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batarella · 4 years

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3 birds 1 stone - chapter 1

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: Having a different approach to my formats. I’ve never been so nervous in creating something so difficult to do for you guys, especially since I’m here writing about the THREE HOTTEST MEN IN THE PLANET. Hoes and bros, I present to you a very indecisive reader and three assholes in a WWE ring.

WORDS: 6483 WARNINGS: NONE

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

You were there when it happened.

You didn’t want to be there.

But you were.

It would have been an eventful enough day, one of those you’d never live to forget, perhaps even in death. As dramatic as that would sound, it was true. The tears had already beaten you in awakening that dim morning and you knew it wasn’t in any way going to get any brighter, no matter how much of the sun was going to show up. You could, in detail, recall the sting in your muscles when you pulled on that bright orange dress, fixed your hair up in a bun and unenthusiastically put on your makeup. Bruce picked you up and you tried so hard to hide how you were practically dead on arrival to the Richard Grayson and Koriand’r Wedding.

Smiles. Even when they were uncalled for. It was so much more painful to do when it hurt every minute that ticked away, every second that carefully tore out every other smidge of hope you always thought there was. It was on you, then. For thinking there was any at all.

Kory looked stunning down that aisle, of course. Like all the other people in the room were rubbish. You couldn’t even watch her. Or him, standing at the end of that aisle with a smile so bright you wished was caused by anything else but her. But it was.

So you had your eyes closed. Or at least tried to.

Until it happened.

The sister. She looked exactly like Kori, except her flowing mane of hair was jet black and her skin burned red. Eyes were white, everything else she had on was dark. Blackfire.

Then the cheers turned into screams. Flower petals turned into broken glass. The fairy lights and décor turned into fire beams and lasers.

If it weren’t in a room full of superpowered heroes and vigilantes, they all would have died right then and there.

In the end, the wedding got called off. Everything was destroyed. Blackfire was sent to space prison and Dick and Kory had to reschedule the wedding.

Three months later, they still weren’t married.

After four months, Dick broke off their relationship entirely.

Five months passed, Kory went back to Tamaran.

At six months, Dick moved to Gotham from Bludhaven.

You never got to talk to Dick about it, or talk to him at all beyond the small exchanges and light conversations over the dinner table at the manor or the chatter by the fireplace. He never mentioned it. You didn’t want to pry. At times, you’d see how he’d stare at the carpet for a minute too long, how his knee suddenly stopped shaking or fidgeting all of a sudden when he got too deep into his thoughts like how he often did when he was bored, and how his laughs felt just a tad bit softer even when the jokes were hysterical.

Everyone told you to let him be for a while, since not even he could get too close to the subject. They told you what he was up to, how he was feeling that day. You tend to ask a lot. Because if there was anything worse than seeing him with someone else, it was seeing him almost destroy his own life part by part over the loss of his love.

No. You weren’t thrilled over what happened. It didn’t give you hope, or let your mind wander over the endless possibilities of what could happen to you, to him, to you both. And even if you had to try so hard, which you didn’t, you couldn’t possibly allow yourself to have some kind of satisfaction over the tragedy, not even when it supposedly served you, what you wanted.

This wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want him to lose himself. You didn’t want him to be sunken into an abyss he was trying so hard to come out of.

Eventually, you’ll learn to let go. Properly. On your own pace. Not on anyone else’s.

Almost a year since the incident happened. He was okay now. Made the same jokes he always used to. Brightened up every room he went to. Went out with a few women every now and then. Saying you were used to that last one to the point where it didn’t even bother you anymore was both unnerving and understandable.

Everything was lighter now. Better. Dick was okay.

So why were you so nervous today?

Two pm. He was going to arrive any minute.

Dammit. That canvas. Lying on the floor like you were some kind of slob in a swamp. You went over and placed it against the wall. Plop, it fell right off. Cursing and fixing it up against all the other canvases up in the corner, everything just started to topple down like fucking dominos. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

You grabbed all the canvases with as much as your arms could carry, frantically looked around your little studio for some kind of rope you could tie these together just so they wouldn’t explode in anyone’s face.

Ding.

“Shiiiii-“

The fucking doorbell, and you didn’t even have any arms to open the door with. You looked to your bedroom, then to your kitchen. Fuck. There was a drawer-shit, it fell to the floor-a drawer right by your bed. You scrambled with your knees shaking harder than the San Andreas fault.

Ding.

“Just a minute!!!”

You stacked them on top of each other, shoved them under your bed, then fixed the mess of a cobweb that was your hair. The mirror must have been kind to you ‘cause you could have sworn you looked like a hobo by now. But there wasn’t any time for that.

Foggy throat cleared, face calm and cool (you hoped), you ran to the door and shook off the nerves.

“Hi, Di-” The door slammed open, only for it to almost pull off the hinges with the chain lock still on. Frantically, you closed it , took off the lock, then swung it again.

“Hi.”

Dick had his hands in his pockets, jacket as blue as his eyes and as bright as the glimmer in its irises. His smile brought both calm and chaos within your veins.

“Sorry. I, uh-“ your thumb pointed to your apartment. “I was cleaning.”

Cleaning?

“That’s okay. Can I come in?”

Poor thing was shivering. “Of course!”

Dick stepped into your apartment and dusted off his clothes. You took his jacket. “Thanks.” Then he ran his long fingers along his black strands.

Putting his coat over the rack, you pulled out the pillows from your lounge chair. “Sit here.”

“It’s fine.” His smile lightened up the room. “Thank you though.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Just water. Thanks.”

While you went into the kitchen, fumbling with the glass and water pitcher from the fridge, you called out to him. “You can go ahead to my studio!”

“Thanks,” you heard him call you back, then you followed him into the room, handing him the glass.

You already had the paintings lined up for him. Three canvases. Sitting up against the wall in a laid back, almost effortless looking arrangement when in fact, it was a lot of effort. You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard.

“Christ,” he walked over to the one in the middle. The most recent one you did, one of a birds eye view of the ocean right by the Gotham City docks. “How did you even get this shot?”

“I-uh,” you stood beside him. “It’s a shot from the Batwing. Bruce gave me the footage.”

“And that one?”

Times Square. The building was the only thing on the canvas, but there was so much detail on the windows, on the balconies, and even the neon lights right at the top.

“I took pictures from the street across. They wouldn’t let me stay there with an aisle and all my tools.”

His one knee laying on the ground, Dick took an even closer look at the tower. “Is that a person in the window?”

You looked down. “Yeah…”

“These are incredible.” Dick looked up at you. “I think I’d insult you if I tell you I’m surprised.”

“Well. It was your idea to focus on painting. The blames on you.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, marveling over the canvas. “This is natural talent right here.”

You wished you could bite back the smile as much as you would have liked, but at least his head was turned away.

“How much for these?”

“No. Actually,” you swallowed. “Those are just samples. I wanna make something for you from scratch. Really personalized, you know?”

“Seriously?”

You nodded. “Since you’re permanently moving back to the manor, I thought it would make a good welcome back present.”

His smile was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, looking over to you bashfully even when he’s most often the most confident person in the room. You smiled back, but you doubt it was as addicting to watch as his own.

“If it’s not too much trouble-“

“Not at all.”

“I’m really liking this one, though,” He pointed at the third one. One of Bludhaven. From a shot of the city he sent to you himself. Most of the time, you had to work with pictures, and the moment he sent that to you, you just knew you had to paint it. Not for him. For you.

“I’ll make you another one.”

“Y/N-“

“And you don’t have to pay-“

“That, I won't agree to.”

“Dick, it’s a present.”

“This is my way of supporting you. Artists should never do this for free.”

When he placed his hand on your shoulder, you knew there wasn’t any use arguing. He didn’t even know. He’s given you so much support no monetary value could compare to. You didn’t need money.

That, or he didn’t think this present was anything more than a favor or an item to purchase. It shouldn’t be. You knew that. And still you wanted it to be more than that.

Yeah. You were probably making a goof out of yourself if you wouldn’t submit.

This wasn’t a rejection. Telling yourself that should make you feel better.

“Thank you.”

You didn’t look into his eyes when he started walking around the room, at all the other paintings you had laid out. You had a few portraits. One of Bruce, from when he asked you to do one for him a month ago and you still hadn’t finished until now. Who knew his usual scowl was so hard to do? Then there were more landscapes of the city.

“Gotham’s your muse, huh?”

“She’s beautiful when she isn’t so full of shit,” you laughed.

One of more skyscrapers that you laid out to look like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Another of your works in progress. “I like this one.”

You were right behind Dick as he walked around, taking closer looks at each of them. A few drawings were up on the walls.

“Is that us?”

You went over to his side. “Yeah… It’s a painting I want to do.”

A rough sketch of the whole family. Bruce standing at the top most of the manor’s grand staircase. Dick on the step below. Then Jason leaning against the railing, the only one who wasn’t smiling. Tim sitting with his knees up. Barbara looking beautiful in a bright smile on the same step as Tim. Then Steph sitting on the railway. You standing right beside Steph, arm wrapped around her. Cass with her arms crossed. Duke at the bottom . Then of course, the kid who practically owned the whole manor, little Damian on the ground, at the center with a smug grin and his arms up his chest.

Even if people were to take a second look, they’d think you were a normal, functional family.

“This,” Dick’s jaw was on the ground. “Deserves to be up in the fireplace.”

You snorted. “I haven’t even started on it yet.”

“Oh, I don’t mean the painting. This drawing alone is fantastic.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you.”

Biting his lips, he had that same simper of disbelief radiating through even more compliments you couldn’t answer to. You let it get to you. For a while.

It wasn’t exactly going to get any better.

Though your definition of better, shouldn’t be at there all.

“Y/N, I can’t thank you enough.”

You held up your hand. “You’ve been gone from home for too long. I’m just glad your back.”

He walked down to the three paintings you had out for him. “So these paintings are just samples?”

“Yeah. I wanna know which kind you prefer, since you only asked of one of the city. It can be neither of them. Just something that you actually want in your room.”

“Y/N, these are all so amazing as it is.”

“Still.”

Were you doing too much? Were you asking too much? Were you giving too much?

Most fucking probably.

But then he gave you that smile again, the one you dream about for years. One that’s driven you to do so many good things, for others and for yourself.

Your response was with a smile of your own, though it carried with it some remnant of pain from his wedding day.

“So… which one would you like?”

He looked at the paintings again.

“Bludhaven. I guess it would be nice to have some part of it in my room.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

“Trust me. Don’t feel any pressure. I can promise myself this will be the best thing ever.”

Your eyes were stuck to your feet, because if you looked up at his own, you weren’t sure what you might end up saying.

“Thank you. It means a lot. Coming from you.”

His eyebrows were up to his forehead. “Really? I don’t think there’s anyone who doesn’t like your work.”

Yeah. But it’s not the same when it’s coming from you, you asshat.

“I’ll uh-“ You rushed over to your sketchbooks, pulled out your pencil and went over beside Dick. He was smiling at you. “What do you think about the skyline looking like this? Like it was taken from eastern bay.”

You did a quick outline of skyscrapers and a bridge extending to one side, a lone island and clouds on top of it. He nodded. “That looks great.”

“Alright,” you looked up, saw the slight lines at the corners of his eyes and the even more miniscule details on his face that was staring back at you.

“Nice sketchbook.”

“Oh,” you grinned at it, looking over the knitted covers and the expensive looking paper that had hundreds of leaves within its spine. “Thank you. I get one of these every year.”

“You buy them yourself?”

“I don’t. They’re way too expensive.” You placed it on the table. “I get them as a gift.”

“From who?”

“I, uh...” you didn’t want to get into this. “Anyway, would you like to stay over?”

Dick shook his head. “I’d love to, but I have to get going. Some other errands to run. Sorry.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

Hands fidgeting, then stopping when you realized they were fidgeting, Dick stood in front of you and beamed with his million dollar smile. You tried not to look back up at him.

“How are you, Y/N?”

You chuckled. “I’m okay.”

“We’d all love for you to come back to the manor…” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Lips in your teeth, he didn’t look like he was expecting much of a response other than a bashful smile and a shake in your head.

“I mean… I’d love for you to come back to the manor.”

Eyebrows up, you stared back at him. “You would?”

“Of course. It’s been a long since we just hung out. Stop over every once in a while.”

“I, uh-“ you swallowed. “I actually do have to go there next week. Bruce is asking me to send over his pieces.”

“Cool. I’ll see you then.”

You went with him to the door, watched him put on his jacket. “I’ll call”

“Come on, don’t act like I’m some stranger, Y/N.”

It was sad, how casual it was when he pulled you with his arms. His embrace wasn’t so tight, but it was warm. Nose stuck to his shoulder and masking your other raging emotions with a light laugh, you closed your eyes and let the split second last longer than it actually did.

Yeah. You still had it bad. No matter what you seemed to do, it just wouldn’t go away.

He swayed about, patting your back. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And,” he pointed his hand at you, then scrunched it up to a fist. “Send me a list of movies you wanna watch. We’ll go through a few of them at the manor. Like we used to.”

“With everyone else?”

“Nah,” he placed his hands in his pockets. “Just us.”

He walked out the door. You closed it behind him and placed the chain lock back.

That encounter lasted ten, fifteen minutes?

It felt both longer and shorter than that. Like a thousand years and a millisecond were the same length.

You were just thankful you didn’t mess up or do anything as embarrassing as you worried it might be.

But it wasn’t as if it was new, or that the nerves and the chills and the blood rushing about was anything you weren’t already used to. Careful around him, sure. You had been since you first met him. But terrified? Nah.

You can be so used to walking around coals and fire and not be afraid of getting burned, yet still have it in you to wear something to protect your skin. Just for the sake of surviving. To get through it smoothly. So it wouldn’t hurt as much.

You slumped onto the lounge chair he didn’t take and closed your eyes. You let the hours pass. You let the clock tick away.

Then you jumped at the buzzing in your pocket. Blinking away the beginnings of a nap, you took your phone.

“Tim?”

“Y/N. You free tonight?”

Two hours had passed since Dick left.

“Yeah. What are you up to?”

“Work. I need company.”

“You sure Bruce is okay with you not going to patrol?”

“He has everyone else. Come on. I’m spending the night at the office.”

“Why me?“

“You can bring your sketchbook. ‘Sides. You haven’t been out of the house for a while.”

“The pictures you send me are good enough source material.”

“You draw a lot better when you’re seeing it with your own eyes.”

Standing from your chair and moving over to get your sketchbook and pencils, you scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know where to meet me.”

He hung up, then you scurried around to get your coat.

-----

“Ms. Y/LN.”

You nodded at the doorman, bag over your shoulder. A number of people were already rushing out of the elevators even when it had only been a minute after office hours, so you had to wait a while before an empty one came down for you.

50th floor. A few minutes of silence in the elevator, then you walked out into a dimmed-out hallway where the other employees had already deserted. The farthest end was a door, unlocked just as Tim said. You stepped inside his office and shrugged yourself off your jacket. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Tim had his reddening eyes glued to his laptop screen, not even giving you a glance up. Tapping away at the keys, you stretched out and basked in the blowing warmth, at the heater that was running at the side. Holding your hands up at the whiff of air, Tim fell to the back of his seat.

“Christ, my back.”

You snickered. “We do tend to get arthritis even when we’re barely into our twenties.”

“No. We usually don’t.”

“Not if you’re Tim Drake.” You walked over to his desk. “What are you working on?”

“Stuff that Bruce shouldn’t be asking from me in two days. A report on why and how we’ll be able to extend to the west coast, if it’s even possible.”

“Wow. Are you endorsing it?”

“I invented it.”

You brushed back the hair he hadn’t even noticed had fallen into his eyes. One of the reasons why it was almost bulging red. Your exhausted best friend took your hand away and snarled, though it wasn’t without a smirk.

“Then quit complaining. If it’s your idea, it’s your job.”

“I complained about back pains, not the work.”

You leaned back against the table and watched him type.

“Are you really spending the night here?”

“As long as I have to. Then I head back to the manor.”

“And you want me to stay?”

He stopped typing and looked up at you, eyes wide. “Please.”

“Fine.”

You settled yourself on the couch near his desk. “What have you been working on lately?” he asked.

Shrugging, your eyes were on the ceiling. “The portraits for Bruce, mostly. And the portrait of Bruce.”

“I assume that must be dreadful.”

“It’s hard painting his jaw and not give away the fact that he has Batman’s jaw.” You held your hand out. “You just need to cover his eyes and squint. And boom, his identity’s given away. Can’t do that in person but you certainly can to a painting he wants on his foyer that everybody’s gonna see.”

“I never actually thought Bruce wants that.”

“Neither did I.”

“What are his other requests?”

“One of Thomas and Martha. One of the manor.”

“The man wants a painting of the manor in the manor?”

“Yup.”

“When you have the money, I guess.”

“I know. He’s paying me five months’ worth of rent.”

Tim rubbed on the corner of his eye, his hands hovering motionless over his keyboard for a second. You looked over to him.

“You don’t have to, you know. If you just move back with us.”

“I know.”

“You sure you don’t want to? With Dick around now?”

Mouth ever so slightly curving up the side, a long breath escaped your nostrils. “I’m over him.”

“You sure about that?”

When you turned back up to the ceiling, closed your eyes while you had your arms hugging your chest, you heard him tapping on his keyboard after a few seconds of you not answering his question.

“He came over to your house today?”

“Yeah. I’m doing a piece for him.”

“What of?”

“Bludhaven. For his room.”

“Welcome back gift, ey?”

“Yeah. I hope he likes it.”

It almost seemed like he snorted at that. “He’d be stupid not to. I was also gonna ask you to do a piece for me.”

Your eyebrow raised even with your eyes closed. “Really?”

“Yeah. For my office.”

“Tim, I’m doing just fine. I’m not exactly surrounded by butlers and limos but it doesn’t mean I’m struggling.”

“Hey, don’t take it that way,” he said. “We all just love your work.”

“A bit too much, if you ask me.”

“You get better everyday. We’re appreciating it just enough. Like how you deserve to be appreciated.”

You didn’t take that to heart.

This painting all started as a way to let out the trauma, to get out of a life that had taken its toll on you the worst way it possibly could.

This was them feeling bad for you. This was a charity.

It didn’t, however, mean you were going to say no.

You hated it, but you weren’t stupid enough to refuse the cash. You liked having nice things.

“What piece would you like me to do?”

“Your call. You know what I like.”

‘Almost everything then, that’s what you wanted to say back.

A while of lounging around on the couch. A few hours, perhaps. You might have taken a nap, because your head had gone foggy and your eyes were salty when you awoke and the sky had gone completely dark.

“Tim, you should take a break.”

Was that his third cup of coffee sitting on his desk?

Again, with his hair covering his eyes, he had his one hand over his lips, eyes narrowed onto the blue screen that looked painful staring back at him so brightly. He sighed, then rubbed his eyelids with his fingers.

“Come on.” You took his jacket and threw it at him. “Take me up the balcony. Get some air.”

He looked too exhausted to speak. But after you’d gone over to his side and pushed his shoulder, he hissed and closed his laptop. “Fine, jeez.”

Tim looked like a polar bear pulled out of his iceberg when you had him off his desk. He shuffled into his coat, then you both walked out of the room and into the elevators. You held onto your sketchbook and a few pencils.

The balcony at the 70th floor. You haven’t been there for a while. You actually haven’t been in Wayne Tower the past few months at all. So when you stepped out, walked down the hall until you reached the balcony, the heights, the winds, the lights, and the stuttering noises went straight through you, gave you that static-like image that usually resonated within your senses when you sketched out Gotham City.

You sat on the marble railing, swung your legs up on the ledge and placed your sketchbook against your knees.

“You sure you wanna do that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop acting like I didn’t use to jump across rooftops.”

Tim was stifling a laugh, not sure if he should. So you pulled out an empty page and started with LexCorp a few blocks away from you. Tim went to sit next to you, then pressed his back against yours while pulling his feet up the same position. He was warm, leverage enough so your back wouldn’t end up hurting after a few minutes. He let you have your silence.

A wide balcony. Half of the page should be of it alone. Though it was just the silhouette, you traced out how the railings looked like if you were standing a few feet back.

Your head tilted to the left the way it does when you went on with your work.

You felt Tim’s back rise, then slowly soften.

“You alright back there?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“You don’t feel like it.”

“I am.” You felt his shoulder slightly brush against yours. You just shook it off then let the edge of the pencil flow lightly over what should be the sky.

A few more minutes, then a helicopter flew over your heads. When it went away, Tim’s head suddenly fell back to your shoulder.

Warmth. Like what he’s always given you. You stayed as still as you could and let the smile that was eventual and gradual creep up your lips.

“You’ll fall off if you fall asleep on me.”

“I think all that coffee’s not going to make me fall asleep for the next few days.”

Laughing, you just let him lean against you. then his head shifted so he was looking over your shoulder.

“That’s looking good.”

“You think?” You held up the notebook. “That’s us.”

Two kids sitting on the railings, with the view of the city right at their feet. Backs up against each other, shaded with the darkest black. The girl was leaning against the boy’s shoulder, quite the opposite of what was actually going on.

You felt Tim smile his mouth off. “Can I have that?”

“Hold on. Lemme finish this.”

The bat signal. Shining right at the horizon. Then you went over more of the details. The tiny lights on the windows. The helicopter that just passed by. The ocean far off.

Tim was watching you.

Not your hand. Or the drawing.

You.

A few more minutes, then you carefully ripped the page off the book. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

He folded it up, then carefully put it into his pocket. Then he placed his head against your shoulder again.

You did the same.

“I missed you.”

You laughed. “It’s not like we don’t see each other often.”

“I know. I miss seeing you everyday.”

Your head up at the sky, heart in your throat.

“Me too…”

Then you found yourself closing your eyes.

Legs dangling off the ledge on opposite sides, you both spent the next hour in silence, leaning against each other.

You and Tim on the rooftops. Just the two of you. Laughing. Sharing a drink. Doing homework even.

They were always the best times.

“Shit,” he looked at the time on his phone. “Come on. If I can finish half of it in three hours, we might actually get to go back to the manor to get some sleep.”

“Tim-“

“Just a night,” he slipped off onto the ground, then everything felt so much colder around you. “Please. Everyone’s out anyway.”

You shut your eyes.

But even when you expected yourself to decline, you ended up nodding and sliding your torso to turn back towards the building, . “Fine. But only because you’re taking me- Fuck…”

You moved too fast. You fucking moved too fast. Shit.

“Y/N, don’t move-“

Tim rushed to your legs, held his hands over the back of yours that was touching the metal where flesh and skin was supposed to be.

You tried to flinch away how you always do when someone does so much as lay a finger on you or your fucking limb when it was uncalled for, but Tim’s hands were soft and gentle. And you were also 70 stories above ground so jumping away wouldn’t be the best idea.

“Tim, I’m fine-“

“Let me help.”

“I’m fine… shit…”

Stinging nerves, all the way up your thigh when you tried to move it yourself. That’s when Tim ignored you and went ahead to hold it himself.

It was too late into the night for you to argue. So you pulled your hands away and let him slide your leg over the railing, dangling it onto the edge towards him.

“May I?”

Now facing him, both legs hanging just inches away from the ground, you placed your weight on your hands and nodded.

Tim knelt in front of you, then pulled your loose jeans up to your knee.

You felt disgusted at yourself, and you hated how he wasn’t, hands over the silver steel that replaced your skin, at the rods and wires that replaced your bones, where tiny stubs of metal stuck out in place of actual toes. You held your breath, then Tim looked up at you, hands soothing just below your knee.

He didn’t look like he pitied you. There was that.

That, or he just mastered the art of hiding his pity and instead, look at you like he was just trying to take care of you.

Which he was. You weren’t about to rob him of that credit.

Tim unlatched the bionic limb, then pulled it off of what was left of your leg. A stub of skin, where it had healed about three inches down from your knee, was burning red.

“Must have caused a bit of stress.”

You shrugged. “I’ll be fine. It happens a lot.”

Tim’s fingers over the marks of pink, you felt how gentle he was, the callous that had formed over the years, at the warmth that came with his palms rubbing over your skin. Your eyes were all on him.

Then he looked up at you, without stopping his hands.

Another set of blue eyes, quite different from the last pair you saw earlier that day. Though it must have been because of the dark, his reflected the light from the city skyline just a bit better.

Tim looked at you the same way he always did for years. It didn’t make your skin fluster, or your stomach churn.

You felt at home.

You smiled at him, then he smiled back before he looked back down at your leg.

Tim was the only one you’d ever let do this.

After a longer while of massaging your knee, he placed the bionic leg back into place and latched it up.

“Try moving it around.”

This limb costed millions of dollars and only you had a robot leg as good as fucking Cyborg’s, and still it pained when you moved two seconds too fast. You moved your toes about, swayed your ankle. Still with a slight sting, but you could brush it off. Tim pulled your jeans back down and helped you off the railing.

He didn’t speak much on the way down back to his office, and he let you have your nap on his couch for a few more hours while he worked away.

Though, you couldn’t exactly sleep.

You weren’t sure if you were bothered, anxious, or pleased, and you hated how you still considered that last one.

It was in the way he looked at you, touched you so gently. You could tell. You could definitely tell. You told Tim years ago to promise you that he’d stop. And he said he would. Turns out he couldn’t keep that promise.

Tim still loved you.

Carefully, without him noticing, you looked back over your shoulder and watched him crouch over his laptop the way that was going to strain his back for the next three months. And you weren’t sure if you liked that it made you smile, when you took too much time watching his eyes and his lips and even his nose scrunching up like a rabbit’s.

You’d think years after you decided to be just friends, and ended up being best friends would let you both move on completely. He dated Steph for a while, even. And still, he wasn’t friends with her now the way he was with you.

It wasn’t at all awkward. It didn’t have to be.

But maybe it wasn’t for the reason you thought.

The sketchbook. The really expensive one you always used up after a few months. It costed about a hundred dollars per piece, and you get one every single year along with other art materials like charcoal pencils and canvases and paint.

And they always arrived right at your door every Valentine’s morning.

No name. No tag.

You thought it was from Bruce at first, like how he continued to spoil you with just about everything else with commissions and pieces he didn’t even need but claimed to want for his new mantle at the office or a wall in one of his condos.

But it was all too intimate and personal.

After the third year, you found out it was from him.

You could tell with how it was all wrapped and carefully arranged. Only from his hands, and how gentle they can be when he held you…

You fell asleep on that couch, clutching the sketchbook to your chest.

----

It was past five in the morning when Tim finally stood up from his desk. You were well into your sleep, then you felt his hand on your shoulder, shrugging you awake.

“Huh?”

“Come on. Let’s get some sleep at the manor.”

Groaning into the couch’s fabric, Tim took fifteen minutes pulling you to stand until he finally got you on your feet. He helped you with your coat, then on the taxi home you fell asleep on his shoulder, and he fell asleep with his cheek on your head.

You got to the manor, stretched out, then just as the sun had fully greeted you, you both walked into the foyer. Alfred was still freshly awoken.

“Master Tim, where on earth have you been?”

“The office.”

“The off- never mind. Miss Y/N, I’m happy to see you.”

“Hey Alfred,” you yawned and gave the butler a hug.

“Will you be sleeping in your room?”

“Yes please.”

He nodded, then you and Tim walked over to the steps.

“Wait.” You backed away. “I want water. You go ahead.”

The zombie that was Tim Drake didn’t even turn his head to you as he lugged himself up the stairs. You dragged your feet to the kitchen, stretching out your arms. It was way too fucking early for this.

You reached into the fridge and grabbed the ice-cold pitcher of water, held up an empty glass, then poured it in.

You brought the glass up to your lips.

You closed the fridge door.

Then felt the freezing cold surge up your nose, your eyes pop open from the crust and saltiness that had formed over your eyelids, then your throat started to close up and you coughed the water out of your hacking mouth.

“J-Jason?”

A towel covered his face when he first walked in, which meant his arm was up and his muscles were flexing when his bulked up bare chest was practically screaming into your eyes. Eight pack abs. Pecs stronger than steel. Ripples on his sides. And his fucking arms that could tear apart a block of wood in one pull.

It was too much of a convenience that he was rubbing the sweat off his hair so much that he couldn’t see you with your jaw on the ground. Every muscle in your body tightened, screamed, then just as Jason looked up at you, drenched hair flopping onto his eyes, you immediately looked away and pretended your own throat wasn’t choking you right then.

He walked towards you. Fuck.

“Hey, pretty bird.”

That low, husky voice…

You nodded. “H-hey,” you choked. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

You drank the whole glass in one gulp, then you opened the fridge once again to pour in even more water.

“I came with Tim. I was with him in the office.”

“Oh,” he leaned against the counter right beside you, and all your eyes that were fucking defying you right then could look at were the veins popping out of his biceps.

“Why are you here?”

He pouted. “I always train this early.”

“You come here all the way from your apartment at five in the morning?”

“Since a few days ago, yeah.”

“Why?”

He scoffed. “No gym on earth has Bruce’s equipment.”

“Ah.” You went through the whole glass again. The sweat was starting to pour down his chest.

Placing it onto the kitchen counter just inches away from Jason’s body, you were practically floating out of the kitchen. As fast as you could. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Bye, pretty bird.”

Up the stairs. Into your old room. Away from anyone else.

You fell to your bed, but you couldn’t sleep a single wink.

And you weren’t even sure why.

Or who.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

MAIN TAGLIST:

@everyartistwas-firstanamateur, @sarcasmismyfirstlove, @damned-queen-of-gotham, @idkmanicantenglish, @wunderstell, @birdy-bat-writes, @get-loki, @everyday-imfangirling, @comic-nerd-dc, @multifandomgirl-us, @multifandoms916, @icequeen208, @offendedfishnoises, @egdolan, @xemiefx, @arkhamtoddler, @elsenthal, @mythicbitchx, @lucy-roo, @roseangel013bf, @loxbbg, @reclusive-chicken-nugget, @l-inkage, @http-cherries, @shadowsndaisies, @river9noble, @zphilophobiaz, @annoylinglyaries, @knightfall05x, @hyp-oh-critical, @satan-s-ass, @1-800-starmora, @flowersgirl02, @nahcho

SERIES TAGLIST:

@spaceservicestation

#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #batfam #batfamily #robins #dc comics #reader insert #batboys x reader #nightwing #red hood #red robin #3 birds 1 stone #3 birds 1 stone series #batarella #batarella series

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skygirl5 · 3 years

Text

12 Prompts of Christmas - #3 Mittens

THREE – Mittens

Setting: Castle, Season 7

After stacking the last dish in the dishwasher, Castle squirted soap into the appropriate slot, snapped the lid closed, and then returned the soap bottle to its storage spot under the sink. Then he closed up the dishwasher, pressed the start button, and turned around to survey the counter and make everything had been put back in its proper place. Once that was confirmed he wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and hung it back on the hook mounted on the upper cabinets.

With his post-dinner routine was complete, he moved towards the hallway but then found himself slightly surprised that it was vacant. Just as he started to clean up Kate had disappeared into the bedroom to change into warmer clothes before their walk. He thought for sure she would be done before him, but yet she didn’t seem to be, which he found odd.

A few days earlier, Castle had suggested that the two of them walk around their neighborhood in the evening and enjoy all the light up Christmas displays. While his wife agreed this was a sweet idea, that evening had a wind chill in the low-twenties and she was afraid she would be too cold to enjoy it. Seeing that as a fair point, Castle looked at the weather report and found an evening that would be much warmer so they decided to reschedule. At a practically balmy thirty-four, that evening turned out to be perfect, though he understood Kate would need to wear something warmer than the long-sleeved t-shirt and calf-length yoga pants she’d been walking around the house in.

Walking into their bedroom, he spotted her sitting on the floor on her side of the bed, her head barely visible above the plastic storage containers and boxes that were stack there. A little over a month had passed since they married and she moved into the loft and thus not all of her belongings had been fully put away yet. In part this was because they were still shifting around his things, which had been taking up more than fifty percent of the space, and in another part because she said she wanted to use the move as an opportunity to purge things she didn’t want or need anymore. Castle saw no issue with either of these things causing a delay. Her clutter didn’t bother him especially since he knew he had more than his own fair share of stuff sitting around that he probably didn’t need to hang onto anymore.

“Kate? Are you ready to go?”

“Oh…sorry. Sorry I guess I just got a little bit distracted. I was looking for…and then I thought…” With a huff of breath she shook her head and then rotated her body so she was facing him. Using her hand against the mattress she pushed herself up into a standing position and sidled her way out between he boxes. “Sorry; we’re probably running late now.”

He walked forward. “There’s no time-table for our date, love; I just want to spend time with you. Besides, I just finished loading the dishwasher, so you’re not late at all.”

She nodded. “I just get frustrated every time I see all this stuff piled up. I know I need to take some more time and get though it, but there’s just so much going on—especially this time of year. You must be so annoyed with them sitting here.”

“Not in the least,” he said. When she gave him a look indicating she didn’t think he was being truthful, he continued with, “I’m serious. Every time I see those boxes I’m reminded that you actually live here full time now because you’re my wife—and what could be better about that?”

Castle didn’t care how many reminders he had that Kate was his wife; the more the better! From her stack of boxes (which he knew would ultimately go away) to their wedding rings to the Mr. & Mrs. frame Alexis got him for his desk that held their wedding photo. He loved his wife. He loved that they were married. Every moment of their life together was a joy, so why wouldn’t he want more reminders.

Smiling, Kate leaned in to kiss him softly and said, “You’re very sweet.”

“I know.”

“But look what I found!” She jogged the five steps back to the box pile and pulled a pile of red fabric from the top of one box. Hurrying back to him, she held out the items for him to see.

Castle stared down at them curiously as the wheels of his brain began to turn. “Mittens…I know these. Did I give you these?”

“Yep! The first year we worked together you gave me these for Christmas.”

Rick nodded, remembering the event. They still had a rather tumultuous relationship back then, though it was steadily improving. He had been worried that giving her too much of a Christmas gift for some reason might irritate her, so he went with the very subtle yet practical red mittens and presented them to her with his gratitude for her allowing him to shadow her. “Ah, yes back when you couldn’t stand me.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “I wouldn’t stay that. You…annoyed me at times for sure but giving me these mittens was a very sweet thing to do. I wore them that year, then thought I lost them, but as it turns out they just got shoved back in my closet behind some old shoe boxes. I only found them when I fully emptied my closet to move. So now I can wear them again.”

As she slid them on her hands a rather peculiar expression crossed her face, leading him to ask, “What?”

Shaking her head, she smiled down at her hands. “Oh, nothing…I was just thinking: if the last time I had these on someone told me I’d marry the man who gave them to me, my head might have exploded. Not in a bad way just…back then I didn’t understand the way you made me feel so it probably came out as anger and annoyance more than it should have. I was just…afraid of facing something that could be real because that meant opening myself up in a way I never had before. But I’m so glad I did.”

His heart swelling with love for her for the thousandth time, he leaned down and kissed her gently. “Me too. Now are you ready to go on our walk?”

She slid her mitten-covered hand in his and said, “Yeah, let’s go.”

#castle #caskett #castle fanfiction #12PromptsofChristmas #my fic: 12 Prompts of Christmas

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carelessgraces · 3 years

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@potterstillstinks | plotted starter

She’d be a liar if she said she wasn’t looking forward to this trip because she wanted to see him. She’d meant to call, she really had — they’d had a great time at the wedding, between the talking and the dancing, and a better time after the wedding, and she’d gotten his number afterward and promised she would get in touch. But then there was the problem with the book that had to be sorted out — and that had taken a month, and she hadn’t had time to do anything besides sleep and work, sleep and work. As soon as that was sorted out, she’d been on tour. Then her phone broke, before she’d had the good sense to back everything up, and her contacts had almost all been lost, and...

...well. She’d asked Spencer if he was seeing anyone — “Do you remember Blaise’s best man? Draco? Is he still single?” — and he’s not, and she could have called but it had been eleven months, and what was four more weeks, when she could apologize in person? So she’d waited. The trip was a good idea for a lot of reasons, and Astoria had agreed to it immediately after learning who else would be in attendance. She’d have to reschedule a meeting with her editor, but that was no big deal. It would be worth it.

They’re all at dinner in the casino, waiting for Blaise and Spencer to come down — it’s the entire wedding party, celebrating their friends’ first anniversary. He looks as good as he did at the wedding. ( A little better, really, given that he hasn’t shaved in a few days. ) She’s wearing a pair of black jeans that look practically painted on and a pair of Louboutins, and her favorite shade of lipstick just for luck, and she’s got a glass of wine in her hand when she takes a seat next to him, smile bright but apologetic.

“You look great,” Astoria tells him sincerely, eyes skating over his jawline, the shape of his mouth, the state of his hair. “It’s good to see you. I’d hoped you’d be here.” She’d actually asked Spencer about four times if he’d be coming, so a bit more than hope. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call. Things got so crazy. Let me make it up to you?”

The first thing she notices when she wakes is that she’s not in her own hotel room. Not a huge surprise there, particularly when she looks to her side — there’s Draco, asleep, and both of her shoes are sitting on the nightstand beside him. That’s weird. It’s also weird that they’re both fully clothed. She didn’t drink enough to black out, and she didn’t sleep with him; Astoria runs a hand across her eyes and it comes away smudged with black, a clear indication that whatever happened last night, she didn’t bother washing her face or taking off her eyeliner.

But she definitely didn’t drink enough to black out. A couple too many margaritas, sure, and then some wine and champagne, but... Astoria sits up as gently as she can, swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands. Her head is swimming. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the floor near her and she snatches it up and finishes the remaining water quickly enough that she nearly chokes on it. A glint of something on her hand very nearly catches her attention, but she ignores it. It’s just a matter of waking up, she thinks, sorting through everything —

— she looks down at her hand, at the glint of light that she just saw, her gaze fixed but absent. It takes a moment for her to register that there’s a ring, a little too big but still nice, on her finger. She wears rings sometimes, but not often on her left hand. Certainly not her left hand ring finger. She wipes her hand over her eyes again; definitely still wearing mascara. That’ll be fun to get off. Where did the ring come from?

She closes her eyes and she hears... Carly Rae Jepsen? Yes, it’s definitely CRJ, she thinks it’s “Run Away With Me,” and she’s insisting not an Elvis impersonator, I’m not getting married by an Elvis impersonator, and her eyes fall on the ring again. And she’s not proud of it but she stumbles back with a shriek she only barely manages to silence, a hand slapped over her mouth and the other hand reaching wildly for something to keep herself upright. She bumps her elbow into the lamp on the bedside table and it falls, the thud loud enough that it’s sure to wake him, and she simply stares at the ring on her hand.

What has she done?

#potterstillstinks #thread: potterstillstinks019 #v. she had gone beyond the world of metaphor and simile into the place of things that are. ( alternate universe: modern | writer )

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krreader · 5 years

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diamond maknae | advice and support.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x maknae!reader (platonic) fandom: bts warnings: eighth member of bts!reader ; maknae!reader genre: fluff ; angst previous: see my diamond maknae masterlist word count: 850+

summary: balancing the personal life with the life of an idol was always hard, no matter how long you were in this business and jeongguk was harshly reminded of that.

a/n: two jk dm requests in a row, but this one is strictly platonic this time haha. I hope you all like it!!!

You guys weren’t just a band, you were a family.

And not the kind that you only saw on Christmas, but the kind that would literally go through hell and back for you.

That’s why you always knew when someone wasn’t doing okay without them having to say a word.

All of them knew that there was something on Jeongguk’s mind, but after a while you all agreed that you’d best be the first to ask him about it. Blame it on the age or the chemistry or whatever else you want, but you and Jeongguk were always able to talk about literally everything and the rest of the members knew that too.

He had said he’d go out for a walk and you had nodded and told him to be careful, but secretly you had followed him and ended up in..-

“Funny how it always leads you here,” you sat down next to him on the stony stairs of Hongdae, smiling at the three boys in front of you who were currently performing a song of yours.

“Funny how you always seem to follow me when I say I want to be alone.”

“Because you don’t actually want to be alone, you just say that because you don’t want to bother anyone,” you hooked your arm with his, “Now. Why are we here?”

Jeongguk didn’t respond right away, instead he watched the people perform in front of him like their lives depended on it.

No matter how big he was nowadays, this place always kept him grounded.

Didn’t matter that they were dancing and singing his songs, when he came here, he remembered that he used to be just like them.

And that’s what he wanted to feel right now.

Normal.

“My brother got engaged..”

“But.. that’s great news!”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk nodded, “But they scheduled the wedding on the day we have our concert in Japan.”

Jeongguk and his brother were close, you knew that. If Jeongguk looked up to someone else other than Bangtan, it was his brother. So hearing those news, that he wouldn’t be able to attend the wedding of a family member, more specifically that of his own brother.. no wonder he was upset.

“Did you tell him about the concert?”

“He said he tried to make it work, but scheduling a wedding so that everyone is available seems to be really hard. On top of that, they said that they wouldn’t be able to get another appointment for another four months and his fiancé doesn’t want to wait that long.”

“That seems kind of harsh.. she knows how close you are.”

“She said that even if they did reschedule, none of us would know if I’m actually really free on that day. And she’s right,” Jeongguk’s shoulders slumped, “(Y/N), think about it. We can’t plan anything.. ever. Because something is always going to be scheduled one way or the other.”

He was right.. of course he was.

The last time you had a meal with a friend was months ago, simply because you didn’t have the time anymore. You barely saw your family and if only for a few hours..

You leaned your head against his shoulder.

“When is the wedding? At what time?”

“I already thought about that, but there is no guarantee I will make it to the venue in time.”

“You do the wedding first, at least stay for the ceremony, then you can fly to Japan.. it’ll be hectic and stressful, but I think it’s the best option. Because missing your own brother’s wedding isn’t on the table.”

“And what if the flight gets cancelled? What if I don’t make it in time? What if..-“

You looked back up, your hand now over his mouth and nose, “And what if you don’t go to that wedding? The wedding of someone you love and admire so much?” you slowly removed your hand and sighed, “I know you came here for normality, but you’re the one who’s taking normality from yourself by not attending events like that. You can be an idol and a brother, you just need to have a little faith in us, the company and most importantly, yourself. Jeongguk, sometimes you forgot the power you hold. You say go, people will go. You say stop, people will stop. I’m not saying to use your power every day, but on days like that? It’s not just okay, it’s necessary.”

That night it was a little hard to see it that way, but the longer he thought about it, the more he truly believed he could make it work.

He checked with the company and while they weren’t too excited about it, they ultimately agreed to let him do what he wanted to do because of whose wedding it was.

And so while you and the rest of the band went to Japan early in the morning, Jeongguk spent the morning with the happiest smile you could imagine as the best man of his brother, even managed to squeeze in a little song for him and his newly wed wife and then drove straight to the airport with his manager, landing, not even on time, but earlier than expected.

And when he entered the green room and all your brothers greeted him happily, you and him smiled at each other, you giving him an: “I told you so,” wink.

#bts imagine #bts x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jeon jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #jeongguk imagine #bts #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan #reader #requests

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levyfiles · 4 years

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27 for the end of year asks?

#27. Have you done anything that scared you?

Ooof Ok. A little backstory then. Warning: this is a long little personal irl tale and hopefully interesting enough to be worth sharing so I’ll put it under a cut.

Before I got my promotion in January, I had spent all of last year already doing the work for less of the pay because my manager trained me to do all the paperwork and accounting for her on Wednesday so she could focus on other stuff. I was fully trained to run the accounting on the full slot count every day but there were no shifts available for me to be supervisor because a guy (let’s call him R) who had worked there much longer than I had taken on more shifts earlier last year. I was patient and worked full time, I even covered for anyone who was sick, did my time until said guy moved on to another department.

Suddenly the shifts opened up and unfortunately at the same time, another guy (we’ll call him B) who had the Saturday supervising shift took some time off because of an injury and of course, like I said in an earlier ask, a really shitty worker quit. I was, from the end of February and all of March and April, running the department from Thursday to Sunday with 3 brand new workers who I had to train at the same time as do the job I had to. It was hard, the hours were longer, and there were times I really felt so drained I thought I’d never get my regular life back.

B quit permanently because he couldn’t do the more physical aspects of our work which involve hauling 1 tonne iron carts full of over 500 slot machine casettes full of money across the casino and then opening said casettes one by one to count and sort the cash. The job involves a lot of repetitive hand-intensive tasks and for all the math and stacks of cash and electrical sorters, the hardest part of the job is getting the money off the floor at hours between 2am - 4am or at earliest 6am. It takes a toll on people and the body. I’m lucky enough that I’ve always been nocturnal so the hours are me at my sharpest and strongest.

At some juncture in May, R who had gone to tables to be a dealer wanted to come back. The hours were shit and guests who play poker are too often assholes to the card dealers. I learned the news second hand from a guest service manager that my manager had already agreed to reschedule him to come back.immediately. I confronted R who had neither told me he was leaving to begin with and didn’t tell me he had plans to come back. He told me everything I heard was true and worse. I was terrified because a) what I had had to go through to train the new crew b) the large amount of time I’d spent waiting for this promotion.

It hurt all the more because R happens to be one of my really good friends. I called my manager that morning to ask her about it. I’ll always think about that phone call and what it taught me about how people are in positions of authority even when they tell you ‘you can talk to me about anything’. Her first reaction was to act like she didn’t know what I was talking about and she flip-switched the moment I told her who told me about it. That I had asked R personally and he told me his return date, that he’d been guaranteed by higher management that he could come back and that everything would be the same; that his stint on the dealing tables was just a trial to see if he would like it given that the dealing department was short (for obvious reasons). She sighed and switched up her tack, suddenly it was “no one was supposed to know” and other crap. Finally I was able to work up the nerve to ask her, “After all we’ve been through, me and the new crew; am I going to lose my position so R can come back and have his old one?” She seemed surprised by the question and the entire conversation in general, but she guaranteed that there was a miscommunication; that R’s return would only impact the new girls. My position was safe.

This bothered me. It bothered me because my manager, before news of R’s coming back had dropped, had started training one of these new girls (let’s call her S) to cover my position if I was ever sick or injured (very normal thing to do) so now there would be 3 people on the crew who could do the job I was doing. Before R wanted back in, I was relieved that maybe S would get a supervising shift so I wouldn’t be so overwhelmed.

Now this is where it gets complicated. The schedule was all over the place. S was now fully trained to cover for anyone who didn’t show, got sick, or injured is great at her job; we all love her. She fits right in. and is always willing to cover shifts and has since become my movie-night buddy. A week after she was trained, my manager sends me an email saying that we’ve got the new crew cemented, she’s got the new schedule all worked out. She keeps me on Thursdays and Fridays, gives R Saturdays, and then S takes Sunday because, according to my manager “Everyone who’s trained to supervise and do the accounting needs to have a regular shift. It’s only fair.”

So just a reminder, the whole of last year I was put on call, working under two adolescent dudes who I had to push myself to my physical limit to be as good as all while waiting and wondering if a shift would ever open up; if I’d ever be able to actually get paid for the job I was already doing for my manager on Wednesdays. That whole time it had never seemed to occur to her to give me one of R or B’s shifts, but now suddenly she has someone new on that’s not me, it’s all about being fair and delegating out shifts fairly. I was really hurt. It was that all my hard work this past two years would mean nothing and to speak up would mean I’d be ruining S’s chance, have her waiting as long as I did or maybe longer to earn a shift. Usual me would do nothing, just take what I had got and never really speak about how mad and hurt I was about being passed over for a year and only given a promotion when my manager had lost two of her staff. I was mad that a guy could leap between departments and still be guaranteed everything and It made me concerned that if I hadn’t called her that morning, would she have bothered to preserve my position. Would it have been a no communication, silent demotion where I check the schedule and everything’s back to what it was last year. It’s hard watching that happen, hard not to think when you’re the one mixed-race black girl in a small predominately white run casino that being treated like crap feels equated to something a little more deep-seated than just coincidence or circumstance.

First I talked to S. I just asked her how she felt about the job, about the trial by fire she went through in her first months working with us and she had been hinting a lot lately about how she felt a little bit of resentment for R because with his return, she was worried her and I wouldn’t be as close. That was a whole other thing we would later need to work out. The conclusion we got to was she didn’t want a supervising shift because she was working part time in maintenance outdoors and she liked it that way. I on the other hand, only have the department we were in.

I made the decision not to be usual me. It was mid-June and I invited my manager out for breakfast after work one day and I sat with her over eggs at Denny’s and I told her how the past year had felt, how it had looked when she made the decision to cut my shifts in the fashion of fairness when I had waiting a year and some months since being trained to get a chance at a regular supervising shift, that when i finally did get the promotion, it was like being abandoned because it was only after R and B were gone. I was terrified the whole time I gave my little speech because I didn’t want to appear angry or overly emotional in any capacity because if she was doing this on purpose, my reaction could easily be taken as aggressive and then I would definitely lose it all.

I was surprised. She apologised to me, said that the thought had never occurred to her that I had been waiting, that she wished I had said something before. Feels strange now. She could easily have been lying to me, but ultimately it doesn’t matter. Now R, S, and I work together and we have a lot of fun at work and we help one another. I still keep all my supervising shifts and R (who turns out is a part time streamer on Twitch) wanted more time off anyway so there’s been no bad blood at all. Weirdly enough, in August, we all went to R’s wedding and celebrated with him until they packed up the venue, and just yesterday, we had a dinner together with R and his wife, S, me and another one of our coworkers. We feel like family most days and that is worth the terror and the fear I had going into the job to start with and speaking up for myself. Sometimes shit like that works out and I don’t think I’m going to be too meek or afraid to take a leap like that where my job’s concerned anymore.

(bravo if you made it to the end of this weird little story

#personal #ask game #sequencefairy

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anonthenullifier · 5 years

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Celestial Bodies

Chapter 25 of Celestial Bodies

Chapter summary: Being an Avenger means putting aside personal matters for the greater good, except Wanda and Vision never imagined this would mean missing their wedding. (8.2k words).

Happy Scarlet Vision Appreciation Day everyone! I hope you enjoy this unapologetic fluff fest.

AN: If you have not read any of my Celestial Bodies series, that’s fine, the only chapter you might want to skim before reading this is Chapter 1 because the theme of that chapter is a motif in this chapter.

Wanda’s lungs heave in as she crests what seemed an unassuming hill, but the joy of increased gravity means it felt more like a mountain. In all her life, she’d never really thought what it would be like to walk an alien world, never imagined it would feel like rainy days when the mud sucks her boots down and every stride becomes a small battle with nature. Other than her thighs aching from a measly hill, the world around her seems oddly non-alien, mostly. The setting sun creates streaks of amaranth and clementine, silver specks flicker behind wispy clouds, and even the ground is wrapped snugly in a blanket of small, mustard colored flowers like the rocky slopes outside of Novi Grad. Except Sokovia never had four moons and never shined like stained glass under the sun. Minus those small details, she can almost imagine they are back on Earth.

One bit of normalcy that contributes to this feeling is the sight before her, Vision staring silently across the still waters of a little pond, mind, no doubt, ticking through every negative event from the day. Not that she blames him, her own mood soured about ten minutes after waking up to find Tony waiting at the breakfast table next to Vision, a manic grin on the billionaire’s face and a handful of shredded paper that he tossed into the air with a Congratulations! once she sat down. Thankfully Tony had already established his…eccentricity with the Guardians who didn’t seem fazed by the action (well other than Mantis excitedly clapping at the confetti display), even if her own team all became intensely interested in the cardboard-esque food on their plates.

Wanda sucks in a few more breaths before descending, calves screaming with each step while her mind unhelpfully reminds her that this isn’t the walk she was supposed to be making towards Vision today. About halfway down the hill, he gets on his knees, shoulders slouching forward as he stares deeper into the water. Wanda frowns, feet moving a bit faster to close the distance, understanding he is now transitioning into level 3 brooding. “Vizh…”

She says his name approximately five steps before she reaches him and yet it takes another agonizing three seconds after she’s at his side before he acknowledges her. “Hello.” Despite greeting her, his attention is focused on the steady scooping and pouring of water over his arm, each splash followed by a wince.

Wanda kneels next to him, hand dipping under his cape and rubbing up along his spine. “Can I see it?” Wordlessly he shows her his right arm, four punctured lines running down it with a sickly green slime clinging to the raised edges of the injury. “That’s gross.”

“Yes, it is,” disgust hangs heavy in the words, which is surprising given not much bothers him (at least physical things like monsters or biological organisms, the bigotry and hatred of people disgusts him daily). “I never wish to do that again.”

“I thought Nebula was going to do it, since her arm’s not, well...” Wanda doesn’t know how to finish the statement so she leaves it hanging, finding the woman in question a terrifying and unsettling mystery even if Vision assures her that the she’s not an immediate danger.

Thankfully he effortlessly picks up her thought. “Last night Rocket tested our durability and tactile sensitivity in a carefully constructed simulation.” The way he phrases it makes it sound like one of Stark’s grand technological courses back at the compound, not like the three-foot-high pile of wires, pillows, a couple of blankets, half of the eating utensils, and a soup bowl corroding by the second, that was actually used. “Nebula and myself had similar bodily responses to the acid mixture.” Wanda stares at his arm trying to figure out if they also anticipated the rows of teeth inside the creature strong enough to cut vibranium or if that was an unpleasant surprise for Vision. Based on available evidence, she’s going with the latter. “But when it came to our tactile abilities, I was much better at detecting subtle changes in texture which meant I would be more capable of locating the switch.”

This is partially true and likely what he wants to use to convince himself that he was the right choice, except she was sitting nearby when she heard them going over the rules of asteroid, paper, blaster. “And I’m sure it had nothing to do with losing their game.”

Vision’s lips curve slightly as he washes his arm again, “They cheated.”

“Still counts as losing.”

The teasing is supposed to cut the tension between them, not increase it with his leaden, “I suppose.”

Wanda sits back on her heels and watches him continue to rinse his wound, each hypnotic splash chipping away at the remnants of their partially failed mission. It’s been a long, strenuous week, and today was a mixed bag of success, on the one hand they finally disabled the entrance (or what Rocket lovingly referred to as a semi-sentient trapdoor of doom) to where the artifact is kept, a task they’d failed at for days and ended up having to use their last-ditch strategy of an unlucky person (i.e. Vision) shoving his hand into the creature in search of the switch for the door. On the other hand, inside the door they came across yet another deadly puzzle to solve and ominous warnings of an ember eyed demon, which was nowhere in their intel. This new development required them to call off the rest of the plan and regroup tonight for further strategizing.

“Do you, um…” Vision tenses at the questioning slant of her words and it compounds what’s been bothering her this whole damn mission, because since unexpectedly blasting off into space, the air between them has been heavy, an unacknowledged perturbation forming that they silently deemed a concern best left to discuss after the mission. Which isn’t the healthiest tactic, but Vision tends to believe in compartmentalizing personal issues away from Avenger directives for the sake of focus. They’ve done pretty well, pretending like nothing's wrong, but after this morning with Tony and yet another day tacked on to their trip, and especially due to the way every conversation has started to feel like walking over eggshells that surround a slumbering interdimensional demon, Wanda has had enough. “Can we please just talk about—”

“I have already apologized to Mr. Stark for my loss of temper.”

“I know.” When Vision says a loss of temper, what might come to mind for people unacquainted with him is a blast from the Mindstone or a punch so hard it shatters a wall. What actually happened was a very terse, Tony, be quiet. No one other than herself and maybe Natasha even realized the depths of seething annoyance sewed into those three words, but it was right as he snapped, right as he took away focus from maintaining the right density, that Vision also gasped in pain at the plant-like creature biting down on his arm. None of that is actually what she wants to talk about, however. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Wanda leaves the rest silent, fully aware of how the weight she gave her words will settle onto his shoulders, cocooning him in a guilt that needs no prodding other than a few more seconds of empathetic quiet. “It is just,” he sits back on his heels, hands coming to rest on his knees, and stares out at the twisted trunks of the piebald trees around them, “Even though I do not regret being present to help save the universe,” something she agrees with, “I also was very much looking forward to, well,” he shrugs, trying to act as if what’s he admitting is some sort of childish wish, “our wedding.”

Wanda scoots a few inches to help close the gap between them so she can lay a kiss to his temple. “Me too.” Finally, for the first time since leaving the compound, they’ve acknowledged the elephant stampeding around them. Today was supposed to be spent in New York City in a venue that was too big and too fancy for them, committing to spend the rest of their lives together. Instead she spent four hours holding up a scarlet shield to keep the onslaught of rabid, insanely powerful six legged monstrosities at bay while her fiancé had his arm shoved down the throat of a thing that looked like a venus fly trap had a drunken one night stand with a blobfish. “You know, I figured something weird would happen today because weird is kind of our thing, but I wasn’t expecting our day to go like this.”

“I concur. Though I will admit,” Vision’s arm wraps around her shoulders, holding her tight to his side, “it was very charitable that the semi-sentient trapdoor of doom was thrown in for free since the colored napkins were extra.”

A full-bodied laugh rushes out of her body, delighted at the sardonic thoughts he rarely shows to anyone but her. “I’m sure if we had wanted the fully sentient model it would have been like three hundred more.”

“Oh, most assuredly.” Wedding planning, they discovered very early on, is a gaping jawed monster with an endless pit for a stomach. It drove Vision crazy, nearly as much as dealing with the county clerk’s almost eight-month long refusal to recognize his birth certificate for their marriage license. Vision’s tone sashays away from sarcasm and back towards despondency. “I am certain the fee for having to reschedule will be exorbitant.”

“Probably.” Which should make her angry right now, not so much the charge, though it is ridiculous, but she should be in a rage at how long the mission is taking and how aggravating it is that all they do is squabble over who has a slightly better idea instead of deciding on a path and fleshing out the plan. When they left, the possibility of missing their wedding wasn’t even a blip on her radar of concern. When the universe needs to be saved, you go and save it. Which doesn’t erase how very very much she wanted to get married today...but even if they were to go back in time, knowing all they know now, she still would have gotten on the Milano because she’s an Avenger and Avengers don’t put their personal lives first. Perhaps she should feel guilty about it, but she doesn’t, which kind of makes her feel guilty. “Vizh?”

“Yes?”

“Would you have rather have dealt with the trapdoor of doom or paparazzi today?”

The scrunch of his face betrays his indecision and it instantly feels like absolution of her own sinful thoughts. “I believe I would rather have dealt with the trapdoor,” quickly he qualifies his decision, “for the sake of the universe.”

“The universe is pretty important.”

“Very much.” Vision pauses, lungs half full and mouth still open, his mind abuzz against the shallow link she has with him, and whatever it is he’s considering vibrates the air around them, prickling against her skin and sending her heart into a slightly faster tempo. “You know, I have been thinking that, um, since we likely will not have the Orensanz again for some time,” the refurbished synagogue Stark found for them touts a wait list of up to 3 years and they were told, about a million times, that they only got the date they did because the sheer celebrity of their wedding would mean an even longer waitlist in the future. They were also informed this cutting in line was a one time exception. “Perhaps when we return we just do something small?”

The suggestion latches to the corners of her mouth, his words floating up and bringing a smile to her face. “You mean like the wedding we actually wanted?”

A playful defensiveness weaves through his response, “If today had gone differently, I would have been thrilled to vow my life to you in front of two hundred and fifty of our closest friends.”

“You forgot about the seventy-five person wait list and the fifty press members.”

“Yes, and the protestors.” After Tony published an announcement of their wedding, they were alerted to an online movement to picket outside the venue. “I checked the news earlier, the protest still happened.”

Of course it did. “Any good signs?”

His eyes grow distant, no doubt sweeping through the news for pictures, “Nothing truly imaginative, which is on par for this group,” now the disgust is back and she feels like it should be a lot more pronounced than it is, “one sign did purport that Asimov is rolling in his grave, but I believe this may be a fundamental misunderstanding of Asimov’s work.”

Wanda decides to move back to a better topic, never knowing where Vision’s mind will descend when discussing the laws of robotics. “So, what are you thinking for this small wedding?” They’ve discussed it already, both at the onset of their engagement and throughout the planning process, always late at night once Tony had left, Vision’s voice growing more wistful the further Tony pulled them away from an intimate ceremony, claiming the first Avenger wedding had to be a big ordeal, but she never gets tired of hearing him walk her through it.

Vision straightens his back, his hand remaining on her shoulders to hold her steady as he moves off of his knees to sit on the spongy moss, an action she mimics, enjoying the feel of his muscles on her back when he cuddles her to his side once again. “I believe our backyard would be best,” with a flick of her finger, Wanda inserts herself into his mind, grinning at the image he constructs to go along with his words, “the chuppah can be placed on the east side of the lawn,” the four posts rise in the center of his thoughts and then their handcrafted cloth envelops the structure, “we could string lanterns around the perimeter,” twinkly ones he saw on a backyard renovation show, “we will need to wait until dusk when the stars come out, and there should be just enough space for our teammates, Helen, and the Bartons.” The white folding chairs plop into their still growing grass, and though she doesn’t count, she knows he has the right number.

“You should probably finish putting up the fence first.”

“Yes,” a white paneled fence with decorative lattice work on top (that matches their pergola) pops up in his mental picture, “privacy would be of utmost importance. The ceremony would be unchanged,” the only thing Tony left up to them in the planning, though that control was not ceded quietly, a threat of scarlet and Vision’s best disappointed stare the only reason Stark backed off, “and I believe the reception would just be an evening with friends. We would, for the sake of public opinion, and Mr. Stark’s pride, hold a larger reception at some point.”

It’s what he’s always daydreamed about, what she has as well, and it’s part of why she’s not completely overwhelmed with disappointment that today went the way it did, even if she would rather be his wife right now. “That sounds perfect.”

“You two ever coming back?” Sam’s voice in her ear fractures the contentment of the moment. “Steve wants to get strategizing.”

Another click from the comms and Starlord’s grating voice comes through making sure that any enjoyment that remained is decimated by his puerile addition, “Yeah, tongues back in your own mouths.”

“Shut up, Quill.” Now Rocket joins in and Wanda rolls her eyes at Vision who sends her a commiserate nod. “You didn’t even realize those two were a thing until an hour ago when we told you.”

Defensiveness seems to be a second skin to Starlord, one he pulls particularly snug around Tony and Thor, though clearly his own teammates know how to get to him. “How am I supposed to be in the know about everyone’s dating life?”

Nebula flatly counters back, “They make out everywhere,” which isn’t true, “you’re just oblivious, as usual.” Which probably is true, based on the week Wanda’s known the man.

“Yes,” Mantis’ voice is always gentle and optimistic, brimming with enthusiasm that is infectious even while contributing to ruining a nice moment with Vision, “last night they were on top of the ship.” They were, but they were just trying to find some peace and quiet, something Wanda shouldn’t have to feel defensive about.

“And at the table,” this is proudly added by Drax, “they didn’t notice me standing in the corner.” They did, which is why they moved to the roof of the ship.

Sam hits his comm a bit early, allowing the sounds of rustling and background chatter to come through, “Welcome to living with those two.” It’s a comment that from the likes of Stark would be derisive, but from Sam is good natured albeit it still makes her a little self-conscious.

Natasha, a consummate professional, wrestles control back of the comm system, something she and Steve have struggled to do with the increased lines in use. “Can you two please come back?”

“We will return momentarily.”

Nat’s “Thanks, Vision,” seems cheerier than usual, likely from the victory of stemming a conversation on the brink of being out of control.

The line finally returns to the light static of dormancy. Vision untangles from their embrace, standing up with a reluctant sigh, his arm extended and palm up, offering assistance that Wanda accepts. “I suppose we should return before we have to deal with that again.”

They should. Even if it is the last thing she wants to do. These meetings are always long affairs due to the inevitable devolving into one-upping each other with acts of stupidity masquerading as heroics. Sometimes she’ll participate, but most of the time she just wants to shower and relax, actually decompress before the next phase of the mission. Additionally, given the complete lack of privacy and solitude in the cramped ship, as their teammates so kindly noted, she’s remiss to leave this spot and this moment, Vision the only person she ever wants to be around post-mission. Tonight even more so. “Yeah, we should.”

Despite their words, neither moves from the peacefulness around them.

The stars are crystalline, so much brighter than the ones they see on Earth. Wanda’s not even sure if they are the same stars or different, not really understanding where they are, but she admires them all the same, especially the way they reflect off the placid surface of the pond, in the middle of which two moons hang together, rippling when an insect lands on the water. “Vizh.” Their hands are together, fingers laced so naturally, their muscles remembering each other perfectly so that a simple action like holding hands can happen without thought. Wanda tugs on his hand, turning his body to face her, his eyes bright and curious at what she wants. “I love you.”

His face softens, the Mindstone glowing a touch brighter as his lips mimic the curves of the moons above. “I love you too.”

It’s a common exchange between them, done at least five times a day, usually more, but today it holds a special weight, or at least, it was supposed to. Maybe it still can. Wanda reaches out her other hand, wiggling her fingers until, with his head cocked to the right, he takes her invitation, his body fully facing her now. “You know, I’ve spent the last three weeks practicing what I wanted to say to you today,” usually in the shower or lying in bed while Vision was off making her tea. It was nerve-wracking to write down her feelings for him, even more petrifying was the knowledge of having to say it in front of so many people. Right now, however, it’s just him. “And, um, is it okay if I tell you? Even without the wedding.”

Vision’s lips tighten into a line as he works through her request, the right side tipping up when he nods in understanding, “I would like that.”

“Okay.” The world hushes around them, the gentle lapping of the water at the mossy shore providing a meditative anchor to calm her nerves while her heart matches the rhythm of his irises spinning. He’s beautiful, always, but especially against the backdrop of the nebulous skies. “Okay. Vision,” if it is this hard to say it just to him, she can’t imagine how she was going to do it in front of over two hundred people, “A long time ago I was told I had a moon. A very kind, very gentle, freakishly intelligent and attractive moon,” the increasing slope of his mouth and the comforting pressure of his hands helps keep her going, “and I thought they were idiots.” Vision laughs with her, easing her nerves just a bit more. “And they were, to be fair.”

He whispers his agreeance, making sure not to interrupt her too much. “Yes, they were.”

Wanda spends several seconds counting the turn of his irises now that she’s reached the part she had struggled to put into words without it sounding so cheesy she was embarrassed to say it. “They thought you were a moon and I was a planet, never realizing that we were just two planets that happened to pass by each other and become joined in a mutual orbit.” A moment goes by where she seeks out some sort of response, having watched the documentary again just to make sure she didn’t screw up the science lingo. Vision simply smiles. “One that’s only grown stronger throughout these wonderful, amazing years. No matter what we’re doing, or where we are, we will always find each other, we will face every obstacle and accomplishment together. I will always be drawn to you and you to me, I hope.”

“I will.”

Wanda beams at the reassurance, “That’s good. I love you, Vision. And, um, even though we’re already pretty comfortable in our little planetary system, I am so incredibly overjoyed to be binding my soul to yours today.”

“That was beautiful.”

“Thanks.” A weight falls from her shoulders at the unmitigated love on his face and booming from his mind, her cheeks beginning to sting a bit from how wide her own smile is as she feels his thoughts and feet shift.

“Wanda Maximoff,” his voice shakes as he adjusts the grip of his hands, his thumbs nervously running over her rings while the gears in his eyes race counterclockwise. “I am most comfortable with the world when it can be quantified and analyzed conclusively, which may come as a shock, I know.”

“Truly shocking.”

A gentle kiss is laid on her forehead, the pressure of his lips replaced with the corners of the Mindstone as he touches his face to hers, voice lowering as he continues, “Ever since I came into this world, there were quantifiable changes where you were concerned. My heart rate always increases 2.25 beats per minute whenever you enter a room, 5.73 whenever you smile at me, and 9.62 whenever you touch me.” If she concentrates, Wanda can feel his elevated heart rate even now, thrumming happily in the pulse at his wrist. “During the evenings, my mind spends significantly more minutes replaying our conversations than the combination of my time spent with our teammates. There is also a significant lag in the number of milliseconds it takes me to form words when you stare at me in a particular way,” Vision breathes in, releasing a shaky, self-conscious laugh, “Like the way you are looking at me now.”

“You’re doing great.”

“Thank you. Um, so these are only some of the numbers I associate with you,” the rest, no doubt, she could find in spreadsheets and charts, a thought that only increases the smile on her face, which she thought was impossible, “and yet they fail to represent what you mean to me. Wanda, my love for you defies quantification, and oddly, I find this immensely comforting, that there is no straightforward way to define the ineffable rightness I experience whenever you are with me.” Vision lets go of her hand in order to bring his palm to her cheek, the ridges of his thumb tickling her skin as he wicks away her tears. “I love you, Wanda Maximoff.”

“Are you,” she lifts onto her toes, bringing their faces closer, “going to kiss your bride now?”

A radiant grin breaks across his face, “Yes I am.”

As Vision bends closer a voice booms in their earpieces, “Hey, lovebirds,” Tony’s timing is impeccable, as always, Vision’s forehead falling back to hers in defeat, “Steve just crossed his arms and sighed which means the aneurysm is next, so please, get your asses back here and then you can disappear, capiche?”

A deep inhale from Vision helps to calm both of them and her own aggravated exhale serves as a mild catharsis. “Let’s just go appease them and then,” she runs her hands up along his arm, always enjoying the feel of his tricep flexing beneath her touch, “we’re going to come back to that whole kissing your bride thing, okay? Because I am expecting one hell of a kiss from you.”

Vision huffs in amusement. “That is amenable to me.” He swings his body away from the lake, his momentum encouraging her own feet to point towards the hill she walked over earlier, and holds out an arm in the general direction of the basecamp. “Shall we?”

“I’d really rather not.”

“Me neither.”

“But we should go.”

“Yes, we should.”

They walk back hand in hand, eyes trained up on the sky as Vision points out the differences in this stellar vista from the one they like to watch from the compound roof. As they approach the ship, the unmistakable beat of Starlord’s repetitive music greets them, making it hard for her to hear the last bit of the tragedy of some serpent lovers embedded in the sky. Wanda tamps down her annoyance and heads towards their typical seats, ready to get the strategizing over with and back to Vision. Except their seats aren’t there. “Where’s the…” Wanda glances up and freezes, voice caught in her throat, unable to finish the question. Vision doesn’t need to hear the rest, his own body rigid and confusion thrashing in his mind.

All of the chairs and boxes have been rearranged from the circle they’ve been using for meetings to rows, separated into two halves by an aisle leading to a four post structure covered in a large, linen cloth that is a singular piece, embroidered with a border of twining Ws and Vs made up of scarlet and gold thread. “Wanda did you…” his voice trails away, dissipating into the air as they stare at what appears to be their chuppah, well most of it anyway, the posts are not the same branches they’d carefully chosen a month ago. Not that that is important. What is more important is that Wanda knows for a fact she didn’t pack the cloth and if Vision’s own discombobulated thoughts and cessation of breathing means anything, then he also didn’t bring it.

“It’s about time.” Nat’s voice startles them both, Wanda jumping at the intrusion and Vision’s fingers flinching against her hand. “Steve was about to send out a search party.”

“Nat,” Wanda leans to the right to glance around their teammate just to double check what she’s seeing is real, “what the hell is going on?”

The spy presents them the same smug grin that crawls across her face during their biannual poker nights, right around the time they all realize their last chips are about to be taken. “You’re supposed to get married today, right?” When neither of them acknowledges this, Wanda, personally, in too much shock to process what is happening, Natasha’s pride descends into a softer, friendlier cadence. “Sam and I realized as we were all running around packing, that we might miss the wedding.”

“So we grabbed the important stuff, you know,” the other culprit joins them, a toothy grin on Sam’s face as he throws his arm around Vision’s shoulders, “rings, the canopy thing, Thor got us an intergalactic marriage license he claims will be recognized by the U.S., though we’ll have to figure that one out when we get back because I don’t believe him.”

The way Natasha's arms cross always makes Wanda nervous, an action that typically precedes bad news, “I couldn’t fit your dress into my bag," her shoulders drop a little, releasing some of the involuntary tension in Wanda's neck, "but I did pack a couple of your normal ones, if you want to change, and apparently Drax is pretty good at braiding hair, if you want that.” Based on Natasha's own disbelief, Wanda is not eager to find out if the man is a braiding aficionado. The dress, needs a bit more thought.

“I, um,” at the tenth obscenely priced bridal store Wanda had told Nat and Pepper that she didn’t care if she got married in her pajamas, which was a bit of an exaggeration, but it also held some truth. Sure, when she was a little girl she had her dreams of fancy dresses made by mice and horse drawn carriages, yet as she got older those fanciful thoughts fled, the world beating them out of her with each tragedy. She’s not a princess and Vision’s not a prince, they’re Avengers and no fancy dress can or should change that. This is their life, the reason they met, and it’s fitting, in a way she hadn’t ever contemplated, to get married as Avengers. “I think I’m fine like this. Vizh?”

“You did this,” Vision’s voice is distant, a bit strangled, not used to being caught so completely by surprise, and the corners of his eyes glisten as he takes in the grinning faces of their teammates, his mind still about three steps behind in the conversation, “for us?”

Sam’s incredulous, “Of course, what kind of best man would I be if I didn’t make sure you got down the aisle?” seems to shock Vision even more, his body turning away to take in the area around him and Wanda joins him in this, a smile creeping ever higher on her face at the sight of their teammates mingling. Mantis is stringing makeshift electrical wire garland along the seats where Gamora and Nebula lounge in silence, Rhodes and Starlord appear to be arguing over a boombox, Groot keeps sprouting flowers and placing them in a sizable bouquet, and Thor is just to the left of the chuppah, chatting merrily with Tony and Steve. “You two want to get married, right?”

“Yes.” The first one is disbelieving, but after Vision meets her eyes to get her consent, which she gives unapologetically with an enthusiastic nod, his second “Yes,” is firm and brimming with excitement.

Though Wanda’s close with Natasha, they’ve never had a touchy relationship, which makes the arm she lays along Wanda’s shoulder a bit awkward yet still amicable in its unexpectedness, “Good. I know it’s not the lap of luxury you were supposed to have...”

It’s not, but it is surprisingly close to what they actually wanted. “This is perfect.”

As if the gesture wasn’t already wonderful, Nat adds another detail to the day, “Rocket even got Helen and the Bartons in on a video feed to watch.”

“Thank you,” Vision’s voice still trembles with shock, “for all of this.”

“Seriously, our pleasure,” the shake Sam gives to Vision’s shoulder causes Wanda to sway as well, “let’s get you up front.”

Vision hesitates at the suggestion, turning back towards Wanda with a furrowed brow, “Should I change?”

“I think you look fantastic like this,” Wanda fidgets with the edge of his cape as she talks, “plus I’m not changing, so I’d rather you not make me feel underdressed.”

“Then I will remain like this.” He glances towards the canopy, where only Thor now stands, sending them a friendly wave, and Vision’s lips twitch up when he faces here once more, raising her hand and placing a reverential kiss to her skin, “I will see you shortly.”

“Bye.” Wanda’s fingers flex at the loss of his touch. The graceful flow of her groom’s gait as he takes his place sends a tingle shooting up her spine while butterflies seem to flutter in her stomach. The sight of the two men speaking quietly with each other, their capes billowing against the rocky backdrop, stirs her heart, a warmth budding in her chest and hitching a ride through her veins until her entire body is aglow.

“I am Groot.”

Wanda looks down at the tree, a broad smile forming at the bouquet he offers her. “It’s gorgeous, thank you.”

“I am Groot.”

“Thor claimed you all know what to do for the ceremony.” The statement ends in an uptick, Natasha’s own, smaller bouquet tilting to the side as she looks at Wanda for confirmation.

“As long as he didn’t change anything, then yeah.”

“Good. I convinced Tony not to walk you down the aisle.”

This is why Nat was the easy choice for her sole bridal party member. “Thank you.”

Natasha shrugs, never one to want compliments for doing her job. “Groot volunteered to be the flower…tree, I guess, so he’s going to lead the way, I’ll follow, and then Quill is going to play the only song he owns that seemed mildly appropriate, that’s when you go. Any questions?”

They have the chuppah, the rings, both she and Vision are conscious and relatively unharmed. It seems all of the most important components are here. Then a chill runs up her spine and her lungs spasm at the thought of forgetting one other vital piece of the ceremony. “Did you grab the frame?” When they began planning in earnest, Vision bought a new, much sturdier frame for the only remaining photos she had of her parents and Pietro, the intent being to place it on a small table next to them so she’d have all of her family with her.

“It’s on the ammunition case right next to where you’ll be,” Natasha’s bouquet directs her to the case and the silver frame.

Even if it infringes on the status quo of their friendship, Wanda throws her arms around Nat, “Thank you so much.”

The hug is reciprocated for a couple seconds and then it ends, Nat pulling back with a half-cocked smile, her eyes a little wet but she acts as if that’s not happening, instead brushing a stray piece of Wanda’s hair away from her forehead. “You sure you two don’t need a few minutes to get ready?”

“No, we’re good.”

Natasha let’s go of her with a serious nod that is given levity by the brightness of her, “Then let’s get you married.”

It feels like a dream, all of it, which makes Wanda’s agreement wistful and a bit uncertain. “Okay, let’s go.”

The dreamlike feeling remains even as she watches Groot dance down the aisle, one hand dropping the same small flowers of her bouquet to the rust colored soil and the other releasing flecks of light into the air that remind her of lying in the forest during the summer, marveling with Vision at the way the fireflies blink in and out of existence. When Natasha leaves her, reality starts to set in a little bit, her heart racing and fingers closing tighter around the stalks of her bouquet, and she doesn’t really understand how something so wonderful can make her feel so off-kilter. The song changes and somehow her feet know what to do, moving independently of her mind, a fortunate thing because she’s only vaguely aware of the faces on either side of her, far more enthralled by the tiny, stunning smile gracing Vision’s lips, one that grows with each step she takes until he beams down at her, the love radiating from his mind brighter than any star she’s ever seen. It’s when he takes her hand, right around the first chorus of I fooled around and fell in love, and leads her under the cloth, the moonlight cascading through the fabric, creating a stunning pattern on his vibranium, that it fully hits her: she's getting married.

“Are you ready?”

Wanda grins up at her very-soon-to-be-husband, “I am.”

Wordlessly they move into place for the first part of the ceremony, a tradition Vision insisted remain as they decided what parts from her heritage to keep and which to amend. Not that she wanted to forego this part of the ceremony, but she halfheartedly pretended to just because she enjoyed watching how enthusiastically he outlined the reasons to include it. Wanda lets go of Vision’s hand and steps in front of him. In time with the music, she walks a tight circle around him, making sure to brush his arm on each of her three passes, reaffirming her commitment to be close to him and to protect him. The slight nudge she gives to his shoulder on the last circle is just to keep him on his toes. Once she’s done they switch places, his three revolutions are more elliptical but just as tactile, the tips of his fingers in constant contact with her body while he moves around her, and she accepts his promise to remain with her through all cycles of her life. It’s the seventh and final circle when she finally stares into his eyes, focusing on the jubilant whirl of the gears and the sheepish tilt of his mouth, their bodies facing each other, barely an inch between them, as they take synchronized steps to transition from two separate paths into one joint orbit.

Thor takes over once they resume their original positions, side by side, a thoroughly thrilled grin on his face and his hands gesturing wide as he speaks. “Welcome my dear friends. Is it not fitting that on this day we are gathered on a field of recent bloodshed,” Vision glances at her, the lift of his eyebrows matching her own amusement at the change in script, “to celebrate this momentous and singular union of two of the universe’s most powerful and otherworldly warriors?”

The words are allowed to settle before Thor gives a hearty laugh, clapping his hand to her shoulder, leaning forward as if he is telling her a private joke despite the fact his voice is still loud enough for everyone to hear. “It is humorous to me, the evolution of this relationship. Wanda if not for your villainous invasion of my mind,” something she had not considered necessary to bring up at her wedding, “I never would have investigated the existence and capabilities of the Mindstone, and your groom here,” Thor’s other hand lands on Vision’s arm with a loud slap, one that, if it were anyone other than a vibranium-laced synthezoid, would send a body reeling, “would not have come into being. It is truly poetic how deeply entwined your lives were at the onset and how this has been cultivated into a love so true,” he shakes their shoulders to emphasize the words, “and so profound that it will no doubt be sung in the great halls of Midgard for centuries to come. My dear friends,” his large hands leave their shoulders, but not before shoving them closer together with a wink, “it is my honor to be here today to herald in your union. You have prepared vows, yes?”

The expectant stares around them are stifling, Wanda a person who has never had a strong desire to be the center of attention. “Um yes.”

“Then please, face each other and speak your unbridled passion.”

Before either of them move, Natasha stealthily takes her bouquet, leaving Wanda’s hand free and unsure what to do, their actual rehearsal was supposed to be last night and though she knows roughly what happens now, she finds herself a bit lost on who is supposed to do what. Vision reaches out for her floundering hand, encouraging her to swivel to the appropriate position. Reliefs rushes through her at the slightly flummoxed wrinkles of Vision’s forehead, and she finds that when she looks at him, the rest of the people fade away and the only discomfort left, as she counts the ten clicks of his irises, is the antsy tap of her heels as she waits to finally kiss her husband. “Vizh,” the gentleness of his fingers cinching around her hands always flips her stomach and does funny things to her heart, “if it’s okay, I might just do the abridged version, since, well…”

“Of course,” that little reserved smile on his face, for years, has created sunbursts under her cheeks. It still does.

“Okay.” Wanda stares at him, studying the textured lines of his face (even though she has them memorized), and then glances down at the contrast of his skin against hers, unable and unwilling to dam up the giddiness spreading throughout her body at holding his hands like this for the rest of her life. A half step back is just enough to take in the way the floating, golden orbs reflect off the vibranium and give his eyes the slightest of shimmers, Wanda committing this moment to memory as the last time she looked at him as her fiancé. “Vision,” she’d meant to recount only bits of her planned vows, yet new words seem to sprout as she takes him in, “you are my best friend, the love of my life, and my planet. I am so lucky that in this weird,” her gaze briefly slides to the faces in the frame, Vision following her gaze and holding her hands a little tighter, “unforgiving world, I managed to find a soul like yours. You make the universe more beautiful and give me hope when I don’t think any exists. I love you so much.”

Thor wipes a tear away, infringing on their moment with a, “Truly resplendent. And now Vision.”

A small cough precedes Vision’s barely audible, “You did not inform me these would be improvised.”

Wanda shrugs, equally quiet with her, “Sorry.”

“I will forgive you.” He winks at her and it sets off a flurry in her chest. “Wanda,” the team took bets on who would cry first in the ceremony, everyone but her betting against Vision, which makes the tear running down his cheek all the sweeter as his voice seems to run away. A gentle squeeze of his hands seems to help him recover. “Wanda,” no amount of pride or money can match the way his voice washes over her, sincerity and love stitched into every word, “as was recently mentioned, my path into this life was a little unusual,” silently she mouths just a bit and is rewarded with the breathy, nigh inaudible snort he does whenever he’s simultaneously amused and embarrassed, “what I am about to say is antithetical to scientific theorem, but there are days I find myself considering kismet because I am unable to accept we found each other by random chance. You were the first person I ever felt in my mind, the first face I ever saw, and the first and only person I ever intend to love.” He pauses, feet shuffling a few times and his voice drops so that the only way she can hear him is to touch his mind. “All the other things I said earlier tonight also apply.”

“I figured.”

“Wanda,” Thor’s voice and countenance maintain the Shakespearean gravitas needed for such a moment, guiding them back to the established ceremonial path. "Do you take Vision,” her eyes remain on the perennial joy of Vision’s face, “to be your husband, to cherish and protect him, to remain by his side in both moments of triumph and adversity, to live a life hallowed by your never-ending love and faithfulness?”

Vision’s face grows blurry as her eyes fill with tears, but she refuses to let go of his hands in order to wipe them away. “I do.”

“Excellent. Now Vision, do you take Wanda..."

The words exist only as a crackle in the back of her mind as she watches every tic of Vision’s face – the way his pupils dilate with a subtle click, the darting tip of his tongue that wets his lips whenever he is nervous, the twitching of his cheeks as he attempts to maintain some semblance of control over his emotions, and the scrunch of his nose that lets her know he’s aware she’s staring at him. Suddenly all the tell-tale signs go away and are replaced by a striking confidence and then his lips move and she hears the words a half second after she feels them in her mind, “I do.”

“Wonderful, and now the rings. Samuel, Natasha.” Their wedding party step up, each handing a ring to Thor. “Wanda, please take the ring."

Wanda turns towards Thor and picks up Vision’s vibranium ring (their rings a very kind wedding gift from T'Challa). The ceremony dictates the officiant say the vow first, but Wanda knows it by heart, having said it dozens of times in her daydreams, so she forges on without any help. “With this ring,” she brings Vision’s hand up and begins to slide the ring along his finger, “you are now a part of me, for I love you as my soul.” His ring finishes its journey a lot smoother than any of their practice runs, something she thinks could be related to a minimal manipulation of his molecules, but she’ll lecture him on that later, far too excited to proclaim to everyone around them, “You are now my husband.”

"Now Vision, please repeat after me." The reprimand is in good fun, but Vision still straightens up at the command, refusing to ditch tradition as enthusiastically as she does.

It’s almost impossible not to bounce on the balls of her feet as Vision slides his left hand under hers, lifting it into position where it lines up with the simple vibranium band gripped between his thumb and index finger. Thor’s voice is drowned out by the rapid beating of her heart, so strong it vibrates her entire body, but not loud enough to stifle Vision’s own words, “With this ring,” the metal is cool on her skin as he inches it to her first knuckle, “you are now a part of me, for I love you as my soul,” they’d practiced this, with some of her other rings, a few days before they left, and just like all their practices, Vision gets the ring stuck on her second knuckle, lips pursing as she wiggles her finger in encouragement. One more push and it clinks against her engagement ring, his thumb glancing over the band. There’s an adoring smile on his face as he declares, “You are now my wife.”

What is supposed to come next is the formal announcement, followed by a breaking of a glass, and then, finally, their kiss. Wanda, however, feels like they didn’t think through the order very well, so she eschews the plan and draws Vision to her, finally able to kiss her husband. Somewhere in the distance she can hear Thor laughing and cheers from their teammates but they are muted by the feel of Vision’s arm snaking around her waist to draw her against his chest, his head tilting ever so slightly to the right to deepen the kiss, and then, just to make sure he keeps his promise of one hell of a kiss, Vision dips her low to another round of cheers. “I love you,” his lips brush hers as he speaks, “my wife.”

“I love you too…hubby,” the way he chuckles enlivens her soul, sparks sputtering under her skin at his delight. Vision pulls her back up firmly onto her feet, his hands cupping her face for one more exuberant kiss.

“Friends,” Thor steps closer to them, “we only have two more actions and then you may relish the bliss of your nuptial oath.” Reluctantly Wanda steps back from Vision, their hands finding each other once more, only this time there’s a new sensation on his finger, a piece of metal she’s never felt, that’s new and right and perfect. “It is with great honor and joy that I,” Thor nudges them to turn towards their teammates who are standing, varying degrees of happiness on their faces, even most of the Guardians seeming to have been swept up in the moment, “present to you Wanda and Vision Maximoff.”

Swiftly Sam lays down a glass and covers it with a towel, flashing them a thumbs up as he steps away. “Well, Maximoff,” she’s waited so long to use that name for him, and the wait was worth it, his face breaking out into a brilliant, moony radiance, “on three?”

“On three.”

“One, two, three,” Wanda grips his hand tighter as their feet come down on the glass, shattering it into pieces with the hope that their happiness in the years going forward will be more plentiful than what lies beneath the towel and that their love is just as irrevocable.

Tony shouts a, “Mazol Tov!” and everyone leaves their seats.

It is much later, after copious amounts of not-mission-approved alcohol is imbibed and most of the team has sat down, their arms sore from the unexpected competition that occurred to see who could hoist Wanda and Vision's chairs up the highest, and their feet tired of dancing to the same rotation of songs, that Wanda is able to have Vision to herself. They sway beneath the starry sky, arms snug around each other and foreheads resting together, cherishing this moment of bliss since the morning will return them to the mission. Wanda draws her husband into another kiss, melting into the devotion of his lips and the way he gently grabs her waist, content knowing that no matter what life offers, it will all be made so much brighter with him by her side, just two celestial bodies careening through this unpredictable universe together.

#scarlet vision #thescarletvisionnetwork #wanda maximoff #the vision #vision #mcu #svad2019 #mine #celestial bodies

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zenonaa · 6 years

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Fandom: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya, Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto Characters: Togami Byakuya, Kirigiri Kyouko, Naegi Makoto, Fukawa Touko, Asahina Aoi, Hagakure Yasuhiro, Naegi Komaru, Various Characters Additional Tags: there's a 3rd ship but it's a surprise, Weddings

Summary: "In anime, this occasion usually happens right at the end of the series, and other than an OVA or fanfiction, that’s supposed to be it. The credits roll. But... this isn’t anime. Life goes on afterwards, so do your best, always! Protect each other. Be there for each other. Today is one of the few days that can be as perfect as an episode of an anime, so make the best of it!"

Due to a mishap, Naegi and Kirigiri's wedding is booked for the same time and place as Togami and Fukawa's. They make the best of it.

Comments: Commissioned by @notattumbr20!

Byakuya stroked his thumb against the textured card, sitting at a desk in an empty classroom. A pair of butterflies had been etched onto the front of the invitation, which had been folded in a gatefold and folded again horizontally on each flap, so each side was an accordion fold that, when opened outward, revealed some text behind them about the occasion. One butterfly occupied each flap, with one wing hanging past the inner fold line. In the top left corner of the left flap was one name, and in the bottom right corner of the right flap was another name. The first name belonged to him, Byakuya, and the second was that of his fiancee.

Maintaining her brisk pace, Kyouko glanced down and reread the envelope at the top of her stout pile one more time before checking her wristwatch. In an hour, she was scheduled to have her lunch. She raised her chin and keeping her eyes forward, she continued through the corridor, her heels clicking against the varnished floor. At regular intervals, she passed doors either side of her that led into various rooms, mostly classrooms where at this time of day, lessons would be taking place. However, Kyouko ignored them all, and she arrived at the bottom of a stairwell.

Each area of Hope’s Peak had been installed with different coloured lighting. After Byakuya and his former classmates left the school following the end of the mutual killings, the power had turned off, leaving each corridor as grim and depressing as the others. On their eventual return, they managed to get the generator running again, though on the floor that Byakuya was on, the corridors had dull grey walls and neutral lighting. That must have been a design choice by the previous headmaster, whose office had been on this floor.

No one was here. This used to be her father’s office until his death and was now used by the current headmaster. Kyouko lingered for a little longer in the doorway before leaving, closing the door behind her. While the school had been more or less restored, certain areas still had a poor phone reception, and besides, she didn’t think finding who she wanted would take her much longer, so she set off again.

Most of the invitations had been given out at this point. He had started giving them out this morning. Some had been sent in an email, but for those in the school with Byakuya, he planned to hand them the invitation personally, and thinking he would find who he wanted in the headmaster’s office, he finally rose and crossed the room to go to the door.

Only one couple was left to be invited. The corridor bathed Kyouko in neutral light, and grey walls flanked either side of her. First, she had checked the dormitories, then the teachers’ room, and neither of the people she wanted to meet were in the headmaster’s office like Yasuhiro had suggested, as Byakuya had mentioned to Yasuhiro about wanting to speak with the headmaster that day, so as she hadn’t had any luck so far, she thought it likely that the next best places to search were the library and the cafeteria.

Byakuya stepped out of the classroom and spotted Kyouko coming from the direction of the headmaster’s office. He walked toward her.

Kyouko heard a door open and she saw Byakuya step out of a classroom. She walked toward him.

They stopped in front of each other and held out the invitations at the same time

“What’s that?” they asked simultaneously. They paused, then said together, “A wedding invitation.”

They exchanged invitations and started to read through them.

Byakuya frowned. “31st December?”

“At Shining Star Shrine?” said Kyouko, brow furrowed.

“At 1pm?” they said together. They stiffened and locked eyes.

“You have a misprint on the invitation,” said Byakuya, flaunting it with one hand. “You have listed the same place and time as my wedding, and I’m certainly not marrying you.”

She folded her arms over her chest.

“You’re the one who is mistaken,” said Kyouko, and he raised a fist.

“I am not marrying you!”

“I mean about when and where your wedding is taking place.”

He squinted and slightly unclenched his elevated fist.

“No, I’m not,” replied Byakuya. His features darkened. “You are.”

More staring.

“I purposely chose this day because it is Taian this year,” Kyouko informed him.

“I know,” said Byakuya icily. “I also chose it to be on the last day of the year especially.”

They stared at each other for a bit longer.

“There’s a simple way to sort this out,” said Byakuya.

Without breaking eye contact, he retrieved his phone from his trouser pocket. He looked away only as he searched up a phone number, and he returned his gaze to her as he waited for the call to connect.

“It’s Byakuya Togami,” said Byakuya, once he had allowed the other person to introduce themselves. “I booked my wedding day for the 31st December, but my colleague claims that she is having her wedding on that day too. Kyouko Kirigiri.”

Byakuya turned his phone’s speaker on so that Kyouko could hear.

“Give me a moment,” came a woman’s voice. More than a moment later, she said, “Thanks for waiting. Yes, you’re right. Makoto Naegi and Kyouko Kirigiri had already booked their wedding, but someone then put Touko Fukawa and Byakuya Togami in for the same slot. I don’t know how that happened. I’m afraid that as this is one of the most requested venues, we don’t have a free booking for the next several months, and then the Shrine will be shut to the public for a year for renovation works. It can survive disasters, but it can’t survive constant footfall and Nobue-sama needs a period of peace. My apologies. Um... I’ll leave you two to decide who gives up their booking.”

He hung up, looking at Kyouko, who looked back at him.

And so their silent showdown had begun.

***

Makoto chewed slowly. Opposite him, Touko poked her chopstick at a thin slice of pork in her vegetable stir fry. He had the same meal. To be precise, the vegetables consisted of snow peas, onion, cabbage, carrots and bean sprouts. And garlic cloves, if one counted them as vegetables. Ginger, mirin and soy sauce created a marinade for the pork, the mirin adding a touch of sweetness. The sauce lit up Makoto’s taste buds, and its aroma could make one weak at the knees and weep with desire.

Why, you might ask, had the meal just been described in such detail? While smell and taste is one of five senses, it can bog down a story to describe them in one go. Someone like Touko might have insisted that they be sprinkled in, rather than sit in a long paragraph that drags on.

Alternatively, Makoto could have discussed how hard his chair was, or the rays of light draping themselves over the tables in the cafeteria, pouring through windows that reached the ceiling. Withered trees had been cut down on the other side in the small garden, enclosed by the school building, and saplings planted there instead. He could have contemplated Touko’s outfit. She wore a dark grey waistcoat, a beige ruffled blouse with long sleeves and a long grey skirt which was a lighter shade than her waistcoat.

Truth of the matter was that Makoto was trying to ignore how at their table, Byakuya and Kyouko seemed to be having an intense battle with their minds, staring at the other unwaveringly.

Makoto had found them like this when he joined their table. While Touko was throwing dirty looks at Kyouko, she varied her target, other times peering at Byakuya and at her lunch, so Makoto suspected that she wasn’t fully involved in... whatever this was.

He didn’t really want to say anything, but someone had to. The tension was as thick as the bottom tier on a wedding cake.

“Um... what’s going on?” asked Makoto, ever the martyr.

Byakuya and Kyouko didn’t stop glaring at the other.

“There seems to have been a mishap with the bookings at the Shining Star Shrine,” said Kyouko. “Our weddings have been double-booked.”

The revelation swooped to the bottom of his gut.

“Huh?” went Makoto, attracting short-lived attention from nearby tables. Touko raised her head sharply.

Apparently, despite her sour face, she hadn’t known what was bothering them this whole time. Her mouth stretched out, ajar. His brow creased as his eyes darted between the other two.

“That’s... That’s unbelievable,” said Makoto.

“Well, you better get over it and start believing, because that’s exactly what happened,” Byakuya told him, with his flinty eyes still locked with Kyouko’s pair.

Makoto shifted in his chair.

“So what’s going to happen?” he asked.

Touko grimaced.

“It’s obvious. Someone will have to reschedule their wedding,” said Touko.

“Who?” asked Makoto. No one answered. He frowned and adjusted his hold on his chopsticks. “We booked ours a year ago. When did you book yours?”

“Around that time,” said Byakuya, but then he hesitated. “Admittedly, after yours had been booked. I waited until there were eight weeks until the actual wedding before sending out invitations, like the two of you.”

Makoto forced a smile. He scratched the back of his neck. “Wow... I knew you guys were planning on getting married...”

The bi-color tourmaline in Touko’s engagement ring supported this.

“... but the same time and place too?” he finished. “Talk about coincidences.”

“We’ve had this venue agreed on since the beginning of our engagement,” said Touko in a low voice, face solemn. “Shining Star Shrine is one of the few shrines that survived the tragedy, but it’s still of outstanding merit in its own right. The area is plagued with natural disasters. Hurricanes. Floods. Fires. But the Shrine and the surrounding area remain untouched. In the eleventh century, a maiden lived there, and after a huge fire, it’s said that she sacrificed herself to protect the Shrine thereafter, reincarnating into a crane who watches over the area. They built a statue of her in her memory that still stands there to this day.”

Her words drew Makoto’s mouth into a pucker, and he felt like he was staring out toward rows of fields and rolls of hills on a grey, cloudy morning. She created that sort of melancholy atmosphere. Kyouko inclined her head slightly.

“That’s all very well, but we considered this venue soon after we were engaged, and we became engaged some time before you,” Kyouko pointed out in a cool tone. “Also, more importantly, we booked ours first, so I recommend that you and Togami-kun do the appropriate thing and change your booking.”

Touko whipped her head toward Kyouko. Lightning struck in her eyes on the grim morning on her face.

“Have your ears been clogged with wax for the past few years?” snapped Touko, speaking with a lot of erratic gestures that used the entirety of her arms. “Or have you fallen asleep with your eyes open? It’s hard to tell when you rarely change your expression. Just because me and my darling agreed on it together at that time, doesn’t mean I haven’t mentioned it before. I’ve been talking about getting married there way before you and Naegi got together.”

Keep in mind that at no point had Byakuya and Kyouko averted their gazes from the other, and they didn’t seem like they were about to any time soon. Touko seethed by them, but the gale of her breath couldn’t and didn’t budge Kyouko, who when she next spoke, though her eyes were on Byakuya, she directed her words at Touko.

“You also talked about covering yourself in whipped cream and letting Togami-kun lick it off with his wrists bound while he was wearing cat accessories,” said Kyouko, straight-faced.

A choked gasp escaped Touko. Byakuya flinched. He coughed into his hand, a bit pink, and finally broke eye contact.

“... Anyway. Touko’s right,” he said quickly. With that out of the way, he lowered his hand, looked at Kyouko again and added, “The next available day is several months away, and there’s a fair chance that we won’t be able to get married at the same time next year. It has to be this year.”

Kyouko regarded him with half-lidded eyes.

“I’m not rearranging our wedding,” said Kyouko calmly. His face tightened.

“Well, I’m not,” replied Byakuya, matching her volume and tone, barely.

“Y-Yeah!” Touko piped up, raising a fist. Then she slammed it against the table, causing the silverware to jolt. “Me and my darling... are not backing down!”

“We’re definitely not,” said Byakuya, louder than before. He wasn’t yelling, but he attracted the attention of more students.

Several further away stood up to obtain a better view of the scene. Others turned their heads. Up soared Byakuya’s fist, and Touko lifted hers to copy him. Makoto cringed, painfully aware that conversation had died off in the rest of the cafeteria. For a few moments, no one said anything, all staring.

“Hey, what’s all the shouting for?” asked a voice, and Makoto turned toward where it was coming from. Aoi, Yasuhiro and Komaru approached their table, with Aoi being the one who had called out.

None of them had any food on them, so most likely they had only recently entered the cafeteria. No doubt they heard them very soon after coming in. They stopped at Makoto’s table but didn’t sit down, choosing to remain on their feet instead.

Yasuhiro pulled a face. He stuck a finger in his ear and made a screwing motion in it. “Yeesh, it’s too early to be talking so loudly.”

“... It’s past noon,” said Touko. Her face tensed, like she sucked on the innards of a lemon, and she turned to glower at the table closest to them. “There’s nothing to see here! D-Do you want detention?”

That put off most students. Conversation was slow to start, but once one table began talking, the rest swiftly resumed around them. Sometimes, Makoto and his companions ate their lunch in the teachers’ room, but often they met up here, such as today, for extra supervision.

While the majority of students had relaxed and retreated into their own bubbles, chatting away between bites, at Makoto’s table, Byakuya and Kyouko continued ignoring everyone else to the befuddlement of the late arrivals. Makoto looked up.

“Togami-kun and Fukawa-san’s wedding was accidentally booked at the same time and place as ours,” he explained.

The confusion on their friends’ faces didn’t leave, but shifted. Aoi’s eyebrows arched. Komaru gaped. Yasuhiro quirked his brow.

“Is that even possible?” asked Aoi.

Makoto offered a smile. It wasn’t an answer, but it was better than nothing, and then he shrugged. “Beats me.”

“So now we have to decide who keeps their booking,” replied Byakuya.

Komaru cupped her elbow with one hand and rubbed her chin with the other.

“Well, who booked first?” she asked.

“We did,” said Kyouko, before anyone else had chance to respond.

Komaru pulled her arms out of their positions and gave her palm a light punch. “Then it’s simple, isn’t it?” she said brightly. “Makoto and Kyouko-chan booked first, so they should get married on that day.”

“Yeah!” Aoi chimed in, nodding.

“Makes sense,” Yasuhiro said, one hand on his hip.

Touko let out a whine.

“B-But then we’d have to wait ages to get married there,” said Touko, wringing her hands. “And... even longer for it to fall on Taian again...”

“Taian is on the last day of the year next year too,” Yasuhiro pointed out, earning another groan from Touko.

“That shrine won’t be available for weddings then,” said Touko. She hunched her shoulders and held her head in her hands. “What am I supposed to tell my preteen self...?”

Aoi frowned at her.

“You can get married somewhere else, can’t you?” asked Aoi.

Touko spluttered and straightened. Her fingers dragged down through her hair, stopping near the top of her braids. “I can’t just-! I’ve wanted to get married there since I was in elementary school! In fact... I was the one who mentioned it to Kirigiri when she asked about shrines.”

Everyone else turned to Kyouko, who glanced at Touko.

“You did recommend me that shrine,” said Kyouko calmly. “But that doesn’t mean you have priority.”

“Strictly speaking, no one does,” said Byakuya.

“Strictly speaking, they should,” said Aoi, jerking her head toward Makoto and Kyouko. “Right? I mean, they booked theirs first.”

“I’m down with whatever.” Yasuhiro rubbed his nose. “I’m there for the food, friends and for a reasonable price, possibly entertainment or photography.”

Touko twitched and released her head.

“You’re all making decisions with your brains!” she hissed. That was the conventional way of making decisions, but Makoto and the others decided to hear her out. Her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists. “Ever since I was young, I dreamed about getting married there. As I grew older, the face of my groom would change in my daydreams. My childhood friend. The butcher’s apprentice. A boy I saw in the library. Then, I met Byakuya, and the face never changed from his after that...”

She gulped noisily. The tension contorting her face slackened a little. Surrounding students had stopped talking, clearly listening in, but Touko didn’t hound on them like last time. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. Perhaps she had, but she didn’t care.

“And for Byakuya... the date,” she said, quieter, staring downward. “It’s the end of the year, but it also signifies the coming of a new beginning. That is like...”

“... the fall of my conglomerate,” finished Byakuya in a soft tone, and Touko lifted her head, eyes wide.

“... but also a new beginning,” said Touko. She clasped her hands together, quivering. “Us.”

Makoto’s heart twinged. The cafeteria held its breath, hushed. Byakuya fixed the position of his glasses wordlessly, not looking at anyone, his expression unreadable.

Kyouko didn’t budge. No crease to her brow. No flicker by her lashes. No tug on her lips. Her hands remained folded neatly on her lap.

“Well,” Aoi started uncomfortably. She scratched at her elbow. “That’s... there are other places you can have it. Right...?”

Yasuhiro feigned interest in the ceiling, and when Aoi turned to Komaru, she found Komaru scraping her teeth against her lips, and in contrast to Yasuhiro, she was seemingly examining her trainers, like a maths equation that she couldn’t figure out. Aoi hesitated.

“Komaru-chan?” said Aoi. Komaru’s shoulders slumped.

“I can’t say ‘no’ to a twelve year old Touko-chan,” lamented Komaru.

“It’s not like you’re actually going to,” said Yasuhiro. Regardless of whether he was correct or not, he went ignored.

Aoi stared at Komaru.

“Eh? This is your brother!” said Aoi, gesturing toward Makoto.

“I... I know... but...” Komaru trailed off.

Aoi blanched. “You don’t sound so sure!”

“Touko-chan is my best friend,” Komaru said, wincing. ��I can’t gang up on her.”

“She’s my friend too, but Kyouko-chan and Naegi are my friends as well and what’s fair is fair,” said Aoi, swishing a finger.

“I can’t...” Komaru fidgeted, looking like if she could, she would have melted into the floor.

“Don’t back down, Komaru!” said Touko, waving her fist.

“You have to!” said Aoi, leaning in a bit toward Komaru, who puffed out her chest.

“Easy for you to say!” Komaru replied, scrunching her face.

Aoi and Komaru pursed their lips into sneers, squinting at each other.

By now, the entire cafeteria was watching the drama. Yasuhiro didn’t help and had shuffled backward to another table, perching on the edge and hiding behind his arms but making sure he could still see what was going on. Kyouko’s face gave a spasm, and despite her composure up to now, this opened the floodgates. She gripped the edge of the table and shot to her feet. Her chair screeched back.

“Togami-kun, you are being unreasonable,” she said, her calm demeanour cracking as Byakuya pressed against it more and more. Her eyes set alight. She didn’t shout, but she didn’t need to. “I’m not going to relent because you’ll have a tantrum otherwise.”

Byakuya stood up now, leering down at her, and clicked his tongue.

“What a surprise, you’re throwing others under the bus after they’ve helped you for your own gain.” He stuck up his nose. “Are we in the mutual killings again? All we need is Alter Ego and a conveyor belt, though you’ve got the ego by yourself.”

“Are you really going to say that I’m the one with the ego? The man who has his family crest on his underwear?”

“T-Touko said she wouldn’t tell anyone!”

Their bickering grew progressively louder, until -

“Guys!” Makoto blurted, much louder than he intended.

His voice rung out, and though no one spoke in the aftermath, the room buzzed. He could feel his heart beat furiously in his chest. Heat rose to his face, prickling his skin, but at least he got what he wanted - everyone had fallen silent and had turned to him, giving him their utmost attention.

A shaky sigh escaped him.

“Why won’t we have a double wedding?” he suggested. Kyouko and Byakuya exchanged sceptical looks, while Touko gritted her teeth. “Shining Star Shrine is the most ideal place for a wedding, and I understand. We all want the day to be special. We want to be the centre of attention. But I think... for my special day to also be special for two of my closest friends, then I don’t mind. Please... stop fighting.”

He rested a hand over his heart. The only things that he lacked were wings and a halo.

“Makoto’s right,” said Komaru quietly. Aoi put her arm around Komaru’s shoulders and pulled her closer. “We shouldn’t fight.”

Kyouko’s and Byakuya’s lips contorted as they considered Makoto’s suggestion. Byakuya stroked his chin. For every second that passed that neither answered, Makoto’s heart continued drumming.

“Think of how much money you’d be saving,” added Yasuhiro, rubbing his thumb and index finger together.

That was right. After all, Byakuya wasn’t a billionaire anymore. Touko didn’t have her royalties or her savings. Kyouko didn’t have her family’s savings, and neither did Makoto.

“I suppose something could be arranged,” said Byakuya, finally, sounding tired. He offered his hand.

Kyouko nodded and took it in hers. They shook on it unsmilingly. But they didn’t seem about to kill each other, so that was good enough for now.

Makoto flopped in his seat. While most of their friends relaxed and even managed small grins, watching the pair, Touko confronted the rest of the cafeteria. In fear of receiving a detention, students tensed and forced themselves to look away, but then Touko started thrashing her arms and beaming up to her ears, she announced,

“You’re all invited to my wedding!”

***

The next several weeks flew by, and then, what felt rather suddenly, the morning of the wedding started to unfurl. Kyouko couldn’t suppress the fluttering sensation in her chest. Shining Star Shrine contained a special room for the bride, bridesmaids, maids of honour and so on. A haze seemed to reside in the creamy-hued room, giving the illusion that Kyouko was in a dream. But it wasn’t a dream. This was real. She was getting married, and so was Touko.

Even though their weddings were being held at a shrine, that didn’t mean the ceremony was strictly shinto style. For example, rather than don a white kimono, Touko studied her western wedding dress in the full length mirror provided for them. The dress started with a sweetheart neckline on a textured bodice, with ruffled off-shoulder sleeves. A long, sheer lace cape decorated with silhouettes of butterflies trailed behind her, pinned to the top of the dress. The same fabric with the same pattern as the cape was used for the outer layers of the skirts, starting at the waist and pooling at her feet.

Truly, she looked like she belonged in a Hollywood wedding, and Touko had intended that.

Touko picked at her fingers. She had been standing there for about five minutes now, without doing anything else.

“Are you okay, Fukawa-san?” asked Kyouko, seated on a similar chair a short distance behind Touko. The dark mahogany frames of the chairs resembled paint strokes.

“It won’t be that for long,” Touko reminded her. She wiggled, mostly her shoulders and her hips. “I’ll be... Touko Togami...”

Kyouko admired Touko’s flower tiara. Most of the flowers in it were white, but a few were pale blue or violet. Her hair had been piled into a bun and studded with more flowers with the same colour scheme. Styling all that hair had taken Komaru, Hiroko and Kanon quite a bit of time.

A small smile pulled at the ends of Kyouko’s lips and she nodded.

Touko inspected her reflection for a minute more before standing near Kyouko. Other chairs were there, but most likely, Touko didn’t want to risk giving her dress a single wrinkle, and she hadn’t even tasted any of the wine in the bottle provided for them, which had been on a small, round table when they arrived, in case it smudged her lipstick. She cast her eyes toward Kyouko, who, while she had chosen a kimono, had gone for violet silk and lace as opposed to a white shiromuku. For a while, Touko just traced her eyes over the black, winding pattern on Kyouko’s kimono, with fake roseheads and leaves stitched into it, and then she briefly looked at Kyouko’s usual gloves before lifting her gaze.

When Kyouko glanced down, she noticed Touko’s hands trembling.

“Excited?” asked Kyouko, making eye contact again.

“Exuberant,” replied Touko quickly, curling and uncurling her fingers repeatedly until she hugged herself. “Why wouldn’t I be? Today... I’m going to be Touko Togami...!”

Kyouko smirked.

“And you?” asked Touko, loosening her hold on herself a little bit. “Quid pro quo.”

“I’m of the same mind,” said Kyouko. Touko’s lips tightened.

“Then you’re hiding it,” said Touko.

“You should know now, Fukawa-san, that I don’t wear my feelings on my sleeve.” Kyouko paused. “Or should it be Touko-san now?”

Touko tensed.

“J-Just Touko will do,” said Touko, one of her legs jittery.

“Touko,” tried Kyouko.

That brought out a loud gasp from Touko, so sharp that she nearly choked. Kyouko eyed her with a part-bemused, part-concerned look as Touko coughed, straightened up and pushed up her glasses.

“Komaru and Asahina-san call you by your forename,” said Kyouko, and Byakuya did, but he was an exception for a lot of things with Touko.

“But this is you! You sound like you’re about to pass sentence when you say it. And I’m still working through a lot of stuff,” said Touko. Frowning, she tilted her head back slightly, eyes narrowed as she seemed to examine Kyouko. “I don’t think you’re making fun of me... so I’ll allow it.”

She huffed, putting her hands onto her hips.

“You really are guarded with your emotions,” remarked Touko, making no attempt to hide the petulant annoyance that lined her voice and pulled her lips into a pout. “That’s very different to your husband, yet you fit together so well.”

What Touko said wasn’t surprising, or something that Kyouko hadn’t been told before, yet Kyouko sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments, eyes unfocused. Kyouko rested her arms on her lap and could feel Touko’s gaze drilling into her head. When she lifted her head, she confirmed that Touko was staring at her.

“You’re correct,” said Kyouko evenly. She sat back in her chair and ran a finger across the curve of her ear, avoiding touching her makeup. “While I prefer to keep my emotions in control, Makoto is like a glass house with his. However, that doesn’t mean he is fragile... he is strong.”

Touko listened without interruption, and so Kyouko continued, visualising Makoto’s face, his smiles, his nervous tics, his laughs and the fire that he had deep in him, that could melt even the frostiest of exteriors, given enough time, enough opportunity. The ends of Kyouko’s lips curved upward without her realising.

“He is supportive, and brave,” said Kyouko. She crossed her legs at the ankles. Though she didn’t speak loudly, her voice seemed to fill the room. “I know to some people, he just seems foolish, but he’s genuine. He lets me know that it is okay to be myself, and when I’m with him, I feel comfortable expressing myself. His readiness to help others, even at the expense of himself, is something that I try to follow in example. Someone so down-to-earth, encouraging and warm... is a kind of person that I want to share my life with.”

By the end of that, Kyouko’s cheeks had grown warm. The strange, tickly feeling in Kyouko’s chest returned. She took a breath and let herself avert her gaze for a short time. No more than a couple of seconds could have passed, though she hadn’t kept track of the arms on the analog clock on the wall, that ticked with no consideration to anyone else. Her eyes flitted back to Touko, and she received a full dosage of Touko’s wide eyes.

“And you support him too,” added Touko, nodding. She gripped some of her skirts. “Don’t forget that. You support him too, and give him direction and confidence... and you often make him see sense. There’s altruism, and then there’s plain foolishness. He needs someone with more foresight, who can analyse situations as astutely as you. There are times when logic must rule over emotions, when one must be rational and able to keep themselves separate from and objective in a certain situation.”

Kyouko cocked her head.

“You are Touko, aren’t you?” asked Kyouko, deadpan, and Touko yelped.

“Hey!” Touko said, and Kyouko couldn’t restrain her smile. Touko shook her fists. “Giving snide comments is my thing!”

That almost made Kyouko laugh, but she did crack a smile. This wasn’t the conversation that she had expected to be having on the morning of her wedding. She was just repeating what she already knew, what could have been extracted as readily, but saying it aloud to someone like this... felt nice. Perhaps this was why Touko gushed about Byakuya as much as she did.

“What about you, Touko?” asked Kyouko, in good spirits. “You and Togami-kun are different, yet you are clearly in love.”

“We’re different... in ways,” said Touko, sobering. She stood still. “To many, Byakuya is a cold-hearted person, and I am lovey-dovey...”

Kyouko was interested in how Touko planned to refute this.

“But really, we are similar in many ways too,” said Touko.

“Oh?” said Kyouko. Touko groped at her skirts.

“Both of us... have had issues trusting people, and still do to some extent,” she said, looking away “And... And we’ve talked about our childhoods, and found... we both went through a lot of stress and trauma. We both closed out others to survive. He forced himself not to feel, leaving him out of touch with his emotions, while for me... I felt too much, and when I tried to dissociate from my feelings, it created her.”

Genocider Syo. Her grim expression smoothed out. Though she remained serious, her eyes shone.

“In the end, I didn’t become a better person for Byakuya, but he made me want to be a better person. He encouraged me to face my fears, to keep moving forward, to be strong and dependable... and then I applied it to others,” said Touko. She squeezed her hands together. “I applied it to Komaru, who encouraged me too... and she taught me that romantic love isn’t the only kind of love.”

Touko was blushing. Kyouko didn’t say anything, but Touko whipped her head toward Kyouko like she had and wagged a finger.

“But I love Byakuya in many ways! Not just romantic! He’s one of a kind!” Touko said.

“I think your love taught Togami-kun some things,” Kyouko said, while Touko stared happily into empty space. “He used to think emotional bonds were weaknesses, but with us, he learned to depend on others and appreciate friendships, and you proved to him the power of a romantic love... something I doubt he would have considered even for a moment before meeting you.”

“Yes!” Touko’s face lit up as she clapped her hands. “We’re meant to be! He accepts me fully... me and Genocider. She didn’t want a wedding herself, even though Byakuya offered her a lower key one with just our close friends knowing about it, but she left me a note for today...”

Kyouko watched Touko waddle over to her handbag, not because of her footwear but as she took care to not damage her dress in any way. The handbag had been left by the leg of a vanity, and Touko bent down to unfasten it. Touko revealed a note and walked back over to show it to Kyouko. Standing close to each other, Kyouko breathed in Touko’s floral perfume as she investigated the note. On the note was ‘have a fucktastic day!’ crudely written, and an even cruder drawing of Byakuya and Touko having se-... having... of Byakuya and Touko.

She kept holding it out, and Kyouko really hoped that Touko didn’t mean to give it to her. As nice as it was to see that those two had a better relationship, Kyouko didn’t want that as a memento.

“Enough about her though! Me and Byakuya...” Touko wrapped her arms around herself, taking the note with her, to Kyouko’s relief. Her face positively glowed. “... were made for each other. Our names mean winter child and white night, and my birthday is girls’ day while his was known as boys’ day, we both wear glasses, we both like reading and watching the same obscure movies...”

With a smile, Kyouko listened to Touko go on at length about Byakuya, glad that she had not forced them to postpone their wedding if it meant she got to see Touko so happy, until the door was thrown open. While Kyouko had picked up on footsteps before this, and so just turned toward the door calmly, Touko hadn’t anticipated it and she screamed. At the head of the pack were the two maids of honour - Aoi, for Kyouko, and Komaru, for Touko, though they had combined their forces for the double wedding and did much of the planning together. Indeed, they even burst in with their arms linked, Komaru in her grey-blue dress and Aoi in a waistcoat and trousers, monochrome.

“Knock first!” Touko snapped, clutching her chest. “A-And wipe your feet!”

“Sorry, Touko-chan,” panted Komaru, not sounding particularly apologetic. Behind the maids of honour were Kanon - Leon’s cousin, Ayaka - a former group member of Sayaka’s idol group - and Fujiko, who was Hifumi’s sister. Kanon wore a suit while the other two wore dresses.

Komaru doubled over and pressed her hands against her thighs, wheezing a bit. Once she got her breath back, she straightened and waved an envelope.

“The paparazzi are everywhere,” said Komaru. “They took a bunch of photos... probably to spin a story about how we’ve drawn a circle around the site and plan to sacrifice all the guests to summon a giant Komaeda.”

“They wouldn’t think that unless you told them that drivel!” hissed Touko, retracting her fingers like the claws of a predator about to pounce on their prey. “You’re probably where they get half the stories from!”

“Anyway,” said Komaru, not denying what Touko said, “we got this sent over from Jabberwock Island.”

She flourished the envelope again. Touko and Kyouko looked at each other. Kyouko rose and took the envelope from Komaru. Inside was a letter, several pages long. After every paragraph, the handwriting changed as someone else had a turn writing something down.

Page 1

Page 2

Referring to the double wedding as ‘high profile’ wouldn’t be underselling it. Soon after the invites had been sent out, the media caught wind of the event that was to take place on the last day of the year, and so for the next several weeks, newspapers, websites and news channels updated the world about every detail in an almost endless stream, harping on every single movement, every trip out, every glance from either party. Speculation and rumours whirled around them, around every corner, and cameras clicked and flashed aggressively, documenting the run up to the weddings and everything barely related to it. Not even friends of the married couples-to-be were spared.

Therefore, in order to give the ceremony at least a decent amount of privacy, someone had to be tasked with identifying each guest before they could be let in, in case a paparazzo tried to sneak in.

The first of the guests started trickling in through the main entrance and by the doors stood Yasuhiro, the best man for both grooms. Signs either side of him announced the people to be wed. He adjusted his small glasses as he reread the guest list.

Two shadows teased the top of his vision. Yasuhiro raised his head.

One shadow belonged to a younger man with purple hair gelled into spikes that stuck upward at the top and downward near his forehead. His wide smile contrasted with the scowl of his companion, who pulled at one of her brown pigtails, her red eyes narrowed. Both wore kimonos. Hers was red and black, while his resembled a galaxy. They were more stylish than traditional.

“You here for the wedding?” asked Yasuhiro brightly.

“Yeah! That’s me!” the man said, giving Yasuhiro a thumbs up.

“I don’t think I know you guys. What are your names?”

They shouldn’t have hesitated.

“I am Momota Kaito,” said the man, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from his female friend.

“Remember what we talked about?” growled the woman.

“Oh yeah! I’m actually Ryōhei Kimura,” said the man. He barked out a laugh, prodded himself in the chest and then aimed his thumb at person beside him. “And this is Maaya Sakamoto.”

She stared blankly at Yasuhiro, who felt a small shiver.

“Are you here for the bride, the bride, the groom or the groom?” asked Yasuhiro.

The two looked at each other briefly.

“We are friends of Naegi and Kirigiri,” the woman said, turning back to him.

He positioned the clipboard near his face and skimmed down the list twice, but the more he progressed, the more his brow furrowed.

“I still can’t f-” Yasuhiro lowered the clipboard and tensed. The two were gone. They had vanished. A pang plucked at his chest. He couldn’t see them ahead of them and when he checked over his shoulder, he couldn’t see them there either.

“It’s not like either of them were a Super High School Assassin, so it should be okay,” he said to himself, and he tried not to think about it as he let in the next guests.

Once all the guests had arrived, Yasuhiro went inside, closing the door behind him, and joined the others in the minimalist waiting room. The mystery guests were nowhere in sight. Maybe they left. Hopefully they left. Though he couldn’t spot them, he did see the grooms. Byakuya had a beige suit on, with a waistcoat under the jacket, and Makoto wore a black crested jacket and vertically striped hakama.

Yasuhiro strode over to them and slung an arm each over their shoulders, standing between them. Makoto buckled a bit at first under the sudden force of Yasuhiro’s arm but didn’t collapse.

“You guys ready?” asked Yasuhiro, grinning widely.

“Y-Yeah,” said Makoto with a quaver in his voice. He tweaked his collar then scraped a hand through his short hair.

“Signed your pledges? Practised the ritual offerings? Your vows?” asked Yasuhiro, pulling them closer to his sides.

Byakuya adjusted the ivory rose boutonniere on his lapel. “Of course we have.”

“Hey, we don’t need that tone for today!” scolded Yasuhiro cheerfully. “I just want to make sure that one of the best days of my buddies’ lives goes without a hitch, ‘right? As best man, that’s my job, and if this goes well and I prove myself capable, my mother promised that I could get a pet turtle!”

“Idiot,” grumbled Byakuya. Yasuhiro gave him a hearty slap on the back, skewing Byakuya’s glasses.

“So, Togami-chi, did you have to write different vows for Fukawa-chi and Genocider-chi?” asked Yasuhiro. “Or are you doing theirs at the same time with the same one?”

“Genocider and I aren’t getting married,” said Byakuya. He fixed his glasses, frowning. “We talked last night, actually... I offered her the chance again, but she insisted that weddings weren’t her thing. She said she’d rather choose to stay with me rather than be bound to me, like catching a fly with syrup rather than with glue, and she gave me her scissors...”

There was a delay between hearing the words and processing them. Makoto and Yasuhiro stiffened at the same time, staring at Byakuya.

“Whoa, seriously?” said Yasuhiro, eyebrows raised. “And what did you give her?”

“I recited my vows to her.”

“Aw!” went Makoto. Byakuya scrunched his face into a pout and slid out of Yasuhiro’s grasp, turning his back to them and refusing to talk to them anymore.

The tradition of the groom not seeing their bride until as late as possible originated from a time when arranged marriages were more common, but they adopted this aspect for their wedding even though the wedding was very much a decision made by all those getting married. By now, the waiting room was getting a bit too snug. Next to enter was a shrine maiden, looking radiant in a crisp white kimono jacket and red hakama.

She walked over to one side of the room and chimed a bell, and the general chatter in the room died down. With everyone’s undivided attention on her, she gave a small bow.

“Please, follow me, and we will begin,” she said, once she had straightened.

Everyone stirred into motion and followed her out. They made their way across the grounds to the pavillion, the fresh winter air caressing their exposed skin. Just outside of the premises, crowds of onlookers craned their necks, many wielding blinking cameras, all shouting but none of it intelligible. Makoto gave a nervous grin and waved. Byakuya kept his eyes forward.

A sea of white chairs decorated with big purple bows waited for them in front of the pavilion, which was decked with bright bouquets flanking its entrance. White and golden fabric wound along the columns of the pavillion, drooping slightly where they bridged to the top of their neighbouring columns. Behind and either side of the pavillion was a lot of greenery, palm trees and shrubs dotted with small, peach-coloured buds, the tallest of these hanging over the structure. From the pavilion’s doorway, a paved path hung out like the tongue of a dog on a hot day, and the chairs stood either side of it.

Yasuhiro began directing everyone to their seats, while Byakuya and Makoto positioned themselves inside of the pavillion. The Head Priest was there already, and he gave them a friendly nod before continuing to meander about.

Makoto breathed in a fresh grass scent and looked up at Byakuya. He wanted to say something but he didn’t know what, and he knew that Byakuya didn’t appreciate small talk, so he gulped and cast his eyes toward the guests. Near the front of the seating arrangement were nine empty seats and in the front row were two unoccupied seats, for his parents, which Makoto regarded with an ache in the back of his throat.

“Hey. Naegi,” said Byakuya in a low tone and when Makoto turned, he met Byakuya’s bright blue eyes. “Don’t mess up.”

“I won’t,” said Makoto, rubbing the back of his neck, and Byakuya actually grinned, though it faded a bit as Byakuya turned back toward the guests. Makoto tried to follow his gaze, and he thought that Byakuya was looking at Aloysius Pennyworth, who seemed to be discussing something with Kyouko’s grandfather, Fuhito.

One time, Fuhito invited Makoto into a sauna, and in there, he had told Makoto that if Makoto ever crossed his granddaughter, no one would ever find the body. Then, soon after Makoto started spluttering promises, Fuhito told him that he had been joking. His granddaughter must have meant a lot to him.

“Togami-kun,” risked Makoto, with some hesitation. “If your parents were here...”

“... which they aren’t, because they’re dead,” finished Byakuya with no trace of a smile anymore, keeping his expression unreadable.

“Right. Sorry,” said Makoto. His shoulders sagged. He stroked himself on the wrist. “I think... if they weren’t, they’d be proud of you.”

“You don’t know them,” said Byakuya in a flat voice. “My father would disapprove. Not that he would be able to sway me. Regardless, it doesn’t matter to me. Pennyworth is here.”

A pause. Byakuya glanced at Makoto, showing a glimpse of teeth.

“But... I know you’re trying to console me. I don’t need you to, but I acknowledge it,” said Byakuya.

Makoto blinked, at a loss for words, then nodded with a tentative smile.

“I’m sure your parents would be pleased with you,” added Byakuya, and his words hit Makoto’s core. “Your future wife can be a pain, but she is a remarkable woman. She’s no Touko, but...”

Byakuya trailed off, but Makoto didn’t need him to finish. The ghost of a smile haunted Makoto’s lips.

“I understand,” said Makoto quietly, lowering his eyes. “Thanks.”

A while later, a rickshaw drew up a short distance away, and from it stepped out the two brides. Makoto widened his eyes and gasped, while Byakuya stood incredibly still, his mouth slightly open. The silence hovering over them didn’t have chance to become awkward. Yasuhiro started playing an ukulele.

Hiroko and Takaaki’s daughter, Okimi, threw petals from her basket as she followed them up the aisle. They slowly passed the guests, who watched their journey to their future spouses.

As the brides passed the former Warriors of Hope, Jataro dabbed. Kotoko giggled. Jataro froze, then turned to the others.

“You guys promised we’d do it at the same time!” complained Jataro. His friends snickered.

Takemichi Yukimaru, an old friend of Mondo’s, wore a suit rather than a biker outfit, and carried the rings on a cushion. He was older than one would expect for a ring bearer, but he complied with his role and stood next to Yasuhiro. Touko and Kyouko reached the pavillion and took their places beside Byakuya and Makoto respectively.

Makoto couldn’t take his eyes off Kyouko, whose usually pale face had become rosy. Touko gulped, fiddling with her fingers, a ball of repressed energy that brewed, trembling.

“Let us begin,” said the Head Priest, his voice carrying all the past the furthest row of chairs. He brandished a gohei - a wand - and waved it first over their heads, the white streamers attached to it shimmering, then he swished it in the direction of the guests.

Then he turned back to the shrine and bowed.

“Nobue-sama,” he said. “Today, not one but two couples wish to marry in the same ceremony at your shrine. Please, I ask on their behalf for your blessing. Our first gift to you is a dance from our shrine maidens.”

Three shrine maidens glided over to a small clearing and danced to appease the deity of the shrine. Everyone watched their controlled but fluid movements, and when they finished, the Head Priest presented a tray stacked with sake cups of different sizes. First, he offered sake from the smallest cup - there was so little that Makoto faked one of the three sips that he drank. They took turns drinking from it, then they each sipped three times from a bigger cup, and then three times from a cup bigger than the previous two.

The Head Priest placed the tray on a small table and faced the two couples. From rehearsals, Makoto knew what he needed to do, but he needed a nudge from Byakuya to remind him. His legs wobbled a bit as he stepped up to a podium with Kyouko.

“Kyouko,” he said, determined not to read from the note hidden up his sleeve. “My life hasn’t taken me, Makoto Naegi, down the path I expected. But... that has happened a lot, like one time, I went out to buy snacks for my friends, and I ended up being a hostage and thwarting a robbery.”

“Show off,” muttered Komaru.

“I thought that would be the most interesting thing to ever happen to me, but it wasn’t,” said Makoto. “I attended Hope’s Peak, met my closest friends, survived the world almost ending, and one of those precious people that entered my life is you, Kyouko.”

Makoto reached for her hands and took them in his sweaty pair. He didn’t peek up his sleeve at the note, but suppose he did, he barely glanced at it, so it didn’t count.

“After nearly losing you, I don’t want to go through that again. No matter where life takes us, I want to marry you.” His voice cracked and he rubbed his eyes on his shoulder before looking at her again with a full grin and unashamed eyes. “Regardless of our health, our situation, I will love you, respect you, console you and help you until death. My spirit will remain loyally yours.”

Kyouko smiled. Her eyes swam.

“Makoto...” Usually, a groom would read their joined pledge to the deity of the shrine, but she had wanted to give her own personal pledge to him. She had refused to wear white, refused to wear headgear to hide her horns of jealousy, to show submission. He loved her. “You have been by my side for a long time now. Even when I, Kyouko Kirigiri, cannot see you, cannot open up, you support me, and I swear to make the same commitment that you do. I will stand with you in peaceful times, in strife, in sickness and in health. I will protect you, and be yours like you will be in kind.”

And what better place to promise this than in front of a deity? They hooked their pinky fingers with each other then let go and stepped back, unable to take their eyes off the person opposite them. The other couple stepped up to the podium. Touko’s legs almost buckled, and she had to support herself with the podium to prevent herself from collapsing.

Byakuya cleared his throat, but he couldn’t shake off the colour on his face.

“In front of everyone present, I, Byakuya Togami, pledge to you, Touko Fukawa, unyielding loyalty and devotion. I hereby dedicate myself to you and will honour and respect you, regardless of the obstacles that we will inevitably face. You shall be my constant and I yours, and even after the day that I pass on, I will love you.”

Kyouko’s eyes had swam. Touko’s almost drowned.

“Y-Yes!” she squawked. Byakuya frowned. She tried to recompose herself with a deep breath, then a loud sniffle, and just keeping it together, she gave her vows in a thick, emotional tone. “I, T-Touko Fukawa, always dreamed of this moment, but only with you has it become reality. I thought... this sort of happiness could only be imagined, in a story, but it’s real. You’re real. I’m real. My soul will be with you, regardless of health, regardless of good and bad times, and I swear I will respect you, honour you, console and help you, cherish you, love you, with every fibre of my body. I swear.”

Touko was on the verge of blubbering.

“Those are happy tears,” said Byakuya, almost as a question, and she nodded. He reached forward to gently wipe the corners of her eyes, smiling faintly.

She was still snivelling as the four of them picked up a branch decorated with paper strips, which had been placed on a table near the pavillion. They moved them to the podium for Nobue-sama as offerings, and then turned to Takemichi. He proffered the cushion. The four rings on them glistened.

After they exchanged rings, sliding them onto their partner’s finger, the Head Priest left the pavillion, turned to it and bowed.

“Thank you, Nobue-sama, for your blessings. To show your dedication to each other, you may kiss now,” said the Head Priest, directing the last part at the others.

Kyouko cradled Makoto’s cheek, while he gingerly held onto her waist, and they pressed their lips together. His senses exploded, as intense as fireworks. Cheering erupted. Byakuya peered at them, but then Touko yanked him toward her, dipping him, and when she kissed him, he relaxed and placed a hand against her cheek. Yasuhiro whooped loudest.

Family members were called up to get cups to sip from, similar to what Makoto and the other three had done. During the wedding, Kameko had been riding on Komaru’s shoulder, and now, Komaru gave Kameko to Touko, who tried to persuade the stinkbug to drink from the sake cups. Kameko’s antennae got wet, and Touko giggled tearfully. Thankfully, Kanon had thought to use waterproof makeup in case Touko got emotional, though even with smudged eyes and streaked cheeks, she would have been just as happy, just as beautiful.

“You are now husband and wife,” the Head Priest announced, and everyone clapped twice.

Komaru stared out at the rest of the guests and stretched her arms over her head.

“So it’s time for the reception, yeah?” asked Komaru with her face slightly crumpled, though the tension flooded out as she lowered her arms.

“And then the after-party!” Yasuhiro piped up excitedly.

Aoi sighed. She raised her arms with her flat hands palm-up. “You’re way too eager. You better not drink too much and say weird things there...”

Yasuhiro grabbed Aoi’s shoulder and flapped his other hand, grinning.

“You’ve gotta relax. Don’t worry your pony-tailed head, Asahina-chi. I’m fully prepared for later.” He bared his teeth and pointed his thumb at himself. “I’ve got a lot of anecdotes to share.”

Komaru beamed. “Me too!”

She and Yasuhiro rubbed their hands together, laughing under their breaths. Aoi blinked at them, then folded her arms over her chest and pulled a face. Makoto scratched his cheek.

“We should get going,” said Makoto. “I don’t want to keep our limo driver waiting too long.”

Byakuya jutted his chin out. “Hmph, a limo?”

Makoto frowned. “Well, how are you getting to the reception?”

“I’ll be flying us there by helicopter, of course.”

Of course.

“Can we really trust you to stay focused?” asked Kyouko, eyeing Byakuya. “Especially with just you and Touko-san in there.”

“I can see why you jumped to that conclusion. You’re projecting onto me. Getting a limo for yourselves... that leaves you time alone in the back for mischief,” drawled Byakuya.

“Guys, come on,” said Yasuhiro pleadingly, but they were both smiling at each other. Makoto relaxed.

The group started to head down the aisle and others rose from their seats, talking among themselves. Aoi took a few steps before stopping abruptly. Her eyes widened.

“Ah, the bouquets! We need to throw them!” said Aoi, hitting her palm.

Kyouko looked over her shoulder.

“Doesn’t that usually happen after the first dance?” she asked.

Aoi wilted. “Oh... So I didn’t need to bring them here.”

Touko and Kyouko looked at each other.

“I suppose we can do them now,” said Touko, turning to Kyouko, and Aoi perked up.

“Everyone get into position for the bouquets!” shouted Aoi with her hands cupping her mouth. For the wedding, they had acquired bouquets especially prepared to be thrown, as a regular one would be likely to fall apart. Aoi dashed over to where she had left them, near where she had been sitting during the ceremony. Kyouko and Touko walked down the rest of the aisle so in front of them lay a large patio, and Aoi handed them each a bouquet.

Various women, girls and Yasuhiro flocked to the patio, their eyes trained on the two brides.Touko threw her bouquet first, but it landed not far from her feet. She gritted her teeth and stepped forward to pick it up.

“Put your back into it!” Komaru called out, and Touko flung it at Komaru’s face.

Komaru regained her balance, clawed it off and hugged it protectively to her chest, ignoring the dirty looks slung at her. “No backsies!”

Kyouko smiled fondly at them and tossed hers. The bouquet sailed upward, and everyone began chasing after it, running in squiggly lines that overlapped, trying to position themselves under it to catch it. It started to descend, and then a red blur leaped into the sky and caught it, flipping a few times before landing on both feet.

Everyone squinted at the woman who had claimed the bouquet. Her brown pigtails jiggled as she straightened from her crouch, her red eyes narrowed.

“Huh?” asked Aoi. She tilted her head to one side. “Do we know you?”

“I’m not saying anything without a lawyer present!” Yasuhiro blurted despite not being asked anything, but everyone was more concerned with the woman with Kyouko’s bouquet, and then the guy with gelled hair that sidled up to her.

The man who had introduced himself as Ryōhei to Yasuhiro, and who was apparently not called Momota, rubbed the back of his neck with a toothy grin.

Komaru bounced on her toes, cuddling her bouquet. “That was so cool! Like Kamen Rider Faiz!”

“To put in that much effort... You’re either desperate or showing off,” Touko remarked. Her eyes flickered between Maaya and Ryōhei.

Kyouko thought she vaguely recognised Ryōhei, but couldn’t place where from.

“Whatever the case,” said Kyouko, noting how Maaya chewed on her lip, how Maaya fidgeted her feet, how warmth peeked through cracks in the frostiness in her face, “you must really want to marry him.”

Even if Kyouko was wary, she didn’t want to let that be known in case that provoked the newcomers. Maaya looked toward Ryōhei and smiled shyly, pretty much confirming their suspicions.

Ryōhei blinked, frowning.

“Have I got something in my teeth?” he asked.

That swept off Maaya’s smile.

“... Idiot,” said Touko. She shook her head and stamped a foot, glaring at them. “We’re getting sidetracked! We still don’t know who you gatecrashers are! How did you get past security?”

Maaya’s face remained stern but lightly flushed. Her stoicness was returned in kind as everyone else waited for a proper response. An explanation. Neither she nor Ryōhei seemed to intend on speaking, but the silent standoff didn’t last long - the sound of an explosion rang out.

Everyone spun around toward where it originated from. In the distance, they could see what at first appeared to be a block moving toward them, but as it approached, more details bled into view, and they discovered it to be a tank. The door on top opened, and out popped the head of a Monobear. Only, its colour scheme didn’t resemble any that they had seen before. Where usually the fur was black, this one’s was red, and it wore a scarf with a star pin badge around where its head joined its body. Soon after, more peeked out, squashing against each other as they all tried to fit into the opening at the same time - one was half pink, another half blue, one had half of their body striped like a tiger and a fifth Monobear was half green.

“W-What?” Komaru cried out, eyes bulging. The Monobears retreated back into the tank, shutting the door after themselves.

Maaya reacted first.

“I told you not to touch anything! You must have activated them by accident and they’ve followed us here,” she snarled. She rushed toward the tank, pulling a gun out from each of her sleeves, with Ryōhei sprinting after her, weaponless.

“Wait up, Maki Roll!” Ryōhei yelled, waving his arm. “We have to be careful! Remember what my granddad said? Even trampling a butterfly could shake up the entire timeline, and we might cease to exist! We’re only supposed to be here for pleasure, not work!”

“It won’t be pleasure if they ruin our idols’ special day,” Maaya shouted, rapidly growing smaller and smaller in their vision as she charged toward the tank.

“Grandpa is going to kill us if he still exists when we come back,” groaned Ryōhei, wiping a hand down his face, but he continued pursuing her.

Behind them, Byakuya broke out of his daze first. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Then, he elevated his chin, pushed up his glasses and held out his hand. Aloysius stepped up beside him and presented him with a hacker megaphone, like the one that Komaru revealed herself to have brought with her to the wedding and concealed until now.

Kyouko cupped her chin.

“Time travel...? Could they be using technology from that secret project by Future Foundation’s fifteenth department?” murmured Kyouko. Now that she thought more about it, Ryōhei resembled a scientist who had worked there. Not exactly, but enough for a grandson.

Touko had got out a taser from her garter belt and balked at her. Byakuya studied Kyouko for a few seconds, and then turned to Touko.

“Don’t ruin that dress,” Byakuya warned Touko as Aloysius passed out hacker guns to the others. Kyouko and Makoto readied theirs, standing back-to-back, while Aoi squinted at the buttons on hers and Yasuhiro held his one the wrong way around, peering inside of it. “We haven’t taken the wedding photos yet, and I promised Genocider that she could wear it later.”

Yasuhiro looked at him.

“I thought you weren’t getting married to her?” said Yasuhiro, eyebrows raised.

“We’re not, but I said I would let her try it on later,” explained Byakuya. He aimed his megaphone. “Kyouko, I expect a full explanation after we neutralise this threat. Now, this won’t take long. We move on the count of three. One... Two...”

The after party would have to wait.

No matter.

They had the rest of their lives.

#togafuka #touko fukawa #byakuya togami #naegiri #danganronpa #makoto naegi #kyouko kirigiri #aoi asahina #yasuhiro hagakure #komaru naegi #dr3 #drae #fanfiction #and others

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fanfics-for-the-hockey-fan · 6 years

Text

My Forever - Morgan Rielly

Request: could i get a Morgan Rielly imagine where he’s trying to propose to the reader please? :)

“Come on, get up!” I rolled away from the voice of my boyfriend, annoyed with him waking me up. So like a toddler he started poking my shoulder. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

“What are we late for? It is a Saturday in July, you don’t have practice and I don’t have any client meetings for a month.” I was a wedding dress designer that worked with brides to create their dream dress and I didn’t work much during the summer so I could spend more time with Morgan but I had a conference call that went until 3 in the morning. “Mo, what is going on?”

“I rented a boat for the day, it thought we could spend the whole day on the water. It will be fun.” Rolling over I glared at Morgan as he stood over me.

“Sleep.” I was exhausted and wanted to spend all day in bed.

“Fun on a boat, just the two of us. You can sleep while I get the boat out on the water, I rented it for 24 hours so we can sleep there tonight. Please, I would reschedule the reservation but I can’t.” I groaned, going to get up but Morgan pushed me down to climb on top of me, kissing me and weaving his fingers into my hair.

“I thought you said I had to hurry?”

“Needed a kiss first. Go get ready and get packed, we need to leave in 10 minutes.” He rolled off of me, moving out of the bedroom and out of the room. I hurried into the bathroom, pulling my hair into a ponytail before going to pull out a sundress. Throwing that on and pulling out a small backpack to shove a swimsuit and another dress in along with a few other essentials. Sliding on sandals I found Morgan, carrying a large cooler towards the front door. “Come on out to the truck when you’re ready.”

Heading out I climbed into the passenger seat and checked my phone seeing I had a missed call from one of the boutiques I worked with back in Toronto. As I listened to the voicemail I watched as Morgan loaded everything in the truck before getting behind the wheel. “Unbelievable, this just great.”

“What’s up?”

“Bridezilla rejected all 5 designs I have spent the last 2 weeks doing and she wants more designs today.”

“Andrea, seriously?”

“I’m gonna have my assistant send her some of the new sketches to see if any of those speak to her. This lady wants several different styles of dresses rolled into one and I just don’t know what to give her. That was part of the reason I was up until 3.”

“Just relax and soon enough we will be on a boat and there will be no cell phone reception to bother you.” Nodding I closed my eyes, just planning on enjoying the ride to the marina but next thing I knew Morgan was waking me up. “We’re here.” I followed Morgan through the marina and came to a stop when he started to put our stuff onto the massive boat.

“Mo, what is this? This isn’t a boat, this is a yacht.”

“Yeah, it is. Come on.” He offered me his hand and lead me onto the boat, Nope it was a yacht. I shook my head as he smiled at me.

“Do you even know how to control this thing?”

“No, which is why when I chartered this yacht I made sure there was a captain to do all of that stuff.”

“You are absurd. This is way too much.”

“Just let me treat you to something nice, you always push away my gifts. This one I can’t return to a store.” A well dress man greeted us and introduced himself as the captain, giving us a tour before he told us to enjoy ourselves and to come get him if we needed anything. As we sat on the deck above the steering area, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you for this, it is perfect. And the best timing because I now have a good reason to not answer my phone for the next 24 hours.”

“See, I have a bright idea every once in a while. I have another one for later but now I promised you could sleep, so I’ll let you sleep for now.” Nodding I cuddled back into him, letting my eyes drift shut. When I woke up Morgan was nowhere to be seen so I searched around for Morgan, finding him setting up a table at the front of the boat.

“What are you doing? And why are you dressed up?” He was in my favorite game day suit that he owned, the dark blue color of the suit made his eyes brighter.

“Because I have another bright idea, a romantic sunset dinner. Come sit down, and we can eat. I was coming to wake you up when you found me.” Morgan had that goofy grin on his face that he always got when he was think about us. “You look beautiful.”

“I look like I just woke up from a nap where I drooled on myself. Beautiful is not the work I would use.”

“You always look beautiful, no matter what you are doing.”

“You are a flirt.”

“But I only flirt with you.” He looks like he wants to say something else but he shakes his head. “And I only want to flirt with you, for the rest of our lives. I have been trying to figure out how to do this for months now, the guys on the team have been picking on me forever now. You should see the texts I’ve gotten since everyone went their separate ways for the summer.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how I am confident in everything I do except this, because this is the most important I will ever do. Andrea, will you make me the happiest man in the world and agree to marry me? I want to be yours for as long as you’ll have me. Please become my wife.”

“Yes, absolutely, yes!” Getting out of my chair I tackled Morgan off his knees as I kissed him. “How long have you been planning this?”

“I bought the ring in January, almost asked you during All-Star break. And then again when when we officially made it into the playoffs, and again when we got eliminated. I’ve almost asked you at least a half dozen times. But I wanted it to be prefect.”

“This is perfect. So perfect.” Kissing him one more time I take his hand and we both go back to the table, me sitting as Morgan kneels again and pulls the ring box out of his pocket. When I finally saw the ring, I gasped. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it, it’s really intimidating designing an engagement ring for a wedding dress designer.”

“I love you so freaking much. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” Smiling as he slid on the ring, I pulled his face closer to me so I could kiss him again. Watching him sit down with that goofy grin on his face I knew I found my forever.

Request are open!!! Send me stuff!

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heatofthemomentfanfic · 6 years

Text

Short

Miami in December. A fun time. Maya was hosting a private Christmas party for her company. Love Towns. She wanted fun. That’s what she got. She begged me to come. Support her. Get away from freezing home.

So I did. First flight out of YYZ.

Toying with my hair. Tilting my head. My eyes moving constantly on my outfit. Sticking with it in the end. Naughty and nice.

An intimate dinner with my cousins. Crystal, Taylor, Bria and Maya. Laughs, wine, full course meals. A classy pregame for tonight’s festivities.

Maya’s night. Her team was amazing. A tight knit team that meshed together like family. The location was great. A mansion. Strobe lights set to the mood. A pool in the backyard with mermaids. String lights above your head. A fairytale dream come to life. A garden haven like that scene from Peter Pan.

A few celebrities were here. A few good bloggers. Nothing unusual. A female DJ to set the mood perfectly. A videographer moved gracefully. Capturing the right moments.

Lost in my own world. Dancing carelessly. Taking photos. Networking. Drinking. Living freely.

Maya made her toast for the night. Gratitude and thankful. Overwhelmed with emotions but happiness summed it up. More to come. A better future for sure.

Walking to the open bar. Spotting a familiar face in the sea of familiar friends. My heart sank...just a little. Turning to a different bar. Erasing what I saw. Trying to become invisible. I didn’t need to see him. Our time ended. It was almost too perfect to be true. Who am I kidding? I gave up on him. His idea of love wasn’t mature. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t what I needed.

The Boy didn’t take that well. He wrote a few words about me. Words he didn’t feel comfortable texting right away. Wondering where have I been? Recalling conversations of young infatuation; he used to be on my mind constantly. What a time.

Distracting myself again. Remembering where I was and why I was here. A sense of calm came back. Unbothered. Leaving back to hotel with Bria.

A morning workout like usual. Brunch outside with umbrellas and robes. Bottomless mimosas and twerking. A good time that anyone would want to join. A trip to Wynwood Art District. Photos of course to emphasize on our art. Art Basel activities wrapped up early. A yacht party to end the night.

Once was luck. Twice was supposed to be.

Brown eyes piercing into each other. Complete thoughts were blocked by me. He couldn’t read me. He couldn’t express himself how he wanted. He felt like there was more to tell. Another part of him was over and done with me. Ha, I found that hard to believe.

We were across the room. Smiling with the same effort. I never made it to his side nor did he make it to mine. No words were said. I drank my white wine.

My fun came to an end. Work called me. Facing the bitter cold was terrible. It was still home. I couldn’t trade it. Maybe New York if I had to move. Atlanta was also an option. I met someone out there. A beautiful man who wanted to offer the world; the world I dreamed of. I declined for Aubrey. He had more value at the time. I guess I saw happiness in him that he couldn’t put into motion.

Sitting at work preoccupied. Looking through important flies. Classic music playing lowly. The office phone rang. Making immediate eye contact with Jennifer.

“You have a call from Drake. Would you like to take it or should I tell him you’re busy?”

“I’ll take it.” A confident wink. I knew silence wouldn’t last long. “Thanks Jen.”

In seconds, the call transferred. “What can I do for you, Mr. Graham?”

“I didn’t expect you to answer.”

A careless shrug. “You’re not disappointed, are you? I can always let you leave a message.”

“Dinner tonight at Fring’s.”

My eyebrows raised. “Why?”

“You know the answer.”

“Do you know the context of the question?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions instead of saying yes.”

“This isn’t a date.” I had to clarify nothing.

“We could make this a thing.” I could read his smirk.

“It was a thing….that ended. I have plans.” Plans with myself. Plans of self care. Face masks, glass of wine, work on the side.

“Whenever you don’t have plans, you should reschedule with me.”

“I’ll keep you in mind.” Ending the conversation there. I won’t let him get carried away.

Self care Wednesday night. I owe it to myself. No one bothered me. Peace and clarity in my mind. I waited for the weekend. Demanding what I could. He accepted the offer.

I stood with a glass of red wine. Staring at the CN Tower lit brightly from his glass windows. Another rental for his liking. Perfection was his thing.

“Why?” I turned to him. Staring up slightly at his tall stature. His eyes were tired. I hit that right on the nose.

A soft smile. “You’re here because you want to be here.”

“Why did you want to see me?”

“For the same reason, I’ve always wanted to see you.” He missed me. He couldn’t get through to me through texting or calling. The atmosphere would be different.

“Well, I’m doing fine.” My eyes went back to the view. I tried to reassure him. “What made you worry?”

“I didn’t like our ending. It wasn’t an end. It just fizzed out….and it shouldn’t have.”

My eyebrow raised. “Why not? You were not going to put in the necessary effort. I wasn’t trying to be the heat of the moment or another phase. Phases are cycles and I can’t do that with someone I love.”

His cocky grin made me roll my eyes. “Why didn’t you say that?”

“You never reciprocated like you meant it. What do you want?” The side of my face rested against the glass.

“Can you wait on me?” Something about his words were sad. I stared up at him.

“Do you even want me?” An annoying sigh left his lips. “Seriously. Asking me that is pointless at this point. You can have whatever you want whenever you’re ready. So why put me here? If you want sex then say that. I’m not going to keep this up with you….especially when you know what you want.”

“You can’t handle this life.”

My eyes rolled. I placed my glass on a table. Walking by him to leave. He grabbed him before I could leave the room. Picking me up into his arms. Kissing with love. Taking me to his bed. All at the same time.

I stopped him. “If I can’t handle this life, then I won’t be here. I’m not gonna fall in love with you.”

Removing myself from him. Realizing that this has to be the last time. I can’t come at his every call. I have to leave him alone. I was doing so well.

His thumb brushed against my cheek. I realized I was crying. I pushed his thumb away. I hated him. I hated that he wasn’t ready. I hated that he wasn’t ready for me. I wanted to be there for him. That was the honest truth. That was the twisted false sense of reality,

“Zhuri….” He was confused as well. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t.” Shaking my head. “I can’t just be here waiting for you. I can’t. I can’t just wait anymore. I’m sorry if that’s selfish. I’m just tired. I can’t give you what we’ve always wanted. There’s nothing romantic about this...whatever this is.”

“Is this the end? Are you really over and done with me? Is this what you want?” His tone was relaxed. He wasn’t surprised. This wasn’t his first rodeo. I knew this.

“It’s over. We can be cordial somewhere down the road if that’s what is meant for us. I’m done with you. I’m done waiting for you. Trust me, I don’t want to be but I can’t continue to sacrifice when you’ve never offered to sacrifice anything. I’ll always love you and I won’t ever stop but I can’t be in love with you anymore.”

All of strength was used. A weight lifted off of my shoulders. I held in that thought very tightly. It hurt more than I imagined.

He let me go. I let him go.

Years later, we bump into each other. Two different people with two different lives. I presume he was happy. He met this girl from Toronto. They were in love happily. He stopped doing music. He was strictly business man. One of the greatest the city has ever seen.

As for me, I was married to a pediatrician. He is my best friend. He has made me so happy. We travel whenever we can. We moved into a house last month. We have a beautiful baby girl together. Emery Sade Parker. She’s my everything.

Yet, we stood glancing at each other from across the room. It was Maya’s baby shower. She was expecting baby number two with Lou. She was glowing with joy for many reasons.

We haven’t seen each other in years. He was mad at me last time I recalled. Rather, mad and hurt simultaneously because he wasn’t invited to my wedding. He didn’t find out about it until months after the wedding that I was with someone. Inviting him wasn’t the best for either of us. It would just be a reminder that it could’ve been us and I’m happy now.

Hugging him tightly was nostalgic. Inhaling his scent that was his. The hug lasted longer than I expected. It couldn’t be misinterpreted to mean anything else.

A quiet smile between us like giddy kids. “You look amazing.” His charm still present.

“Somehow your beard has aged better than you.” A cheesy comment to make him laugh.

“I’m trying age like your pops. He’s a legend.” Our eyes fell on my parents. A goal.

“You’re getting there.” A soft smile. I wanted to walk away. His girlfriend was approaching.

“Maya told me, you had a baby girl.” I kept my life extremely private...from Aubrey. I knew my family still brought me up to him. Pictures were the way to my life.

“Yeah. Emery.” I missed her and her dad. She had a cold and couldn’t fly out to L.A. Aryan wouldn’t allow the traveling risk.

“Hey, you must be Zhuri.” A beautiful black woman stood across from me. Her hand extended.

“Yeah, and you are….Ivy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Shaking hands. “I’m gonna go get these games started.”

One last look at Aubrey. He was happy but I could feel his longing to talk to me. It hurt him and he hurt me. We were going to move away from this. It was best for both of us.

He was never going to leave my life. He was apart of my family’s life. I was fine with that. I wasn’t shaky or hesitant about Aryan knowing about him. We coexist...as two different people with two different lives.

#aubrey drake graham fanfic #drakefanfiction #drake fan fic #drake fanfic #drake fanfiction

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sevanshq · 6 years

Text

playing catch-up | solo

LOCATION: sam’s apartment

DATE & TIME: 4/21, late afternoon

TAGGED: mentions of @harleyislive

NOTES: a belated birthday call from his father, with a side of guilt trip. WC: 847

The incessant vibrating of his phone on the coffee table knocked Sam out of the trance he’d been in for the last…three hours, maybe? With the Westworld premiere looming close by, the blond decided a rewatch was in order, and had been completely engrossed in the sci-fi action onscreen.

Reaching forward, he scooped up the phone, lips twitching into a brief smile when the Face Time alert indicated the call was from his father. He’d phoned the elder Evans earlier that morning, the talk with Delila sticking out and motivating him to reach out, but he hadn’t answered, which wasn’t entirely unusual. His father was known for setting the phone down just about anywhere and going about his business, only to return with a bunch of missed calls and missed information.

Sam scrambled from the couch and opted to take the call outside, on the small patio, where the light was great and the view even better. He was sure his dad would appreciate it. “Hey Pop,” he greeted once the older man was in view. Though ‘old’ never seemed like a good way to describe Oliver Evans. It was easy to see where Sam and Harley had gotten their rugged good looks. A smile that mirrored his own greeted him in the other window and Sam added a wave, since for once, his father managed to angle the camera properly, capturing his handsome features in full view.

“Hey boy. You called earlier?”

“Yeah. Just checkin’ in, is all. Everything alright?” It was so easy sometimes, to slip back into his accent, more pronounced than the slightly scaled down version he used around here, depending on who he was talking to. But he chalked that up to seeing a familiar face, a similar face, really. Except the eyes. Those, he’d gotten from his mother.

“S’all good round here. Had to run into town to pick up some supplies. Your Mama’s been wanting some kind of herb garden wall which means my Saturdays are gonna be real busy for the next few weeks.”

Sam gave a quick nod at that but didn’t press further. He knew he should have; it was what his father expected to. He’d given him the open to inquire about his mother, but the little tidbit had told him enough. She was still around, they were still doing well. He could leave it at that.

“Right. Well good luck with that.”

The narrowing eyes on the other end wasn’t lost on Sam, but thankfully his father didn’t inquire further. He simply switched topics, knowing full well it was probably for the best. “Your brother was in town for that knucklehead boy’s wedding.”

‘Knucklehead boy’ could have easily described at least four of Harley’s friends, and Sam cracked a wide smile. He’d caught a few of the highlights from the wedding on social media and through friends back home sharing stories of his brother’s antics and knew they’d eventually have some things to discuss. “Yeah, he mentioned leaving for that.”

“Figured you woulda came with him. Thought you could spend your birthday with family.”

It had crossed his mind. His week had been clear for the most part, with nothing too important lined up that couldn’t be rescheduled. But Sam had to admit he was fine with remaining in California, in spending the day in relative peace. The tiniest bit of guilt pricked at him for that; considering how long it’d been since he last seen his father or Texas, booking the plane should have been instinctive.

But it wasn’t. And he knew why. And judging from the look on his father’s face, the searching glance that leaned more towards a glare, so did he. “I can always come back another time.”

“Yeah? When?”

Broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Don’t know. Gotta check my schedule, see what my calendar’s lookin’ like.”

“Well me and your Mama will be here, whenever you can pencil us in.”

It was spoken so casually, Sam almost forgot to feel guilty until his father’s words finally sank in, and he fixed him with a frown. They hadn’t discussed his job. For all his parents knew, he was doing anything from graphic design work to his actual, current occupation and Sam knew that bothered his father, the not knowing.

It annoyed him when he’d gone to school in Atlanta and irritated him when he considered moving to New York, though they were relieved when opted to stay in Fort Worth instead. It was the biggest hurdle in their relationship, Sam’s seemingly persistent lack of focus.

And his stubbornness in avoiding his mother.

But he couldn’t, not forever. It wasn’t in him, shutting out his parents, not for an extended length of time. Pushing a hand through his hair, he gave his father a short nod. “I’ll try for next month.”

That seemed to appease his father, and the elder Evans matched him with an approving nod and a small smile. “I’ll hold you to that. Take care, Sammy. And Happy Birthday..”

“Thanks, Pop. Love you.” It would do, for now.

#p #p.solo #p013

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jaskiersbard · 7 years

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Flu - a Newt/Tina fic

Tagging: @pinkdiamonddolphin

Prompt: Hey I am sad anon again. Can it be a worried Newt over sick Tina (it can be morning sickeness or just a cold). Thank you so much! ❤

This started with Newt taking care of Tina and then became sick!Tina helping Newt with the new edition of his book, and then back to sick!tina followed by fluffy!newtina so…? I hope it’s alright!

This is quite early in Newt and Tina’s marriage, so I hope you enjoy!

“’m fine, honestly…”

“Tina, you have a rather high temperature,” Newt stated, somewhat fretfully. “You’ve been coughing and hacking all night, and your voice is going…I think you’ve got the flu.”

His wife frowned half-heartedly at him. “No, I haven’…jus’ a cold. I can go to work still…” She paused to sneeze; he looked concerned. “Urgh. Jus’ bad cold.”

“I’m definitely cancelling my meeting with the Mr Worme,” He muttered, rolling up his sleeves. “The new manuscript will just have to wait… I’ll get you some Pepper-Up potion and some tea, but I still think the best thing you can do is to sleep.”

“No,” She disagreed, and she seemed slightly more desperate now. “I don’ get sick. I never get sick, Newt, ‘m fine…I can…” She stopped speaking again and coughed violently, wheezing slightly. “Mercy Lewis.”

“Tina…”

“Alrigh’,” Tina relented miserably, sagging in defeat. “I’ll owl in – jus’ for today.”

She allowed him to drape a blanket over her, despite the fact her cheeks were burning bright red and her temperature was high; Newt retreated downstairs for a few minutes to make some tea, and when he returned he carried a tray with two mugs, toast and a vial of Pepper-Up potion.

“Wha’ are you-?”

“Why, I’m going to stay with you, of course,” He said, rather matter-of-factly. “You don’t honestly expect me to leave you on your own?”

Tina raised an eyebrow. “Bu’…the mee’ing for the book…”

“I’ve owled Mr Worme,” Newt assured her. “We’ll have to reschedule the meeting for another day. Now, this might make you feel a little better.” He uncorked the vial and handed it to her. “You’ll probably still feel a bit rotten but…well, it’s better than nothing.”

She did still feel rather stuffy and ill, but she didn’t bother saying anything; the two of them quietly ate the toast he had brought up together and drank their tea. The warm drink cleared her sinuses slightly, much to her relief, but she still felt utterly awful.

“Newt,” Tina murmured once they had finished eating. “I don’ wan’ you to catch anything…”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” He dismissed, waving a hand at her. “I’ve had worse than the flu before, believe me: I just want to help you get better, love. Here, I’ll get the washing done – you rest.”

There was no arguing with him – he would be stubborn on this matter, no matter what. With that in mind, Tina huffed half-heartedly and pulled her robe tighter around herself; she was freezing for some reason, despite the fact she had a soaring temperature, and she was suddenly glad she had gone to bed in her usual vintage pyjamas the night before (as opposed to one of the lacy slips her sister had gifted her for her wedding night…the idea still made Tina blush like a schoolgirl).

Even when ill, though, she didn’t want to rest; part of her knew it would be for the best to allow her body to recover so that she could get back to work sooner…but the other part didn’t want to have to take days off. She wanted to be successful, and as she was still so new at the Ministry she felt that it was necessary to work hard to prove herself. A day off would do her no favours.

It wasn’t too long before her husband returned, this time with two fresh cups of tea, a pile of papers and a quill; when she raised an eyebrow at him, he gave a shrug. “I need to finalise some edits on the new manuscript – some of the information on Augerys needs updating.”

Tina took the tea gratefully and watched as Newt settled himself on his side of the bed; he was barely dressed, the top of his shirt open and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, deliciously dishevelled. He set to work immediately, his quill moving over the page to cross out certain sections and scratching out certain notes; she could only observe, rather captivated by the sight of him concentrating diligently.

“Can I…?” She sneezed violently, nearly spilling her tea. “Mercy…Can I help?”

Newt cast her a glance, somewhat unsure. “Well…I would love very much for you to help, I would-” He was cut off by another violent sneeze. “But I think you should focus on resting…a nap perhaps?”

“’m fine,” Tina gritted out, and she put her mug down on the side-table with slightly too much force. “Le’ me help, Newt.”

“Alright,” He sighed, and he passed her some papers. “I’ve made some notes already, but I still need to come up with the phrasing for the book…if you start to feel tired, though, don’t feel obliged-”

“I’ve go’ it.”

Despite the fact her head was pounding, it felt rather nice to be sitting beside him as they poured over his latest manuscript. Tina knew that she wasn’t as acquainted with the creatures in his book as he was – most of them she’d never even seen – but as she read over the passages she couldn’t help but feel herself start to smile; it was like reading it for the first time again, and it brought back memories of the first time she had read her husband’s book. She could clearly remember sitting in the apartment she had once shared with her sister, engrossed with the copy he had given her (as promised) – just like then, she read the words with his voice in mind, smooth and comforting.

For a while, they worked together quietly as they looked through the half-edited manuscript; it was rather nice, a calm kind of peacefulness settling over them. It was only as she was reading about the Niffler that she felt her eyes start to droop against her will, a wave of tiredness rushing over her.

Newt seemed to realize and put down his papers. “I think you should get some sleep, Tina – my mother always insisted that sleep is the best thing to do when you’re ill.”

Tina wanted to disagree, but she just didn’t have the energy; reluctantly, she handed him his manuscript drafts back and allowed him to help her under the duvet. It was far too warm for her liking, but she felt herself starting to drift off almost immediately. “Jus’ five minu’es,” She mumbled with a yawn.

“Of course, dear,” He said, voice full of both amusement and affection as she fell asleep in front of him.

She woke up to a running nose and a hacking cough sitting in her chest.

Newt was ready with a ridiculous amount of tissues and a mug of tea (kept warm by a charm) as she spluttered and gagged, patting her on the back and wiping her nose; she tried not to go red, reaching to take the tissue from him. “I’ve go’ it, Newt, please…”

As Tina blew her nose, she made a noise that sounded more alike to an Erumpent than a normal human being; her couldn’t help but grin as he looked away, amused despite himself.

“I mus’ look awful,” Tina sighed miserably.

“No,” Newt disagreed, quite unperturbed. “Not awful…unwell, yes, but awful might be a push.”

She huffed, blowing her nose again. “How’s the book coming?”

“Nearly there, I’d say… I’m just debating what’s relevant and what’s not, really. Your suggestions really helped,” He added quickly, knowing it might make her feel slightly better; after a moment, he grinned at her. “Perhaps you should consider a change of career?”

“Yeah, righ’,” Tina snorted, slumping against the headboard of the bed.

By the time dinner rolled around, Tina was rather sick of being stuck in bed; insisting that having the flu did not mean being unable to walk, she ventured down to the kitchen to eat. It was a rather watery vegetable soup, nothing appetising at all, but Newt insisted that it would make her feel better in the long-run. Once they had finished eating, he offered to do the washing-up again and told her to have a sit-down on the sofa in the front room. Aching and too tired to put up a fight, she agreed and left the kitchen.

Once he had finished the dishes, Newt set off for the front room; he’d offer her another mug of tea, discuss something that needed discussing, and then attempt to coax her into a good night’s rest, he decided. Being sick had made her somewhat more agreeable, so perhaps it would be easier to convince her than it would usually.

“Alright, Tina, I was wondering… Tina?”

To his surprise, his wife was curled up fast asleep on the sofa; he knelt down in front of her and gently pressed the back of his hand to her forehead – her temperature was burning right through her, and he hoped it wouldn’t be too long until it broke. Her cheeks were flushed, eyelashes fanning out, mouth open as she breathed uneasily…despite the fact she was ill, he couldn’t help but find the image rather adorable.

“Not to worry,” Newt murmured, standing up; he reached to take the blanket that was folded over the back of the sofa and opened it out. He draped it over his wife carefully, not wanting to wake her up, and then leaned down to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “You sleep, love. We’ll talk later.”

Tina barely stirred as he left the room, still snoozing peacefully.

It took a couple of days for her to feel well enough to return to work – and a part of her didn’t want to go back, really, because despite the fact she loved her job it had been positively wonderful to spend some time with her new husband. They really hadn’t spent a lot of time together at all in the last month and a half they had been married, too occupied with other matters such as work and an upcoming war…it would be bittersweet returning to those things after such a lovely couple of days together.

He watched her as she dressed that morning, looking somewhat uncertain for some reason; it was only when she sat on the bed to tie her shoes that he cleared his throat.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Newt suddenly said. “The book…it’s going to be the first edition published since we got married.”

Tina raised a brow at him. “So?”

“Well, usually when a book is published there’s a section at the back about the author,” He mused.

She knew this – she had read over the “About the Author” page countless times before they had entered a relationship, hoping to learn some more about him and his past experiences.

“Do you know what it says at the moment?”

She nodded – in fact, she had read the book (especially the author’s page) so many times she had memorised it. “Yeah: it talks about your mother being a breeder of fancy hippogriffs, and how you used to work for the Ministry…then something about traveling to look for new beasts.”

“Indeed. It’s just that recently I thought it…it might be time I updated it,” Newt informed her, and he gestured to the manuscript on the chest of drawers across the room. “This is only a rough idea, of course…I wanted to have your permission first…”

Still having no idea what he was talking about, Tina moved across the room to pick up the stack of papers, flipped to the back page, and began to read: it was exactly the same – until the very end.

Scamander continues his research and work in the field of Magizoology, traversing the world to collect more information for new editions of his current bestseller, ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’. When not travelling, he resides in Dorset with his wife Porpentina.

“Newt…”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Newt murmured, and his cheeks were slightly pink. “It’s only a small sentence, just a little something…I just thought…”

Before he could finish explaining himself, however, she was embracing him and burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. “Thank you,” She breathed, and he could feel her radiant smile against his skin.

“So…you have no problem, I take it?” He joked, and he grinned when she laughed. “It’s nothing overly grand or romantic, I’m afraid-”

“You don’t understand,” Tina interrupted, and when she pulled away she was looking rather awestruck. “A part of me has wanted to read that in your book for years.”

“That we reside in Dorset?”

She rolled her eyes fondly, shaking her head. “No – that I’m your wife.”

Blame the new edition of the FBAWTFT textbook :3

#this is so cheesey I made myself puke #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #fantastic beasts and where to find them #newt scamander #tina goldstein #porpentina goldstein #flu #illness #fic request #fluff #newt x tina #newt x porpentina #newtina

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seriouslyhooked · 7 years

Text

Wedded Bliss and Asterisks (A Modern CS AU) Part 4/?

Emma Swan is an enemy of love who just happens to be an up and coming wedding dress designer. She’s convinced that a fairytale kind of romance is nowhere in her future but when she meets Killian Jones, whose magazine is covering the opening of her new boutique, things change. Suddenly Emma finds herself drawing up new plans for her life, ones that seem to all be leading towards her own form of wedded bliss. Rated M.

Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here. Also on FF Here.

A/N: Hello everyone! We are back with another chapter because I just couldn’t seem to stay away. This one brings the usual fluff with it, the first taste of scheming friends (which most of you know I love to include in my stories), and movement towards a first date finally. I hope you guys enjoy!

Never in her life had Emma been so excited for a Monday. In fact, she’d spent all weekend (a time when most people were luxuriating in their lack of work and responsibilities) waiting for today. Two days had never dragged on so long and all because of one slightly mysterious, yet still very charming, Killian Jones.

It was more than a little high school of her to be this caught up in a guy, but Emma couldn’t help it. The butterflies were real and present, fluttering away at the prospect of seeing Killian again this morning. It was totally foreign to Emma, someone who prided herself on being above these cutesy displays and stereotypes, but there was only so much denial for her to cling too. At the end of the day she had to face the facts: Killian Jones had snuck his way into her life and she was genuinely excited to see him again today after a weekend of no contact.

Since the moment she walked away from him on Friday she was more than a little remorseful. It was instinct for her to retreat and try to find some space, but by the time she’d gotten home again, she was already wishing for a redo. Not of the way they’d finally broken the ice (because as awkward as they’d both been at moments, it felt real and genuine) but at her not sticking to her original plan and asking him out. She’d needed just a little more bravery, and a weekend away filled with the musings of her friends and lonely nights that felt just a little lonelier than normal provided that clarity.

In the light of this new day, however, Emma was ready. She was going to handle this. She needed to get in front of this attraction and to see just how far it went. Her initial hope was that it could be casual, that her heart would stay uninvolved despite the undeniable chemistry between them, but the more that time went by and the more her want to see Killian grew, the harder it was to think that was the case. No, try as she might to avoid it, Emma was giving into this pull between them and it didn’t upset her nearly as much as it should have.

Actually it didn’t really bother her at all, not when she was practically buzzing with excitement about seeing Killian in just a matter of moments. She’d woken before her alarm, gotten ready at a reasonable pace, and was now descending to her train stop with more than a few minutes to kill. But when she arrived at the track after moving through the turnstiles that separated them from the stairs, she was greeted by the same smiling face that had haunted her all weekend.

“Good morning, love.”

The easy way that he used the endearment sent that same pang of longing through her that it had on Friday night and it took a moment for Emma to cut through the rush of wanting that his easy smile set off and to realize that seeing him right now was not their normal routine. Why was he here, at her stop, when they were bound to run into each other in just a few minutes?

“Hey! Wait what are you…?” Emma’s question faded away when she saw the two coffee cups in his possession and what appeared to be a bag from one of her favorite breakfast places (well of the ones that weren’t run by Elsa) in his arm.

“Things have unfortunately changed. I have an unanticipated meeting uptown this morning, but I didn’t want to miss you. Not when we had a date.”

Emma felt herself flush at his words and she had to admit this guy was good. Like better than good. He had the whole unassuming nice-guy thing down (and seriously could he be any sweeter by going out of his way to get her coffee and to see her when he had to be across town?), but in those blue eyes of his there was this hint of bad-boy intensity and the uptick of his smile to one side always sent a thrill through her. It spoke of risks and stolen moments and set off fantasies about him being a little roguish, which apparently she was seriously into despite her past forays into love. It was messing with her head a little bit (and her heart an awful lot) and when Killian handed her a coffee made to perfection just the way she liked it, Emma was lost. She pretended to be cool though, even if on the inside she was a swirling mess of uncertainty.

“So this is the first date play, huh? You buy a girl her morning life-source and a Danish and what, she falls at your feet?” Because Emma was getting there. All right, so maybe she wasn’t planning to fall to his feet, but she was thinking of taking that frustratingly endearing smirk of his and kissing it away just to prove he wasn’t as in control as he was playing at.

“Forgive me, love. This is neither a ‘play’ nor a date. We had an agreement to see each other this morning, but I was too much a coward to ask you for a proper evening out on Friday like I should have. Allow me to fix that. Come to dinner with me.”

There was no question in his proposal, and in the past that might have turned her off about a guy, but Killian wasn’t standing here certain of his influence over her. He was staring at her earnestly, allowing every ounce of vulnerability to shine through those blue eyes of his. He wanted her, that couldn’t be denied, but he was also giving her a choice even if he didn’t explicitly spell it out.

Emma sipped her coffee, buying herself a little bit of time, and the flavor on her tongue was perfect. He’d gotten it just right, and she smiled, thinking that in order to do that he’d either had to beg one of the waitresses for her order (which they probably would never tell him) or he’d been paying attention to her over the past few months. The thought sent a zing of pleasure through her, and she wondered what else he might have picked up on.

“I’m free Saturday.”

Emma was dying to say that she could do sometime earlier this week, but the last thing she wanted was to have to reschedule. With anyone else she’d consider that par for the course. If a guy couldn’t handle the busyness of her career he wasn’t worth the time, but Emma didn’t suspect Killian would hold her schedule against her. This time she was doing it for herself as an act of self-preservation, because she was already too invested in this date and she’d be disappointed if it fell through for whatever reason. Still it was hard not to immediately recant her offer and switch it out for tonight.

“Saturday it is, love. And in the meantime, we’ve our usual moments to tide us over. My sojourn from this fine mode of transport ends tonight.”

Emma laughed at the obvious hyperbole (because at best these trains were passable and at worst they were… well Emma didn’t even want to say) and then felt a smile tugging at her lips. It would be weird for sure, having him on the train and being able to talk to him. They’d probably get a lot of that requisite first date small talk out of the way because of it, but Emma couldn’t remember the last time an idea had sounded so good to her. For once in her life she wasn’t stressing out over change, but embracing it and hoping she could trust wherever this would lead.

“Who knows, maybe I’ll get coffee next time. But you prefer tea right?”

His eyes lit up at her roundabout admission that she’d been paying just as much attention to him as he had with her, and Emma’s eyes flicked down to his lips. She was so tempted just to go for it and kiss him like she’d been dreaming about for far too long, but then the familiar screech of an incoming train told her that this interlude was close to ending. Killian seemed to catch it too and he scratched behind his ear a little uneasily.

“I believe that’s your queue, Swan.”

Emma watched with barely restrained fascination at the expressions that crossed his all too attractive face in that moment. He was sad to see her going, and maybe a little frustrated at how fate wasn’t going to allow them to ride together, but underneath it all there was happiness. He was glad for having seen her and she was equally thrilled for getting this chance. It was that good feeling that she clung to as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, something she couldn’t recall ever doing with any man before.

Somehow it almost felt more intimate than a normal kiss might have been, because it was one of those comfortable things established couples or happy families did. Since Emma avoided monogamy like the plague, and was more than a little stunted in the family department, it wasn’t a move she was familiar with but she couldn’t ignore the rush that came when she did it. Plus Killian’s face when she pulled back was priceless. She could have sworn that he got a little red and the bashful smile that appeared at his lips was almost as endearing as that cocky grin of his.

“See you later?” She asked, hearing the bit of breathiness in her voice as she did.

“Nothing could keep me away, love.” Emma smiled at that and turned around to slip onto the train, but as she looked back out the scratched glass she saw Killian staring after her, not turning away until the train was out of sight and back in the darkened tunnels once more.

Emma did her best to get her smiling under control. She allowed herself the length of the train ride to linger in how good this felt, but if she didn’t get a hold of her self-control by the time she got to work, she would never hear the end of it. Emma already knew her friends would be expecting details and that there would be no way around giving them, but she also felt this need to keep some of these things a little more private. She was protective of this so far, even if she and Killian had yet to even go on a first date. Not that she thought her friends were a real threat to things working out, but she also didn’t want to get too inside her own head and somehow trigger those long-standing instincts to push people away.

She thought she’d largely tamped down her external gleefulness when she walked through the front doors of the shop, but the knowing look from Ruby the second she walked in had Emma doubting herself immediately.

“My, my. Doesn’t someone look chipper this morning?” Emma waved her coffee and attempted to play it off.

“Caffeine early will do that.” Ruby looked at the cup and then her grin grew.

“I’m sure. Especially when it comes with a phone number and a note.”

Emma quickly glanced down and saw that Ruby was right. How had she missed that? She must have been too busy replaying her morning interaction to notice. She was so tempted to look at said note now, where it was located underneath the sleeve, but she didn’t dare risk it with Ruby right there.

“You’re going to tease me mercilessly about this all day aren’t you.”

“That depends. Did you set a date?” Emma smiled and nodded.

“Saturday.” Ruby looked positively forlorn in spite of the good news.

“Saturday?! Jesus Emma, move slower, why don’t you?”

Emma rolled her eyes but was spared responding when another person, someone unfamiliar to Emma, knocked at the front door. Emma and Ruby both looked back and Ruby lit up, excited and rushing to let the newcomer in.

“Belle you’re timing couldn’t be better. Belle French this is Emma Swan, my best friend and designer extraordinaire. Emma this is Belle, one of the single most kick-ass journalists in this whole damn city.” Emma smiled at Ruby’s introductions and offered her hand to Belle to greet her.

“It’s nice to meet you Belle. I really liked your article a few issues ago on those older ladies in Harlem leading self defense classes.” Belle looked pleasantly surprised that Emma knew about the article.

“It was pretty great wasn’t it? But I meant what I said in the article. Any of those women could have taken me down, fifty year age difference or not.”

Emma laughed easily and noticed Tiana from the corner of her eye. Emma gave her the one-second signal, but when she looked back at Belle, the woman’s eyes were on her coffee cup. Emma instinctively shifted her hold on it and Belle shook away whatever she’d been thinking about.

“Excuse me. I’m just slightly jealous that you managed to get coffee already. I hit a few roadblocks this morning so I’m operating at a deficit.” Emma felt some of the tension that had unconsciously gathered in her shoulders ease away. She offered another smile to Belle sympathetically as Ruby chimed in.

“Well the great news is that we’ve got you talking with Elsa first. Coffee is definitely in your future. Ems, I was thinking you and Belle could touch base tomorrow? You have a little more time in the morning because the Fullers rescheduled.” Emma nodded.

“Sounds great. I guess I’ll be seeing you around then.”

Emma finished saying her goodbyes and then headed into her segment of the store, finding (as expected) that Tiana had a whole list of things for them to attend to today. She absorbed all that she could, but knew that Tiana would be on top of things and that Emma could trust her to keep the ship afloat. In the first free moment she had, though, Emma removed the sleeve from her coffee cup and read Killian’s note, smiling as she did.

Emma, On the off chance that you’ve completely rebuffed my advances, feel free to disregard this note. However, if you feel as I do that it’ll be a long day away, here’s my number. I’d be forever indebted to you if you were to reach out. You’d be doing me a real kindness by putting me out of my misery. Sincerely, Killian Jones

His number was listed below and Emma had to laugh. This guy was smooth and yet simultaneously such a nerd. Who signed off with ‘sincerely’ and then their first and last names on a note like this? As if she was going to get him confused with the abundance of other Killians in the world. The thought had her shaking her head, but she still entered his number into her phone and sent a quick text.

E: If you’re not currently in the throws of despair then your note was very misleading. Sincerely, Emma Swan.

In seconds she had a response to her purposefully playful (and slightly mocking) message.

K: I was utterly beside myself, Swan. You have fast become my own personal savior.

“Emma? The Parsons are here for their consult a little early. Want to get started?” Emma looked up at Tiana and nodded, feeling like she’d been caught red handed when Tiana sized her up and particularly paid attention to her phone.

“Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

Tiana closed the door again and Emma stood up, smoothing out her dress before trying to find a way to tell Killian goodbye. It felt impossible to do so, even if it was only for a while so she rephrased.

E: Well don’t thank me yet. I have a crazy day, and I’m locking my phone away just to be safe. I won’t be here to save you in the meantime.

Again his response was instantaneous and she wondered if like her he was neglecting a bit of work to talk to her.

K: Afraid I might distract you?

Emma could picture that cocky smile of his as he typed this out and imagining that sparked a few other half-baked fantasies that were far from work appropriate. This was exactly why she could not carry her phone today. He had too much of a call on her attention.

E: More like assured that you would.

K: Fair enough, love, especially since the distraction is mutual.

Emma decided to leave it at that, putting her phone in her drawer and stepping away from it and from Killian for the time being. She then channeled all that energy he’d brought forth this morning into doing the best she could all day. She blew every consult away, found necessary inspiration for a few more dresses, and solved problems among her team like it was nothing. And in the back of her mind Emma knew that was very possibly thanks to Killian who though not here, was never very far from her thoughts all through the course of the day.

……………

If Killian weren’t already aware of the change that getting to know Emma was having on his life, the confounded stares of his employees would have been a good indication.

To be fair, he was acting a little out of character today, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Killian was by no means an overly stern or strict boss. He merely took this job and this publication seriously, which often meant conducting himself in a purely professional manner. Today however, he’d been different. He caught himself smiling more and laughing to himself over remembrances of Friday and this morning. He’d even had the audacity to hum a favorite song of his a few times and it was in one of those moments where Tink finally broke.

“Okay, I stayed quiet all day, but something is up with you. Why are you so happy?” Killian grinned from behind his desk.

“It’s just one of those all-too-rare, phenomenally good days. Surely you’ve had a few yourself.”

“Yeah, but they come in the midst of a Hawaiian vacation or three drinks in at an open bar at the office New Years party. Not on a random day when all I’ve done is sit in boring meeting after boring meeting, and definitely never on a Monday.” The last part was uttered with an accompanying dramatic shiver and Killian laughed at his assistant. This only made Tink’s eyes widen more.

“Is this one of those abducted by alien things? Or did you join a cult over the weekend?”

“Come on now, love.” This came from Will who appeared at in the doorway beside Tink. “There’s only one thing that makes a man that happy and it’s not a bloody cult.” It took barely ten seconds a for Tink to catch up.

“You met someone didn’t you?! And you didn’t tell me!” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation and Killian groaned.

“Excuse me for trying to keep my personal life private.” Will laughed at that.

“As if, mate. You’ve practically been walking around the place with a sign on your forehead proclaiming the news.”

“Is it serious?” Tink asked and Killian merely gawked at her. “What? I’ve been working with you for years and I’ve never seen you like this. Plus if you get married I can probably get an extra couple weeks of vacation while you’re honeymooning. My boss is good like that.”

The mention of a wedding should have been repugnant to him, but instead it triggered some wild imaginings that were all together inappropriate. It was way, way too soon to be considering a forever with Emma. Or was it?

“Okay that’s enough.” Killian was about to plead for mercy when Belle popped her head into the door and he sighed in relief. “I have an actual meeting, as you can see. So you two can make yourselves useful elsewhere.”

“Actually, it might be good if Will stays for this,” Belle said, and Killian quickly looked to his friend who lit up at the idea that Belle wanted anything to do with him even if it was for professional reasons.

“Hold my calls, Tink.” His assistant grinned wickedly.

“You should probably tell me her name you know. That way if she calls I know to break that order.” A rush from wanting such contact from Emma flooded him but he kept his face blank and shook his head.

“Nice try, love.” Tink sighed and closed the door, returning to her station and leaving Killian with Will and Belle.

“So. What’s going on then? Is the story shaping up all right?” Belle nodded as she took a seat.

“The story is great. Just like I thought there’s a definite angle there. I even managed to get most of the interviewing done today…”

“But?” Killian asked, knowing there was something else coming.

“But I just got a call from Terry on the Politics beat. I’m assuming you’ve got one coming if it isn’t already here.” Killian looked to his desk and noticed a note from Tink stating that Terry had a family emergency – his wife was going into labor earlier than expected.

“Bloody hell,” Killian muttered as he handed the note to Will.

“We could get Rogers on it. He’s been vying for a transfer from Business,” Will offered, always ready with a solution in times like this.

“Actually… there’s a reason Terry called me. The mayor is super picky about who he lets interview him as you know and he told Terry point blank that he won’t let anyone write the story here aside from me.” Killian felt a tension headache coming on, but he resisted the urge to wince.

“Which means we need someone to cover your story then, or we lose the feature we’ve been promoting.”

“I want you to do it,” Belle said, her tone final but still pleasant. Both Will and Killian scoffed.

“You want me to write it?” Belle nodded.

“This one is really important to me and I want to see that it’s written the right way. I made promises, assurances to these women that I’d protect their story and I need someone I can trust if I have to walk away from it.”

“But surely there are others on the staff you could entrust this to, Belle.” Belle shook her head.

“You are way too busy, Will, and I know Killian is too but he owes me for not taking up that offer from Time a few months ago.”

Killian knew she was right. Belle had been offered what was arguably a better, more prestigious position, but she’d passed it up and he’d told her if she ever needed anything, anything at all, that he’d make good on her loyalty.

“And this is how you want to cash that in, love? A story on a one-stop wedding shop?” Belle grinned and nodded.

“You’ll know why when you write it. Trust me. There’s something special there.”

Killian weighed his options, which were relatively non-existent. He hardly had the time to do this, but he also could not afford to lose Belle. Rescinding on his promise might create bad blood, and she was too valuable an asset long term for Citizen NY for him to turn her down. But more than that he considered her a friend, and if she needed a favor, he would try his best to grant it. He pressed the intercom button to call for Tink and his assistant immediately replied with sass.

“So you decided to give me her name after all. I knew you’d cave, boss. They always do.” Killian smiled but hoped his voice didn’t convey that.

“Tink, I’m going to need a miracle and it is entirely unrelated to my personal life.” Belle made a strangled sort of cough, but waved both of Killian and Will off when they asked if she was all right.

“Well good news. My magic is in full effect at the moment. What’s the problem?”

Killian, with the help of Belle, made clear the predicament and the precise times he’d need to be at this shop through the week. Though it was a difficult proposition, Tink seemed undaunted and she was convinced they could make it work, which instilled a little more faith in Killian. In a matter minutes they’d gotten things squared away and Belle was handing him a file of what he assumed were notes.

“Cool, old school.” Will’s attempt at a joke was terrible in Killian’s eyes but Belle laughed as she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. That was definite flirting if he’d ever seen it.

“What can I say? I’m a traditionalist.” Belle looked back to Killian after staring at Will a moment too long and he couldn’t bite back his smile. “Everything you need is in there but if you have questions I’ll be around. I’ll be neck deep in new legislation on school lunches and city worker overtime pay, but I’ll be around.”

Killian was tempted to take a look now, but before he got a chance to delve in he was called away by Tink for another meeting and the rest of the day passed by rather quickly. This was of course a godsend because it meant he was all the closer to seeing Emma and by the time he made it to the train he was as close to bliss as one could be. That barely compared to the moment when he saw Emma though, looking just as lovely as she had this morning. He stood from the seat he’d found and she smiled, scattering every thought he’d had on how to greet her when she did.

“Hey. Fancy running into you here.” Killian ran a hand through his hair, urging himself to get it together, though it was difficult when his worst fear was somehow screwing this up.

“Imagine that.” Emma looked to the seat beside him and smiled.

“This seat taken?” He moved his jacket and mumbled that it was for her. “Well this is a definite plus. Usually all the good seats are gone by the time I get here.”

“And you’d define this spot as a good one, Swan?” Emma looked around and pretended to consider before looking back at him.

“The air flow leaves something to be desired, but the company’s not bad.”

Killian smiled, willing to take any affirmations she would send his way. If he was doing something right, he wanted to make sure and continue on such a path, because seeing Emma happy and keeping her close was more important to him than damn near anything. It also occurred to him that they were in the same precise seats as the couple that had pushed him last week into saying something. It felt like a sign, one he hadn’t realized until right at this moment.

Their conversation shifted, but unlike with so many people just getting to know each other, they didn’t run the whole ‘what do you do?’ ‘where are you from?’ gambit. Instead Killian listened as Emma explained the dynamic between her best friends and how their personal lives kept infiltrating into work when that probably wasn’t the best thing to do. Killian couldn’t help but relate and he told her about how people had been teasing him all day.

“Why would they do that?” Emma asked, truly curious.

“Seems I was bizarrely cheery for a Monday.” Emma laughed and the sound shot straight to his heart. “They all eventually sniffed out the truth though.”

“Which is…? Emma asked, leading him on.

“That after this morning with you I couldn’t be anything less than elated.”

Emma’s green eyes filled with emotion and he could tell that she was warring with herself. Killian wanted more than anything to know what she was thinking. He wanted to help, or at least to tell her that he understood. He’d never faced feelings like this in his life, but he just knew that as long as they were in it together they could find a way through.

It appeared that Emma wanted to find the right words to say, for she started and then stopped formulating a question a number of times before finally expelling a breath and smiling. It was a shy smile, one Killian instinctively knew that she was unaccustomed to, but it somehow felt more real because of it. This bit of vulnerability made him feel like he wasn’t alone in this.

“I know I said we should do Saturday, but if you’re free tomorrow -,”

“Yes!” Killian immediately replied to what he was hoping was going to be a potential change in their timeline. When he saw Emma grinning at him though he had the good sense to be a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, love. But if you were asking about dinner tomorrow that would be great.”

“You sure? You hesitated a little.”

He felt a little stricken at the idea that he was being so obvious, but then her hand reached for his and their fingers intertwined and he felt like every missing piece in his life suddenly appeared and clicked into place. Killian could see the surprise in Emma’s eyes, as if she was shocked that she’d taken his hand at all, but she didn’t move away and Killian couldn’t help but feel like being here with Emma was what he was meant to do, like all of this was somehow fate making good on a promise.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Emma looked reassured at his words and then her eyes flicked over across the car. He didn’t know what had snagged her attention until she looked at him again and smiled.

“You don’t want to miss your stop… again.”

Killian bit back the automatic thought that came to him saying that he damn well would to spend a second longer with Emma, but he didn’t want to push this too far. With Emma he needed to be careful. Whatever this thing between them was, it was precious and the last thing he would ever want was to jeopardize it because he couldn’t be patient.

“Until tomorrow then.” Emma’s eyes widened as he raised her hand to kiss it gently. He was flying on instinct now, because lord knew he’d never acted this way before, but seeing that happy flush against her cheeks made it all so worth it.

“Goodnight, Killian.”

He wished Emma a goodnight too, and felt the power of her presence and the promise of their date tomorrow all evening long. Eventually, after securing that everything for their date could in fact be moved from Saturday to tomorrow, he found himself needing something more to distract him and so he took to Belle’s notes, trying to immerse himself in the story that awaited him tomorrow.

They were thorough for sure, and already he had a feel for each woman in question. There was just one thing that was startlingly out of the ordinary: Belle didn’t have any names listed. Just subjects A, B, C, and E. He searched for a D somewhere in there, but turned up blank, and E… well there was very little about her aside from her being a designer. It was all very strange to say the least, and yet he found it didn’t really matter. Nothing could frustrate him. Not tonight. Not after the day he’d had and the one he was bound to have tomorrow.

………………

As a reporter there had been many a moment in Belle French’s life when she’d been able to savor cracking a case or finding the story. But up to this point in her career, she hadn’t had something unfold quite like this.

When she arrived this morning at Bliss Boutique, she didn’t expect much more than an interesting tale of old friends launching new business models and reconnecting with Ruby, but that all changed as soon as she saw Emma Swan’s coffee cup. While most of whatever note was under there was obscured, Belle couldn’t help but see the number, and at first it seemed unimportant. A lot of people around here had a (212) are code, but there was something about it that was familiar, as if she’d typed it out before or seen it somewhere. Then she noticed the bottom of the letters just above it and it dawned on her: those lower edges would match up eerily close to the name Killian Jones.

Of course she’d been shocked, and she couldn’t help but ask Ruby before seeing Elsa for their interview if she knew anything about the cup. Ruby immediately started gushing about how excited she was and how Emma, a person who was stringently against forming meaningful romantic attachments, had met someone on the train who might just change the game.

“We called him ‘hot guy’ at first. Hot foreign guy actually, but finally, after forever and a day, he made a move and introduced himself.”

All of this was interesting to Belle because she’d been talking at the end of last week with Will about Killian’s current situation. Apparently he’d met a girl and it had something to do with his riding the train in the morning, and based on the location of the Citizen NY offices and this store, it was more than feasible to think that they could be on the same subway line. Besides, New York was a huge city, but how many people were realistically finding romance that involved trains?

“His name wouldn’t happen to be Killian would it?” Belle had asked and Ruby gaped at her.

“How the hell did you know?” Belle explained and when Ruby found out that Killian not only was the editor in chief but a part owner of the magazine she was outrageously excited. The revelation had then sparked an idea: they should somehow find a way for Killian to take on the interviews and write the story.

Belle hesitated at first, because she cared Killian and appreciated all that he’d done for her in this job and outside of it. She didn’t like the idea of deceiving him, but then Ruby made a very good point. Emma, it turned out, was a really guarded person. She had a past that made trusting people difficult, and it would be far easier for her to talk about herself under the guise of an article than organically.

“And what if you’re wrong? What if she hates that he’s writing it and we mess everything up?” Ruby had waved away the worry.

“Listen, I know Emma, and I know that she was half way to being in love with this guy without so much as a ‘hi, how ya doin?.’ But right now she’s still up to her usual tricks. He asked her to dinner, you know. And she told him she could do Saturday. Saturday!”

Belle hadn’t really seen the issue, but she took Ruby’s word for it that this was a problem.

“All we’re doing is giving them a little push to move faster. Why wait when you’ve found the one?” Belle asked Ruby how she knew that Killian was the one and noticed her friend’s thoughtful look.

“Because I know what love like that looks like and Emma is definitely feeling it.”

A knock startled Belle from her thinking about all of the illicit matchmaking and she looked up from her desk to see Will Scarlet. Immediately her heart rate kicked up and she smiled, hoping she didn’t look too obvious as she greeted him.

“Hi Will. Everything alright?”

It was late for him to be here, though Belle knew that he often stayed after everyone else was gone. It was something she admired about him, that he was always here even after she was when she considered herself an exceptionally hard worker. Right now, however, Will looked a little worried and when he asked to take a seat she said of course, feeling her own second hand anxiety as he did.

“Look, Belle, I’ll just come right out and ask: what was really going on today?” Belle’s brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry?”

“I spoke to Terry. He didn’t call you. You called him. He said you begged him to take his story when anyone else would have done just fine.” Belle felt herself blush and she bit her lip. She noticed that Will tracked the action and immediately she released it and took a deep breath.

“I found Killian’s girl.”

“You – you what?” Belle typed into her computer as she explained.

“You know the girl you told me about – the one that Killian likes from the train? She’s a part owner of the shop in my story. The designer.” Will grinned, and she could sense this immense amount of relief at her confession, which was unexpected. Belle would think he’d be angry at her lie, but there was nothing but interest in his expression.

“Is she now?” Belle tilted her monitor towards Will and made note of her name, Emma Swan, and his grin grew. “Well what do you know? But why give him your story?”

Belle explained to Will her conversation with Ruby and the good intentions behind everything. They’d decided it would be best to give Killian it under the guise of some other problem, and she’d been careful in her notes, covering over names like this was some sort of redacted CIA briefing instead of a features piece. That way, Ruby reasoned, he wouldn’t turn it down and they’d be assured of his coming in tomorrow to interview Emma. Will considered all of this new intel and finally nodded.

“I think you made the right call.”

“You do?” It meant so much more than Belle could say to think that. She was worried he’d think her somehow unethical. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt anyone, especially Will.

“Of course. When we’re dealing with love we have to do what we can right?” Belle’s stomach fluttered at his words. He was obviously speaking of Emma and Killian but that didn’t stop her mind from wishing he was speaking of them. This was one of the great downfalls of crushing on one’s boss, but to be fair there were many.

“My thoughts exactly. So you’ll keep the secret then? He’ll realize it all tomorrow, but until then…”

“You have my word. I’ll say nothing of it.” Belle smiled at that and thanked him so much. “Were you heading out? Maybe I could walk you down.”

“Yeah that would be great. I just have to do one last thing.” Belle pulled out her phone and sent off a quick text to Ruby.

B: All systems are a go!

Two seconds later Ruby replied.

R: You are a goddess! I’ll tell you how it goes.

B: You better!

“Filling in your co-conspirators?” Will teased as Belle grabbed her stuff and she smirked.

“Technically their our co-conspirators now.” More of that same emotion from earlier crossed Will’s face at that moment. It was intense and something Belle couldn’t really define, but she could feel it all the way down to her toes.

“Right you are, love. Right you are.”

With that they left, exiting the office speaking of the merits of this plan and what might happen between a certain wedding dress designer and an editor in chief in the light of tomorrow’s morning.

Post-Note: Okay I really could not help myself. I had to just be problematically cutesy with this update. I doubt most of you will mind that though (as many of you realize what you are getting into by reading one of my stories). I also don’t think I will be including many non-CS POVs in the future, but for this chapter it felt right. I wanted you all to see the way the friends are getting involved and that’s why the chapter is a little longer than usual. Anyway, let me know what you guys thought and as always thank you so much for reading!

#captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fic #cs modern au #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs ff #cs au #cs fluff #emma swan #killian jones #ruby lucas #belle french #will scarlet #the meddling friends #cs multichapter #wedded bliss and asterisks #wedded bliss au #wedded bliss 4

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