didn’t want to have to ‘babysit you’? He felt protective of you but he got mad at you for talking to Gwil? You stuttered as you tried to put the pieces together, coming up empty.

“I don’t…” your voice petered out. You were completely flabbergasted. “What do you want from me, Joe?”

Joe’s eyes met yours once again, and you could see the conflict written on his face. He was struggling with something. It was almost as if he--

“I want…” he began, before taking a deep breath. “I want you to stay here tonight.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. For some reason, a part of you was hopeful he would say something else. The two of you stared at each other for a few more moments, giving him the chance to say more. But it never came. So with a soft nod, you reached for your suitcase again, pulling it behind you as you walked back into the guest room, closing the door behind you.

✧✧✧

You awoke to the smell of bacon wafting into your room. You sat up, throwing your legs over the side of the bed. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself up and headed toward the bathroom.

The sight of your face in the mirror made you cringe. You hadn’t taken off your makeup before crying yourself to sleep the night before, leaving black streaks of mascara across your cheeks. You washed your face before running a comb through your hair. You knew you looked awful, but you didn’t care. Joe had seen you worse, and honestly, his opinion of you was not high on your priority list after his hissy fit last night.

You sauntered into the kitchen with a bit of hesitation, unsure what you’d be walking into. You found Joe, furiously whisking some pancake batter.

“Hey.”

He practically jumped out of his own skin, clumsily dropping the bowl of batter to the counter, luckily with little to no mess.

“Hey,” he replied, running a hand over the back of his neck. “How did you sleep?”

“Alright,” you lied. You had agonized over every detail of the evening until practically three in the morning. But you didn’t want Joe to know that. If he knew, he didn’t let on, instead offering you a small smile.

“I made bacon and I’m about to make pancakes,” he stated, gesturing towards the stove behind him. You nodded simply and took a seat at his kitchen island.

Things were awkward. You didn’t even know where to begin. Part of you wanted to tell him to forget everything and start fresh. It would make things easier. But part of you wanted to stand strong, make sure you held him accountable for how he’d hurt you.

You mulled over everything, idly chewing on a piece of bacon as Joe worked at the stove, mumbling under his breath about the pancakes cooking inconsistently or something. After a few minutes, you were pulled from your thoughts by a plate of pancakes being placed in front of you. You glanced up to see Joe eyeing you, an uncertain look on his face.

“I’m a huge asshole,” he admitted. You opened your mouth to agree with him but he kept going. “You were right. I was avoiding you during the party. It was easier for me to convince myself that you were having a good time than to check up on you myself. I thought I…” he trailed off, losing momentum. He shook his head and began again. “I assured myself that I could handle being around you again. That enough time had passed and I could be your best friend again without a second thought. But then you walked through my front door and it all came rushing back and I panicked.” You shook your head, trying to keep up with what Joe was trying to tell you.

“I don’t understand--”

“I’m in love with you.”

For the third time in less than twenty-four hours, your jaw dropped.

“I honestly think I’ve been in love with you since high school, but it took me well into my late twenties for me to actually realize it. And I got so caught up on this fantasy of you and I being this acting dream team, showing this fucking town who’s boss, together. And then you were here and you had spent the last week road-tripping across the country yet somehow you looked so fucking beautiful? And I just...couldn’t handle it. I invited practically everyone in my contacts to come over right away because I needed a buffer. I turned my focus to everyone else at the party because it was familiar and certain. With you there was so much uncertainty.”

He paused for a moment and collected his thoughts once again.

“And then I saw you with Gwil. I knew it wasn’t anything. But you were smiling and laughing with him and I just couldn’t help but wish you were spending your time with me. I know that doesn’t make sense. But I just got so caught up in my own head so when you finally confronted me, I panicked again. I threw everything back at you because I was afraid and embarrassed.”

You watched him as he plopped down on the stool next to you with a sigh.

“I wish I could do it all over again. There wouldn’t be a party. Just you and me like it used to be,” he continued. He turned to you, eyes sad with regret. “I am so so so sorry. You were right about everything. Except one thing. My world does revolve around you. The day you told me you were coming out here was the happiest day I’ve had in awhile. I’ve thought about nothing else since. But I completely understand if you want to leave. Hell, I’ll pay for your hotel and help you figure out what you want to do. But I also understand if you want me to just leave you alone.”

To say you were stunned would be an understatement. Your heart was pounding out of your chest at Joe’s confession. You didn’t even know what to say. There was so much that needed to be said, but you were frozen in place.

So you didn’t speak. You just moved.

You gripped the sides of Joe’s head and pulled him in for a bruising kiss. He let out a small noise in surprise, but quickly melted into the kiss, his own hands reaching for you and landing on your hips. You kissed him hard, pouring every emotion you felt into it. Every past pang of your heart when Joe had gone out of his way to do something for you. Every past flutter of your stomach when he had wrapped his arms around you. Every ounce of frustration and hurt that flooded your heart last night. He kissed you back just as eagerly, pulling you off the stool and closer to him, your chests pressing together.

You finally pulled away to gasp for breath, your forehead still pressed against Joe’s.

“I love you too, you asshole,” you breathed out, earning a chuckle from Joe. He pulled back to look at you, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You think I’d uproot my entire life and move across the country if I wasn’t completely in love with you?”

Joe’s face lit up before he dove in for another kiss.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he asked, running his hands up and down your sides. You pursed your lips as you thought it over.

“I’ll only forgive you if you help me finish unpacking,” you reasoned, a smirk playing at your lips. Joe beamed, pulling you closer to him so you were practically in his lap.

“So you’re gonna stay?”

“Of course I’m staying. Why stay in a hotel when I can stay with my former best friend?” Joe’s brows furrowed.

“Former?”

“I guess I just figured ‘love of my life’ was a better title for you,” you revealed with a smile, running your fingers through his auburn locks. Joe pulled you in for another searing kiss, standing up and pressing you against the island, earning a squeal from you. After a moment, he pulled away, grabbing your hand and practically running down the hall towards the guest room, pancakes long forgotten.

✧✧✧

Permanent Taglist (crossed out names won’t let me tag): @queenlover05, @mrhoemazzello, @madamsledge, @sadhwstudent, @johndeaconshands, @puffnstuff08

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello x you #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello fic #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello angst #joe mazzello fluff

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