#that's my messed up darling who likes his dramatic musings a lot

[dylanlila]

closure is a laurie laurence song.

[duskholland]

The Fame Game (Epilogue) - Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Three years later, you and Tom are back at the Oscars.

Word count ↠ 3.3k

Warnings ↠ Alcohol mention, slightly suggestive but not really, lots and lots of fluff.

A/N ↠ I can’t believe we’re here! The epilogue! Thank you so much to everyone that’s supported me and the fic over the last three months :’) If you know me, you’ll know I really struggle committing to series, so the fact I made it here, without missing any updates, is something I’m very proud of tbh. I hope that you’ve liked the story :) The biggest thank you ever has to go to V, mischiefandi, for helping me so much in the early stages of this story... Thank you again for always listening to me <3 Additionally, a huge huge thank you to everyone that’s read, commented and sent in asks! I hope the epilogue doesn’t disappoint :)

POST-CREDITS SCENE: The Oscars: Take Two (Y)

The atmosphere at Vanity Fair’s Oscars after-party is electric.

The soft boom of the latest pop tunes seeps into the air, mixing with the warm lights and the sounds of clinking champagne flutes. The room holds Hollywood’s best, and it seems no matter which direction you tilt your head, your eyes find themselves settling over a familiar face. You’re walking amongst legends tonight, and with your hands grasped around two glistening trophies, you finally feel at home.

“Congratulations, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”

You’re drawn away from your thoughts by the unmistakable voice of your friend Joe Keery. As you finally drag your eyes away from the golden Oscars in your hands, a smile splits across your face.

“Thanks, Joe,” you say, flashing him a blinding smile. “I still can’t believe it.”

Joe chuckles, eyeing your awards with pride in his eyes. “Two, eh?” He leans closer to elbow you, chuckling when you glare at him. “Not too shabby for your first year nominated.”

“Not too shabby at all.”

It’d been crazy - every single second of it. From the moment the nominations were announced, and you’d seen your name listed not only in one category but in two, you’ve been a whirlwind of nerves, excitement, and pride. You don’t think you’ve ever been as shocked as you’d felt when your name had been called out as the winner, not once, but twice tonight. Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress, the latter of which was won for a performance in the same film which had brought about the evening’s Best Actor…

“And Tom?” Joe says, grinning. “Oscar-Winning couple, starring in a critically-acclaimed film together. Must feel pretty good, right?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you look down at your golden trophies. “I can’t believe it,” you mutter. “I really just… Can’t believe it.”

You feel a presence behind you, and then there’s the warm touch of a hand curling around your waist. You sink into it, tilting your head to the side, letting your eyes fall on Tom, your boyfriend. With a proud smile on his lips and his own golden award held in his free hand, he’s almost glowing tonight.

“Evening, Joe,” Tom greets. Finally comfortable at your side, he leans up and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. His deep cologne sweeps across you, and you bask in the familiar tones. “Good night?”

Joe nods. “Oh yeah,” he agrees, inclining his head towards Tom’s trophy. “Congrats, man.”

“Thank you.” Tom holds his award nearer his face, a deep frown line forming between his eyes. “I always thought it would be heavier?” He muses, running his thumb over the head of it. “But it’s pretty light. Look.”

What your boyfriend does next makes your blood turn cold. He easily and haphazardly throws his Oscar at Joe, who somehow startles in time to catch it, but not before letting out a stream of expletives.

“Tom!” You exclaim, eyes widening. “Don’t throw your Oscar around!”

He grins wickedly, brown eyes dancing. “Sorry, darling,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again. “Got a bit giddy.”

Tom’s been walking on air recently, you’ve noticed. You’d put it down to the buzz of nerves that’d characterised your last few days too, but even now, Tom’s vibrating with something. He’s been very affectionate with you, and whilst Tom is by no means a selfish lover, you can’t recall a time where he’s been glued to your hip quite as much as he’s been this last week. Always hanging around with open arms or warm lips or soft words, Tom has made it known, every second of every day, just how much he loves you. Which is a lot, apparently.

And you love him too, of course. You love him like you’ve never loved anyone else.

“You’re always giddy,” you tease. You manage to hold both of your trophies in one hand and use the other to reach up and tidy some of the hair from his face. Tom’s hair is longer now - less wavy and longer, grown a little older as the both of you have over the past three years. Looking at him now, you see a man - a very handsome, very loving man - and you’re proud of who he’s grown into.

“Only around you, love.”

Your lips roll into a soft smile, and you lean in to kiss him quickly. Tom’s mouth is warm against yours.

“Ew.” Joe’s voice interrupts your moment, and you pull away sheepishly. “Take your trophy and get out of here, you two.”

Tom reaches out and takes back his Oscar, giving Joe a fist bump. “Thanks, man. Have a good night.” There’s a moment where Joe and Tom look at one another, and Joe’s gaze flutters over to you, and you feel something there, between them - an unspoken secret. But before you can comment on it, Tom’s reaching out for your open hand and slipping his into it, and you’re moving off through the crowd again.

“I’m so tired,” you admit, stifling a yawn. You quickly smooth a smile over your face, noting with appreciation how the crowd of the afterparty seem to move out of your way. Your Oscars bring you a sort of power, and with three between you, it would seem that you and Tom are trading in top tier currency. “Can’t wait to get home and sleep.”

“Sleep?!” Tom exclaims, voice low. He squeezes your hand, glancing back to smirk at you. “As if.”

You raise your eyebrows as Tom guides you out the entrance of the party.

“What, you don’t think we’ll be sleeping later?” You ask, resting your cheek on Tom’s shoulder as you walk down the steps of the building together.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why’s that?”

Tom looks at you, eyes briefly flicking out over your figure. “You know why, darling.” He squeezes your hand before stepping nearer to kiss you. Your lips stay together a little longer, and you hum against his mouth. “You look bloody stunning in that dress, lovie,” he murmurs. His teeth brush your lower lip, and you feel your face warm. “Been thinking about ravishing you all night.”

You swallow, tilting your head to the side before kissing him again, briefly. “We’ll see,” you reply. You wink as you step back, turning around and looking out at the lines of cars before you make eye contact with your driver. “C’mon, winner. I don’t trust the house to still be standing. I still can’t believe you let Harrison and your brothers housesit tonight.”

Tom’s indignant as he follows you into the car, and for the drive back to your house in the Hills, you carry on your bickering. It’s interrupted by kisses and jokes and touches, though, and it’s all so familiar it makes your heart soar. He’s always kept you on your feet, and out of all the things that have changed since you got together, that fact has remained: no one makes you feel as intensely riled up as Tom.

“I still don’t understand why you wanted them to housesit,” you muse. The gravel of the driveway crunches beneath your feet as you walk up towards your house, wobbling a little in your heels. Tom offers you an arm, and you gratefully loop yours through it, your hands still holding your awards. You’d only brought a bag big enough to hold one Oscar, not two. “It’s not like anyone was going to break in. We have security.”

Tom just clears his throat, the sound deep and guilty. “Harrison’s idea,” he says, quickly. “They wanted to be nearer the action.”

“Yeah, or they wanted to use the wine cellar.”

Before you can continue your conversation, the front door opens and Harrison pokes his head out, eyes widening as he looks down at the trophies in your hands.

“Aye!” He calls out, clapping loudly. “Congratulations, you two.”

As you enter the house and ditch your coat and shoes by the door, there’s an interlude in which you pass around your awards and receiving raucous applause from your friends. Harry and Sam pose dramatically in front of the staircase, fighting over which one of them gets to carry two of the awards, and you hold up a phone, taking photos of it all. In the corner of the room, you see Harrison pulling Tom aside and whispering something into his ear. Before you can pay them much attention, you’re distracted by Harry deciding to try and balance Tom’s Oscar on his head.

It’s very wholesome, and you and Tom end up coerced into another series of photos together. It’s less formal than it was at the show, and Tom sheds his suit-jacket as you enjoy posing without the strain on your feet from your heels. Harrison barges in too, and then there’s a round of shots with all five of you together, laughing, talking, messing around.

On their way out, both Harry and Sam pull you in for hugs, and then Harrison takes your hands and looks at you, hard. There’s a seriousness to him that you’ve never seen before, and tears form in his eyes as he splutters out a quiet,

“I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

“Harrison,” you whine, feeling a lump in your throat. “Don’t make me cry again.”

“Sorry.” Your friend drops one of your hands and rubs at his eyes, laughing softly. “I’m just proud of you - both of you. You deserve this so much and I’m glad to call you my friend.”

You sniff loudly, cursing softly when you feel a stray tear fall down your cheek. “Thanks, Haz,” you mutter, pulling him in for a hug.

You leave Harrison with Tom as your guests leave, and walk into the living room to collapse on the sofa. You groan as you let yourself relax, sinking into the cushions. Something of an adrenaline high crashes over you, and suddenly the thought of crawling into bed and sleeping the night away sounds very tempting.

“Y/N,” Tom says, startling you. You open your eyes and find your boyfriend standing in front of you, smiling softly. He rocks back on his feet, briefly biting at his lower lip. “Come with me.”

You look at his inviting hand sceptically.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

You hum, reaching up and taking his hand in yours. You glance at your wrist, noticing with fondness in your eyes how nice his watch looks wrapped around your hand. Over the years, you’ve made a habit of always trying to keep something of his to hand - his watch, his hat, his sunglasses. It doesn’t matter the occasion - you always like to carry something with you that reminds you of Tom. It works vice-versa, and you know that beneath Tom’s dress shirt hangs one of your favourite necklaces.

Your friends think it’s sickeningly romantic. You think it’s cute. Tom loves it.

“What do you mean, a surprise?” You ask, following Tom through the house. He’d moved into your LA home two years ago, his mark evident in the fluffy throws and the various stains on the walls.

Tom shrugs, rolling his thumb over the back of your hand. He leads you upstairs. “A surprise,” he repeats. “Stop asking so many questions, darling.”

You rest your head on Tom’s shoulder, sighing happily. “You’re very romantic, you know that?”

Tom chuckles, pausing outside your closed bedroom door. He looks nervous, and he drops your hand to run his hand through his hair.

“Right.” He stops, clearing his throat, hand shifting to the doorknob. “In here.”

You wait a moment for him to do something, but he doesn’t. “Are you going to open the door?” You ask, teasing, but reaching up to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” Tom shakes his head, a bright smile finally finding his lips. “Crazy night.”

“Definitely.”

Tom turns around and finally opens the door, stepping aside and inviting you inside. A soft gasp falls past your lips as you walk into the bedroom and take in the scenes around you.

Someone’s been in your room since you were flurrying around eight hours earlier, tearing your wardrobe apart before the show. It’s been cleaned, the bed made and spread out with a few rose petals, and the lights are dimmed down low. The doors to the balcony are open, and through them, you can make out a large stand with a bottle of champagne.

“Tom!” You gasp. You turn around, jaw slackening further as your boyfriend procures a large bouquet of roses. The plastic crinkles as you accept them gratefully, taking a long breath and inhaling the deep romantic scent.

“Thought I’d do something nice for you,” he says, closing the door behind him. Tom smooths his hands over your waist, standing behind you and kissing up your neck as you laugh softly. “Come out to the balcony, love,” he murmurs, teeth brushing your ear.

“Was this why you had the others come over?” You ask, smiling.

“Mhmm.”

You pause to put the roses in a vase, and then let Tom wind his hand in yours and pull you out onto the balcony. It’s beautiful out here in the Hollywood Hills, and as he pours out two glasses of champagne and passes you a flute, you lean with your elbows on the railing and stare out across at the city. Shrouded in darkness, the city pulses with bright lights and distance car horns. There’s a warmth to the air that brings a smile to your lips, and a few strands of your hair drift around as the evening breeze caresses your face.

“Funny, isn’t it?” You say, closing your eyes. Tom’s just beside you, one of his hands resting over yours. He plays with your fingers before linking your pinkies together.

“Hm?”

“Do you remember the first time you were out here with me?” Tom releases a short hum, and you take that to mean the negative. “Well, it was back when I hated you. You came and you picked me up from set, and then you stayed the night. We came out here and we took photographs together.”

“Of course.” There’s mirth in his voice, and the sound of his familiar accent brings a smile to your face. You lean your head on his shoulder, looking back out across the city. “That was the first time we ever talked properly, too. I remember realising you weren’t that horrible, after all.”

You gasp. “Oi!”

Tom nudges your side. “Hey, you know you felt the same way about me too.” He turns slightly, and you feel the soft press of his lips against your temple. “We’ve come a long way since then.”

You hum, grinning. “A very long way.”

There’s a moment’s rest, then Tom kisses your forehead again and steps away from you. You whine at the loss, but continue to look out at the city, resting your chin in your palms. You’re aware of him walking over to the table with the champagne, but you’re too distracted by the distant flickering lights to pay much attention to him.

“I love you a lot, you know,” Tom calls out, voice wavering. He clears his throat, and you smile to yourself.

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too.”

“No, I love you, a lot.” Again, Tom clears his throat. You decide to turn around, your eyebrows furrowing as you realise you can’t see him, but then your eyes travel down, down, down, and you spot him.

Tom is down on one knee, brown hair wafting in the gentle evening breeze, holding a black velvet box in his hands.

“Tom?” You whisper, voice hoarse. Tears pool in your eyes and your heart drums in your chest as you realise what’s happening.

“Y/N,” he returns, a soft smile finding his lips when he meets your eyes. “I love you.” Tom glances down at the ring, chuckling. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, but picking the right time has been so hard. So, I thought, hey, we’ve already won big tonight, why not add onto the excitement.”

You fan at your face, exhaling a deep breath.

“We have been through thick and thin together, and I am so, so glad that we came out the other side stronger for it. Your ambition and your drive make me want to be a better person, and every time I wake up beside you, it makes me want to be a better man, too. You make me better, and I love you for it.” Tom breaks off, eyes sparkling with tears as he looks up at you, meeting your gaze firmly. “I have never been more sure of anything else before. I know there’s nothing else I’d want to do than to spend the rest of my life with you. So… Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?”

You can barely still see him, through the tears in your eyes, but you nod. You nod, and then you fall down to your knees in front of him, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Tom,” you get out, voice thick with emotion. “I love you more than anything.”

Tom puts the box aside and pulls you closer, and you share a kiss that rocks your world. Both of you are smiling, and it’s clumsy and salty, but you don’t care as you kiss him again and again, your hands winding into his hair. He is so perfect, absolutely perfect, and you have never felt this whole before.

“I love you so, so, so much, darling,” he says, speaking against your lips. You chuckle, humming your agreeing sentiments before kissing him again.

“I love you too.” You finally pull back, shifting your lips to brush against his nose before you glance down at the box. You grin, holding up your left hand as you wiggle your eyebrows.

“If you don’t like it, we can always get a different one,” Tom prefaces, his hands shaking as it takes him a few attempts to pull the ring from the velvet bed. His fingers are warm against yours, soft and gentle as he slides the band up your finger. Your eyes catch on the beautiful sparkling diamond, and you feel a tear roll down your cheek. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect,” you say, rolling your thumb over the ring. You look up at Tom, wide-eyed and warm-hearted. “I think you’re perfect.”

“Not as perfect as you.”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks aching from the width of your smile. “You’re so cliché, Tom,” you tease, moving back to kiss his cheek. Your hands go to his shoulders, engagement ring glinting. “Are you going to be like this forever?”

Tom smiles, adoration floating in his bright brown eyes. “If you want me to be, yes.”

His lips find yours for one final time, and you bask in the feeling of him so close to you. After so long together, it feels like your souls have finally intertwined. Tom’s buried himself so deeply into your heart, into your life, that you know you’ll never get him out. You know you’d never want to.

“I love you,” you whisper. “Thank you for changing my life.”

His palm travels up to cup your cheek, warm fingertips stroking over your cheekbone. “It’s been my pleasure.”

FINIS.

extended a/n: 

thank you for reading the series, dear reader--the full thing is 59k! go you for getting through that much of my writing! I appreciate your time and willingness to enter this ‘verse with me <3

if you’ve got any thoughts on the series, please let me know! doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the series ended, I am always always always here to talk about these two :’)) would love to know what you think of their story!

we had a tfg blurb night! if you want to read any little extra bits, check out the masterpost for that here :)

[briyourmotherdown]

Give It All For You, Part 1 (Brian May x Fem!reader)

Word Count: 10.45k 

Warnings: Strong language (I’m British, it’s to be expected), slight innuendos???, possible historical inaccuracy, ANGST. 

Description: You have loved Brian May since the first time you met him. Trouble is, he’s nearly impossible to tie down, and you’ve become cemented in the role of the best friend. 

A/N: Okay so I’ve been working on this little mini-series for months. Literally too long. It’s still not even done, BUT I wanted to get the first part out at leAST. Uni and life have made finding creative inspiration a major struggle as of late. I think there will probably be around 3 parts to this?? I’m not quite sure yet, it could be a couple more if I find the motivation. BUT ANYWAY I really hope you enjoy it even though it’s angsty and I can’t write ajdgsdbskjbkdhgs. 

Spring, 1977

 “C’mon,” you slur,  your red dress shimmering in the dim lights of the local pub, “dance with me.”

  The bass is heavy in your chest and you feel alcohol coursing through your veins, but you’re only intoxicated by the man in front of you. His eyes glimmer like stars, hooded, sizing you up before shaking his head with a laugh.

  “You’re drunk.”

 “So are you.” you push yourself further into him in an attempt to push him onto the dancefloor, but more of a reason for you to get closer to him, to feel him.

  “But you’re plastered.”

 You roll your eyes, “Isn’t that the whole point?”

 He rolls his eyes right back, wrapping his arm around your waist to steady you, “Fine, one dance.”

  His hazel eyes are hooded, focussed solely on you, and you bask in his gaze. His hands on your body send electric shocks over your skin, and you tell yourself over and over that he doesn’t feel the same; he is only your good friend. That’s all you will ever be to him.

 “Is that how you ask a lady to dance?” you tease, cocking a brow.

 “You asked me!” Brian laughs, amused, “Alright, m’lady, may I have this dance?”

 He holds his hand out to you, dipping his head like a gentleman, and you take a moment to take a mental snapshot before accepting his hand, tugging him into the centre of the pub to dance.

  So you both danced, and for that night, just for that night with his hands on your hips, you could almost pretend that he was yours. And as he stared into your eyes, you let yourself fall into that false sense of security of imagined love.

   But let’s start from the beginning, from the moment you met on a cold winter’s night in 1972...

  “Christ, it’s cold as a witch’s tit in here,”

  Your best friend, Freddie, shivers as he hops up and down to warm himself up, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and jaw,

  “Why did you want to open up the stall today, of all days? Even that old git Brutus has closed up shop.”

  You roll your eyes at his dramatics, shuffling the secondhand clothes on their hangers, “I need the money, that’s why. I’m about to be homeless if I can’t pay my rent.”

  Freddie hums, kicking a stray pebble on the floor, “You know, my friend has a spare room in his flat he’s trying to fill. He needs some extra money too. I’m sure he’d offer you the room for cheap.”

  “Which friend?”

  “His name is Brian, Brian May.”

  “Ah,” you wave your hand in recognition, remembering his name being brought up a few times, “the guitarist one, yeah?”

  “That’d be the one! I think you’d like him, actually-”

  “Like who?” your other friend and coworker, this one much more blonde, chimes in as he strides into the small stall, very much late. Roger.

  “Brian.” Freddie answers.

 “Oh yeah, she’d definitely like him.”

  You shoot them both a look, “And what makes you say that?”

  Roger holds up a fringed kimono up to himself in the mirror, “He’s quiet, reads a lot, likes the stars; basically a total nerd. You’d love him.”

  “And he always wears matching socks. It’s bizarre, he literally has a thing about matching socks.” Freddie adds.

  You chuckle, “And when will I get to meet this nerd?”

 “Well, tonight. We have a gig.”

 “Hm,” you pretend to think, “I’ll have to clear a few things from my schedule…”

  Roger nudges you with his shoulder, knocking you slightly off balance,

 “Alright, alright! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Later that evening you meet your friends at the pub where they're playing for the night. It’s a dingy dive that you never would usually go, but you’d do anything to support your friends on their journey to success.

  You’re dressed up all pretty in your flares and platforms, leaning up against the bar as you wait for Queen’s set to begin. Though the weather outside is freezing, the inside of a pub is always hot, air thick with the scent of ale and sweat, but the moment Queen steps on stage, it’s easy to forget your surroundings. You’d heard Freddie sing, and you’d certainly heard Roger crash about on his drums, but you’d never seen them like this.

  They were magnetic. You were all absorbed. Freddie’s outfit caught the light each time he flounced across the stage, but his voice was what captured everyones attention. He was full of passion and power; he owned the audience, he could control everyone with one simple snap of his fingers.

  Roger was his usual self, exuding sex-appeal and confidence. Girls fawned over his long blonde locks and plushy lips. The thing about Roger was that he was the total package of beauty and intelligence, that is if you could tie him down.

  You’d never met the bassist, John, you think his name was, but he managed to capture your attention in the most unsuspecting way. He was all shyness and modesty, but not radiating an ounce of hesitancy. You can tell, even at first glance, that he would be the perfect fit for Queen. He would bring balance.

 That leaves one final member, the oh-so nerdy space loving boy who Freddie and Roger believe you would adore. But he doesn’t look so nerdy when you see him. He’s pure mystery, almost as though he’s surrounded by a navy blue mist, an aura- or something ethereal. He’s breathtaking, is all you can think. Long legs adorned in velvet, dark curls fall in front of his eyes as he looks down at his guitar. He’s focussed, bottom lip jutting out in concentration, but he takes a moment to glance up. That’s when you know you’re done for. He scans the pub, small enough to make out everyone’s face, and his eyes land on yours. It’s fleeting, but you can swear they linger. Maybe that’s just what you want to tell yourself. Suddenly you want to feel his eyes on you all the time. You want to be in his daydreams, in his thoughts, you want to be his muse.

  You float through the rest of their set, eyes glued to Brian as he plays expertly. You sway to each song, ignoring your surroundings and focussing solely on the music, and when it’s over, you cheer as loudly as you can.

  “I want to have your children, Roger!” you scream, bursting into a fit of giggles as the blonde scans over the room to see the source of the scream, and upon seeing you, chucks up his middle finger with a laugh.

  You make your way to the small stage, well, it’s more of a two feet high platform, and open your arms up widely to Freddie.

  “You,” you tackle him into a hug, “were fucking incredible! You’ve been hiding this side of yourself from me for how long?”

  He blushes, returning to the Freddie you know, “You must have brought it out of me, love,” he turns to the rest of the band, “Y/N, this is John Deacon, isn’t he lovely?”

 Freddie gestures to the bassist as he smiles shyly, offering you a wave and a small, “Hello.”

  “You were amazing out there, seriously!” you compliment him, and he blushes, though his smile widens.

  “Now, darling, this is Brian May!”

  Upon hearing his name, Brian looks up from where he is putting away his guitar, standing up straight and brushing his hands off against his trousers.

  “Brian, this is Y/N, she hangs around Roger and I sometimes.” Freddie shoots you a playful wink as you roll your eyes.

  “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” you reach a hand out to shake, which you so usually wouldn’t do, and it sends embarrassment right through you. But to your luck, he takes his hand in yours with no hesitation.

  “Likewise,” he smiles, still shaking your hand, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Oh God.

  “All good things I hope?” you realise you’re still holding his hand and let go, letting your hand sit awkwardly at your side.

  Jesus, you’re so nervous.

  “Mostly.” He winks, and it sends you reeling. His eyes are dangerous, and they travel up and down your figure in a way that sets you alight.

  It goes quiet as you stare at each other, Freddie glancing between you two with his eyebrows raised. Though he says nothing about it. Instead, he claps his hands,

  “I don’t know about anyone else, but I need a drink!”

  1977

  The next morning, you suffer through your pounding headache, wanting to just wallow in your loneliness.  

  Of course, Brian went home with someone else last night, sneaking away through the back door to avoid flashing cameras and prying eyes, leaving you to call yourself a taxi back home, where you cried for an hour before passing out.

  It’s not the first time he’s done this, but it still makes you feel pathetic every time.

  There’s a knock on your door, and you heave yourself out of bed despite the spinning in your head and the nausea churning in your stomach. Whoever is at the door will just have to deal with your dishevelled appearance.

  “Y/N? Jesus, you look like hell.”

  Alas, the infamous Roger Taylor stands on your doorstep, mouth agape at your messy hair and leftover smudged makeup.

  “I’ll slam this fucking door in your face, Taylor.”

  “Hostile,” he laughs, hands up in mock surrender, “I’ve just come to pick you up for lunch, or have you forgotten?”

  Feeling like a total ass, you smack your hand to your forehead, “Shit, Rog, I’m so sorry. Come in.”

  He follows you into your flat, eyes scanning over the slight mess. He turns to you, concerned; you’re not usually one to let your flat get so messy.

 “We don’t have to go, Y/N, we can reschedule, it’s not a problem.”

 You scrunch up your face, searching the kitchen for a glass of water and ibuprofen,

 “No, no, I want to go, you’ll just have to bear with me.”

 “Long night?” He teases, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter to stare at you.

  Shooting him a glare, you slide passed him and into your bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. Roger follows you,  leaning against the doorframe.

  “You know, I think you owe me an explanation as to why you forgot about our lunch date, and threatened me.”

  Clicking your tongue, you turn to him, “I went to a pub with Brian last night, got plastered, now I’m hungover. Simple as that.”

  He raises his eyebrows, almost knowingly, but doesn’t say anything.

“No need to be so sassy with me, I'm only asking.”

You sigh, “I know, I’m sorry,” he smiles, “now get out, I have to piss.”

You slam the door and hear him laugh from the other side, “What a lady!”

 “Bugger off!”

  Finally feeling human again after cleaning up and getting dressed, you slide a massive pair of dark sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and head out to where Roger parked his car.

  “Ready, princess?”

 You shoot him a sickly sweet smile, “You act as if being called princess bothers me.”

  Roger laughs, starting the engine and getting into gear, “You got me there.”

  The drive to your local favourite cafe is short, a totally walkable distance if you didn’t feel like death warmed up. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence until pulling into a parking space, when Roger turns to look at you once again. Your head is pressed against the window, eyes closed beneath your sunglasses, lips slightly parted as you take careful breaths to avoid nausea.

  “Christ, love, you really do look like shit,” he chuckles softly, a hint of concern laced in his insult, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  With one look at him, tears well up in your eyes against your will, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks. Roger’s eyes widen, and in an instant, you’re pulled into his arms over the console as you begin to cry. He shushes you softly, one hand running up and down your back,

  “Shh, it’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” you’re thankful for having such a good friend like Roger, especially when he puts up with your hungover mood swings. However, you must look like an absolute trainwreck with your puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, “Let’s go inside and get some food and a cup of tea down you, yeah? Then if you like, you can tell me what’s troubling you.”

  You nod, sniffling and wiping away your tears on the back of your hand. Roger jumps out of the car and rushes to the passenger side, where like an angel, he walks you into the cafe with a hand on your back.

  You attract a few disparaging stares when you both sit down at a table, a small chuckle slipping past your lips. Roger, now across from you, looks puzzled, “What’re you laughing about, hey?”

  “Everyone’s staring.”

  He scans the room indiscreetly, a smile taking over his features, “God, they are, aren’t they? Haven’t they ever seen a hungover girl crying before?”

  You scoff, “Bugger off, they’re obviously staring at your trainers.”

  He gasps, looking underneath the table to examine his sparkly pink converse, “What have you got against my trainers?”

  “Me? Nothing. But a bunch of elederly ladies out for lunch might. I’m sure they think your hair is a disgrace too. You should cut your hair like McCartney had it at the start of The Beatles.”

  Roger scoffs, pulling out a cigarette, “Yeah right. Been there, done that.”

  As Roger lights up a smoke, you look at the menu set out in front of you, deciding on something that won’t aggravate your fragile stomach. Then you proceed to give Roger puppy dog eyes until you persuade him to be the one to go up and order it.

  When he’s gone, you take a moment to think over what you and Roger must really look like to some people. Roger, all bleach blonde hair, brightly coloured clothing and a smirk that could make even a nun go mad. And you, puffy eyed, sunglasses indoors, in an oversized button-up shirt that you’d definitely stolen from one of the boys at some point. You both probably were the most exciting things that some of these people had seen in awhile. Something new to gossip about.

  A glass of water is set in front of you by the one and only roger, while he sips tenderly at a cup of sweet coffee, “Drink.” he commands.

  “But I ordered coffee,” you pout like a child, “You’re kicking me when I’m down here, Rog.”

  He rolls his eyes, “Coffee doesn’t help hangovers, love. Drink up.”

  You frown but nonetheless begin sipping in silence, tapping your nails against the table as Roger stares at you, “What?”

  “Just wondering if you’re going to tell me what got you so upset earlier?”

  You let out a sigh, long and weary, fiddling with an opened sugar packet, “Would you believe me if I said that it was just hormones?”

 “Not in the slightest.”

 You let out a short laugh through your nose, “I just let myself get heartbroken again, that’s all.”

  Roger pretends to choke on his coffee, spluttering dramatically and ignoring all the stares that he attracted, “Someone managed to break Y/N’s cold, dead, heart?”

  “If you were quiet for a moment you’d notice I’m not laughing.” You roll your eyes at him.

  Noticing your demeanour, he quiets down and leans in close to you, “I’m sorry, it’s just that you never let yourself get to the point of being able to be heartbroken,” he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray, “you know, you told me about a year ago that love doesn’t exist, and dating is just a trial period until you decide that maybe you can put up with that person for the rest of your life.”

   “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did, word for word.”

  You stay silent, but your top lip twitches into a smile- it does sound like something you’d say.

  “Anyway,” Roger continues, “who broke your heart? I’ll rough 'em up a bit.”

  “Surely you couldn’t rough up a member of your own band.” You speak under your breath, arms crossed, but Roger hears you.

  “I knew it!” He shouts, and you kick him underneath the table, “sorry,” he blushes, “I just knew it. I had a feeling you were in love with Brian.”

  Your eyes widen, “I’m not in love with him!”

 Roger smirks, “So it is Brian, then?”

 Your jaw drops at his trick, “You bloody asshole.”

  He sits back in his chair with a smug grin on his face, coffee cup in hand, “So, tell me about it.”

  You scoff, “You’re such a dick sometimes, you know that?”

  “You love me all the same.”

  You roll your eyes for the thousandth time, as you always seem to do around Roger. You stare at him, arms crossed in silent defiance and attempt to communicate with your eyes ‘I’m not going to tell you because you were a dick.’

  He sighs, uncrossing his arms to place his elbows on the table, “Come on, I’m sorry! Please tell me what happened?”

  A server comes over with your breakfast, allowing you to torture Roger for a few moments more as you chew a bite slowly. After you swallow, you finally sigh, “Fine. Ask me what you want to know.”

  Roger’s eyes light up, “How long have you loved-” he stops when you gives him the eye, “liked, him?”

  “Almost five years.”

  “Bloody hell, Y/N.”

  “I know! I know. It’s not good. Trust me I’ve tried to get over it.”

  “And you’ve never told him how you feel?”

  You scoff, “Of course not, that’s suicide.”

  “Why?”

  You put down your fork, finishing your mouthful of food, “You act like you haven’t seen the way Brian is,”

  Roger stays silent, waiting for you to continue, “He’s so…elusive. His shyness and sensitivity make him a real fucking magnet if you haven’t noticed. And he has this thing where he needs to constantly be pining after someone, and it’s just never been me.”

  You take a deep breath as your eyes focus on the rim of your glass, “He’s just not interested in me as more than his best friend, and I think that’s okay.”

  “Why do you think that’s okay?” Roger asks softly.

  “Because if I don’t accept that, then I won’t have Brian in my life at all. And that’s worse than the heartache.”

  Roger is silent, looking at you with sad eyes, but they don’t hold an ounce of pity. That’s something you love about him, he never pities you for feeling any sort of way, he’s just there to listen.

  “Well fuck, I can see why you got plastered last night.”

  You laugh, thankful for him shifting the mood to something more lighthearted.

  After lunch, Roger drops you off back at your flat, but not without a comforting pat on the top of your head and a promise to go for a drink soon.

  You smile to yourself as you fish your key out from your bag, twisting the lock and stepping inside.

  “Y/N.”

  You squeal, whipping around to see a lean figure standing up from your sofa, “Bloody fuck- Brian, what are you doing here?”

  Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, partly from being scared half to death, partly because Brian looks so good in a hoodie. He doesn’t often wear cosy clothes anymore since Queen gained more fame. Seeing him looking all soft in a navy blue hoodie makes your heart flutter. It reminds you of the times when you had first met. The both of you snuggled up underneath layers of blankets in his dingy flat when the heating broke (which was often), drinking copious amounts of tea and emptying his kitchen of all his food.

  “You gave me a key.” He scratches the back of his neck. Yeah, he knows he’s guilty.

 “I would have appreciated it if you’d rung me first.”

 Annoyance settles in as you remember last night, when he ditched you at the pub and left you to get a taxi home. If anything, he owes you the fare.

  “I did, you didn’t pick up and I got worried.”

  “I was out.”

  “I can see that now.”

   The room falls silent, Brian rocking back and forth on his heels. You cross your arms, waiting for him to speak. To explain himself.

  “Listen, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have left you like that last night. I was drunk-”

  “So was I.”

  “I’m-” he stops, sighing, “I’m really, really sorry. I’m a total prick…” he fades off as if he’s lost in thought, bottom lip pulled between his teeth and eyes worried. He looks genuinely troubled, as if he is really upset that he ended up ditching you.

  Against your better judgment, you sigh and uncross your arms, voice softening up, “Look, just don’t do it again, okay? It puts me in a really bad spot.”

  His eyes brighten at your acceptance, rushing over to give you a hug. You stand stiff as a board when his arms wrap around you, head nestled against your neck. Your pulse races, but you know better than to view this in any other way than just a friendly hug. You wrap your arms around him anyway, closing your eyes and just for a moment, pretending it is otherwise.

  “I want to make it up to you,” his voice is muffled against your shoulder, but he doesn’t dare let go, “I packed us a picnic, let’s go to the park. You can feed the ducks.”

  You pause, eyes opening and closing as you take breaths. You battle against yourself. Could you manage doing such an activity with Brian? One that feels like a date? Of course you can. Don’t be silly. He’s your best friend, how could you be casting his feelings to the side because of your own?

  “Can I feed the pigeons too?”

  He laughs, gripping your frame tighter, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Then you’re back in his car, a newer one, different from the cheap beat up one he had when you had first met. But still, it’s familiar, the scent of him mixed with leather. A basket and a blanket sits in his backseat, bringing a small smile to your face. This is the side of Brian you cherish the most. The side of him that cares so deeply for his friends. You’re not even sure if you could call it a ‘side’ of him. It’s just the way he is. He doesn’t ever intend to hurt or upset you. Suddenly, you feel guilty for being upset with him. He doesn’t owe you anything, he has every right to go home with other women.

  “So, where did you go earlier?” Brian asks, one hand on the wheel as he glances over at you and then back at the road.

  “I went out for lunch with Roger,” you smile at his side profile, the way his hair moves against the breeze through his open window, the way his nose hooks ever so slightly, “he nursed my hangover.”

  Brian’s lips seem to flick into a frown, but shift back into a smile before you could really register it, “Seems as though I’ve been replaced.”

 You roll your eyes, “No one nurses my hangovers as well as you do, Bri, don’t worry.”

 You giggle fondly at the memories of the both of you nursing each other through your hangovers, Brian always better at dealing with them than you were. He’d be up bright and early, pop two ibuprofen, down a cup of coffee and be well on his way to recovery. Whereas you’d sleep until noon and be unbelievably moody until eventually someone forced you to do something with your day.

  Brain somehow always knew how to pull you out of those moods, though, whether it be bringing you a plate of pancakes and cracking stupid jokes until eventually you had no choice but to laugh, or by sitting with you in silence and pushing a glass of water and painkillers in your direction. He just always seemed to know exactly what you needed in the moment.

  “I’d hope not,” he tuts, “otherwise I’d have to find another hobby, and I quite like taking care of you.”

  Your breath catches, skin burning, but you play it off with a scoff, “You make me sound like a child.”

  He laughs, a bellowing laugh that you always love to hear, “A child? Certainly not. Children swear a hell of a lot less.”

  “Fuck off!” you swat his shoulder lightly but can’t help your grin. It feels good to fall back into the rhythm of normalcy with Brian.

  The sun is high when you reach the park, the sky a bright blue except for a few sparse clouds. The two of you walk silently to the pond, laying out the blanket on a soft patch of grass.

  “I know you already ate,” Brian says as he sits down on the blanket, “but I bought a packet of custard creams because I know you like them.”

  The small gesture makes you embarrassingly happy, grinning at him as he passes you the packet, “You can never be too full for biscuits, you know that.”

  “Very true,” he smiles at you almost in adoration, you think, “I also got a bag of bird seed because people still feed the ducks bloody bread.”

  You hum as you bite into a custard cream, staring into space as you get lost in thought. Spring weather in London is one of your favourites, when the sun shines just enough to warm your skin, but you still have to cosy up a bit. And today,  it’s the perfect temperature for a picnic.

  “Hey, so I was thinking,” Brian begins, opening up a sandwich for himself and taking a bite, “Since the band doesn’t have to start recording again for a bit, we should all go on a road trip somewhere.”

  You look over at him, eyebrows raised, “Where were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Wales maybe? I just thought a change of scenery might help us all write new songs.”

  Nodding your head slowly, your lips twitch up into a smile, “I’d love that. Have you mentioned it to the boys yet?”

  “Briefly, and they seemed to like the idea, but no plans have been made.”

  You hum, “Well, let’s set the date and they’ll just have to clear their schedules.”

  Brian laughs, “Alright, next thursday. We can stay until Monday.”

  “Perfect.”

  The two of you chat for a while longer, before packing up the basket and walking alongside the pond, throwing bird seed for the ducks and laughing as they all fight for the same pieces.

  It feels so idyllic, walking through the park with Brian. It seems to be all couples here today, holding hands or staring at each other with looks of adoration on their faces. It almost makes you feel queasy. Perhaps it’s just eating those custard creams right after eating lunch with Roger. Either way, your stomach twists and leaps with too many indescribable feelings. You wish it would stop.

  Brian tips the last bits of bird food out of it’s bag, before scrunching it up and putting it in his pocket. You both watch as the birds eat the remaining seed, before looking up at you for more. Once they realise there’s nothing else for them, they drift gracefully away, to the opposite side of the pond where someone else may feed them some more.

  Then you continue your stroll, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your faces and the crisp air in your lungs.

  But then Brian looks down at his watch, swearing underneath his breath and turning to face you, “Y/N, I’m so sorry but I’m going to have to cut this short.”

  Your eyebrows furrow into a frown, “Is everything alright?”

  You both begin to walk in the direction of his car, “Everything’s fine, I just forgot I have to meet someone in an hour.”

  Your stomach drops. Brian never usually says ‘someone’. His friends are your friends and you’d always refer to them by name. ‘Someone’ means someone you’ve never met, and almost always it means a girl.

  “Oh, okay,” you try to hide the disappointment in your voice, “that’s totally fine!” you force a wide smile.

  He grins back at you as you both get into his car, “I’ll make it up to you, love.”

  You return his smile, but deep down you know. He said that earlier, too.

  Soon you’re back at your flat, waving goodbye to Brian from your doorstep and letting your smile drop into a frown as he drives away.

  The clock reads 4 o’clock when you reach your bedroom, sighing deeply as you get changed into comfier clothes and slump down on your sofa with a cup of tea.

  God, it’s so tiring.

  The sun is still high outside, your favourite aspect of spring and summertime, the longer days, but tonight you almost wish it was late so that you could fall asleep and not have to think about Brian.

  But alas, he swirls around your brain as you stir your tea, looking down into the cup as it whirlpools. You wonder if Brian could be seeing the girl he went home with last night, or someone else. You don’t want to wonder, you’re not even sure if you actually want to know who it is. It would push you into the deep darkness of insecurity, and you’d compare every aspect of yourself to whomever it is.

  So instead, you flick the telly on and melt mindlessly into the arms of whatever is on, not even really focussing on it.

  Monday morning, you’re at work again, typing up documents all day as you’d usually be doing. The monotony could kill you, and your fingers hurt from the stiff keys of the typewriter. It’s times like these where you feel envious of your best friends’ profession- for the boys of Queen, monotony is never an issue. They can complain about recording studios all they want, but they would never dare to wish for your job, and they know that.

  You asked your boss early if you could get Thursday to Monday off, and by some sheer miracle he had agreed, but not without massaging your shoulders in a way that made your skin crawl. It was one of the biggest downsides about working in an office amongst mostly men. While they spent their days barely working, and instead drinking the day away together while playing mini golf in their offices, you worked until your fingers went numb and the back of your neck felt like it was being jabbed with fifty needles. Yet they still believed they were entitled to touching you whenever they liked.

  Either way, you had managed to get a few days off to go on a road trip with all of your best friends, and that’s what keeps you going throughout the week. You daydream about exploring castle ruins and walking along the beach with Brian, allowing yourself to dip your toes into the idea of a relationship. While you were confined within four blank office walls, the thought of Brian kept you sane.

  He phoned you two days after your picnic, confirming that the boys had all agreed to a road trip and booked a hotel for Thursday afternoon. Things were all going smoothly, even as you packed your bag on Wednesday evening in preparation to set off early the next morning. You float happily around your flat, humming along to your records and planning out outfits for the trip. When you fall into bed that night, you can barely wait for dawn to break.

  But as they always say, be careful what you wish for. Because when you step out onto your front steps on Thursday morning, bags in hand and a grin like the sun, you notice not one, but two cars. Brian’s and John’s. Your smile falters, you thought you were all squeezing into Brian’s car?

  “Y/N!” Freddie exclaims when he sees you, rushing to help with your bags and put them in the boot of Brian’s car, “God, I’ve missed you, darling!”

  You pull him into a tight embrace, “I’ve missed you too. You don’t have time for me anymore with all your wild parties.”

  He scoffs, “If only you’d attend them, lovie, then we’d see each other more!”

 You roll your eyes playfully and look around at the two cars. The driver’s seat of Brian’s car opens, a small but almost seemingly nervous smile on his face.

  “Hey, Y/N,” he scratches the back of his neck, “how are you?”

  You narrow your eyes, and you feel Freddie’s body language stiffen beside you as if he knows something you don’t.

  “I’m alright?” You reply as a question, curious to why everyone seems so nervous.

  “Good, good,” he nods, inhaling before saying, “You wouldn’t mind sitting in the back seat, would you? Natasha already took the passenger side.”

  Your lips part slightly, realisation setting in. He brought a girl.

  You turn to Freddie in silent shock, asking with your eyes what the hell is happening? He leans over to whisper quietly, “I offered to take your place and you sit with Rog and John, but Brian was adamant.”

 You gulp, turning back to where Brian stands, “Sure, that’s fine.”

 He grins, sitting back in the driver’s seat. You turn to Freddie, eyes like a deer in headlights. A five hour drive. With Brian and his possibly girlfriend. He pats your shoulder, giving you another hug before getting into John’s car.

  You have no choice but to slip into the backseat, sighing into the leather. The radio is already on, all the windows down to let in the cool early morning air. You glance to the front of the car where a woman sits in the passenger side. You can see her face in the wing mirror, insecurity eating away at you already as you examine her. She’s gorgeous, with thick auburn curls that frame a sharply defined face. You can even see that her eyes are a taunting shade of emerald green.

  Clearing your throat. You lean forward and hold your hand out, forcing a smile on your face, “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

  She turns to glance at you, but not before giving you a once over, sharp lips not so much as twitching into a smile. She takes your hand into a weak handshake, shaking once before letting go and letting her hand rest back into her lap.

  “Natasha.” She says bluntly. You glance over to Brian as he drives, waiting for him to react in some sort of way at the way you’ve been greeted, but instead you’re met with his usual kind smile and eyes that gleam with blissful ignorance.

  You sniff awkwardly, leaning back into your seat and getting comfortable against the window. You can see Natasha staring at you in the wing mirror, but you try your best to ignore it. It practically sears your skin, making you squirm in your seat. You hated feeling intimidated by people, absolutely despised it, but Natasha was everything you weren’t. She had Brian. And the passenger seat.

  The radio fades into one of your favourite songs, one of Brian’s too, The Air That I Breathe by The Hollies. You’d often drive with the windows down, belting out the lyrics and laughing at who could sing the loudest. The memory brings a smile to your face.

  “I love this song, can you turn it up-”

  “God, I hate this song,” Natasha interrupts, “I didn’t even like it when it came out three years ago.”

  Brian looks torn, eyes flickering to you in the rearview mirror. You challenge his gaze, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly to gauge his next move. Your stomach sinks as he drops your gaze in guilt, flicking to the next station.

 The smug look on Natasha’s face just adds salt to your wound, her eyes like a snake’s, sly and dangerous. In that moment you decide that your best friend must be an absolute idiot. You also decide that you really, really don’t like Natasha.

  Five hours does not go by in a flash, much to your dismay, and you’ve had to listen to Brian gush over Natasha for the majority of the ride. Even when you all stopped halfway to get snacks, Brian came to your side when Natasha went to the bathroom, nudging your shoulder with a dopey smile on his face.

  “Isn’t she something?” He asks as you pull a few bags of crisps off of a shelf. You try your best to bite your tongue. After all, as long as Brian is happy, you’re happy.

  “She’s definitely something.” You reciprocate his smile, albeit forced.

  “I think you and her will be great friends.”

  You refrain from rolling your eyes. Even if you wanted that, Natasha made it very clear that she did not want anything of the sort. How could Brian be so unaware of the dynamic that took place between you and her? Are men really that thick? You can barely believe it. For someone as intelligent as Brian, he’s being incredibly dense.

  But regardless, you nod, “Totally.”

  Natasha steps out of the bathroom and makes her way over to where the two of you stand, completely ignoring your presence, “Let’s go to the car.”

  She grabs Brian’s arm, and before you can so much as complain, the food Brian had grabbed is dropped in your arms, leaving you alone to pay. Your eyes follow them as they leave, hand in hand as they laugh. They look good together, you can admit that. Two perfect people.

  You sigh, turning to glance around the small petrol station shop, shaking your head to yourself and going to pay for yours and Brian’s snacks.

  And then the remaining two hours or so blur by as you lean yourself against the window, blocking out the sound of Brian and Natasha’s conversations and simply watching the world pass you by. You try to think of the green grass, the blue morning sky, the yellow sunflower fields that you pass.

  Brian’s hand rests on her thigh and he looks at her with something like a sparkle in his eyes. Suddenly you wish you stayed home. Maybe if you’d caught a cold or your boss didn’t give you time off this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like your heart is being torn out of your chest. Maybe then you could have ignored the fact that Brian has got a new woman in his life.

  Once you pull into the hotel car park behind the rest of Queen, you nearly jump out of the car, immediately taking your bags out of Brian’s car, “What’s the room situation?” you ask Roger when he steps out of John’s car.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Roger winks playfully, “Nah, we have our own rooms, apart from them.” he nods towards Brian.

  You lean in to give him a pathetic hug, leaning heavily on his shoulder as you quietly groan, “I don’t even have the energy to tell you to fuck off right now.”

  He laughs, gripping your shoulders tightly, “You look like you need a drink. Or a nap.”

  “Or both.” you retort.

  Brian and Natasha walk up to where you stand, Natasha plastering a fake smile on her face as she greets Roger, “Roger, I didn’t realise that Y/N was your latest fling, how sweet.”

  Roger tenses, as do you. Now she’s insulted both of you in one. But just as you’re about to speak your mind, Roger tightly wraps his arms around your shoulder, “Actually, Y/N’s my girl.”

  You glance up at him in shock, lips parted and eyes wide. You turn back to Natasha, noticing that Brian is staring at you with a look of shock on his face, maybe betrayal? You’re not sure, but he looks angry. His fist clenches at his side absentmindedly.

  And that makes you angry. Even if you were actually dating Roger, what does that have to do with him? So you decide to put a wide smile on your face, lifting your arms to hold Roger’s around your shoulders. You don’t speak, but your actions say it all. You giggle, melting into his embrace. It feels strange, but Roger and you are close enough to know that this is fine.

  Freddie and John walk over, looks of confusion on their faces, but decide to stay out of it when they see the looks on Natasha and Brian’s faces.

  “You’re seeing each other?” Brian asks incredulously, ignoring Natasha’s presence beside him.

  “That’s right,” Roger replies before you can, “Is that so hard to believe?”

 “Yes,” Natasha laughs, “It is.”

  Roger’s grip tightens around you. You recognise this side of him, the fierce protectiveness he feels over his friends. Roger has been known to get into fights if someone speaks badly about his friends. He simply won’t tolerate it.

  His actions are strictly platonic, but he’s not going to let someone speak badly of you. Especially not Natasha, now that he knows about the way you feel about Brian.

   “And why is that?” He grits his teeth, and you squeeze his arm gently to communicate that it’s okay. You don’t need his protection, you can manage.

  “Well,” Natasha begins, and you glance at Brian’s expression. He stares directly at you, gaze unfaltering. He isn’t even hearing what is being said, “You usually tend to go for much more...visually appealing women.”

  Ouch.

 You’re not gonna lie, that hit you right in the ego. It’s not as if you had much confidence before anyway.

  That’s when Brian breaks his stare to look at Natasha, a dumbfounded look on his face, “What-”

  But Roger interrupts, anger prevalent in his tone, “I don’t think you’re one to gauge who’s visually appealing and who isn’t, Natalie.”

 You hold back a giggle, albeit a hurt one, trying to hide your pain behind an unbothered smile. But you fear that your body betrays you as you tilt your head down, hands dropping from Roger’s arm to cross over your stomach.

  Natasha opens her mouth to speak, but Freddie intercepts, “Alright! Okay, we should go find what rooms we are in and freshen up. I need a beauty nap.”

  You’re thankful for Fred, giving him a discreet nod to which he responds with a wink. You take one last look at your supposed best friend, Brian, not a trace of sympathy for him on your face. How could he not defend his best friend of years from his girlfriend he’s probably only known for a couple weeks at most?

  Baffled and dejected, your feet move mindlessly along with Roger as he steers the both of you into the hotel, muttering underneath his breath, “Dick.”

  “Who?” you whisper.

  “Brian.”

  You say nothing. You know it’s true, but it hurts a hell of a lot when your own best friend doesn’t stick up for you.

  Roger follows you into your hotel room when you reach it, watching as you flop into the soft white sheets with a long, weary sigh.

   Roger sits at the end of your bed, “Natasha’s a right pain in the arse.”

  You sit up, hair mussed and eyes tired, “I meant to ask, have you met her before?”

  He nods with a wince, “Unfortunately. She’s like that all the time. It’s baffling that Brian hasn’t noticed it yet. The lad’s usually quite level-headed.”

  You nod with a hum, staring out of the window behind him. You get most in thought momentarily, thinking about the way Brian was so truly oblivious to the way Natasha acted. He’s almost gotten into bust ups with men at bars who have disrespected you, but it seems to be okay when Natasha does it. Maybe love really is blind. The idea of them in love makes your guts churn.

  “Anyway,” Roger starts, standing up, “You should take a nap. I’ll come to wake you up in a couple hours for dinner, alright?”

  You smile, “Thanks, Rog. For everything.”

  He shoots you a cheeky wink, “Anytime, love.”

  So you gladly lay down in the cool white sheets once Roger is out the door, staring up at the ceiling until eventually you let your eyelids flutter closed.

 Two hours later, you’re up, bathed, and dressed, fiddling with the hem of your midnight blue dress in the mirror.

  Insecurity eats away at you each time your eyes scrutinise yet another perceived flaw. As much as you hate to admit it, Natasha’s words echo around in your mind. She’s right, you're not visually appealing. How could you be, when Brian won’t even look twice at you as more than a friend.

 A knock sounds at your door, Roger’s voice coming soon after, “Are you ready, love?”

 You snap out of your trance, pushing all the self-hatred aside to open the door. Plastering a wide smile on your face, you take his arm in yours.

  He raises a brow.

  “I’m not the one who told everyone we were dating,” you lightly pat his arm, “so hold tight, loverboy.”

  You meet the group outside by the cars once again, John leaning up against the side of his car and Freddie perched gracefully on the bonnet. Brian and Natasha however, are nowhere to be seen. You frown and ask Freddie where they are.

  “Not a clue, my dear. If they aren’t down in five minutes I’m leaving without them.”

  As if on queue, the couple in question walk out of the revolving doors. Brian’s face is flushed, Natasha’s smug. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why they’re late.

  You catch eyes with Brian and watch, hurt, as he looks away bashfully. Your chest pangs, just a bit, as you glance down at your dress for distraction.

  Roger squeezes your arm comfortingly, “Do you want to ride with us?”

  You shake your head, “Would it be bad if I said I wanted to keep an eye on them?”

  He smiles, “Cheeky.”

 You force a tight smile.

 In all honesty, you aren’t quite sure if you’ll be fine, but when you take another look at Natasha’s smirk, you let your anger be the driving force that pushes you into the back seat of Brian’s car.

  Luckily, they seem to behave themselves while you’re in the car. Well, Brian does. Natasha often tries to place her hand on his thigh, but he always pushes it off. You notice that something has changed since the drive earlier, a shift in Brian’s mood. He’s more bashful than ever, staying practically silent with his cheeks seemingly tinged pink permanently.

  Eventually, Natasha gives up with a huff, crossing her arms and looking out the window as the radio hums a tune none of you are paying attention to. Brian is looking straight at the road, and you’re watching him as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. The sun is just beginning to set beside him, silhouetting his face like an eclipse. He’s so beautiful, even when you’re annoyed with him, and even when he looks annoyed himself.

  He pulls into the car park, killing the engine and turning around to face you in his seat. You furrow your eyebrows as he stares, “What-”

  “Nat, could you give us a minute?”

  “But-”

  “I’ll meet you in the restaurant.”

  She stares at him baffled, looking at you and back to him, before rolling her eyes and getting out of the car. She slams the door and beelines to the entrance, leaving the rest of the boys no choice but to follow her. Roger shoots you a concerned look through the window, to which you return a reassuring smile. It does nothing to reassure yourself, though, as Brian’s fiery gaze is pointed directly at you.

  The car remains silent as both of you challenge each other to see who will speak first. You stand your ground and hold his glare, crossing your arms in defiance. He speaks up,

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you and Rog were together?”

  Your eyebrows shoot up, so that’s what this is about?

  “Why do you care?”

  He scoffs, turning away from you to look out of the window, “I don’t know, maybe because you’re my best friend and he’s my bandmate?”

  “Why does that matter?” You challenge.

  He just shakes his head with a spiteful chuckle, dodging the question, “Roger doesn’t date.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s just going to leave you for another woman, or worse, he’ll just do it behind your back.”

  “And I suppose you’re any better?”

  Your words are harsh, and you regret them the minute they came out. Especially when he turns to look at you with a flash of hurt in his eyes. Brian’s had his own share of infidelity, but he’s always felt guilty over it, as if it haunts him. You suddenly feel sick. He confided in you and you’ve just thrown it back at him.

  Without another word, he opens his door and steps out, slamming the door behind him. You watch as his figure retreats into the restaurant, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. Shit.

  You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes momentarily. You stand on trembling legs and make your own way into the venue, fingernails digging into your palms.

  Everyone is already sitting at the table when you join them, so you take your place in between Roger and John. Both of them look equally concerned, Roger’s eyes flickering to Brian across the table. You dare to glance up to where he’s glaring, fiddling with the tablecloth. His upper lip twitches like it always does when he’s angry, a tick that only you’ve ever noticed about him. His warm hazel eyes seem cold, but you can almost see the flames behind them. He’s pissed. More than pissed.

  Roger unwittingly adds fire to the flame when he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Everything alright, love?”

  You look at Brian once more, his napkin now clenched in his fist, you turn to Roger to whisper, “I think he’s mad.”

  Roger chuckles, “You think? The bloke looks like he wants to castrate me.”

  “I think he probably does.” You sigh.

  Thankfully, always the life-saver, Freddie begins reenacting a run in he had with a fan in a public toilet the other day, and everyone begins loosening up. Well, except for Brian. He’s pretty much silent throughout dinner. Even when Natasha tries to pat his arm or whisper something in his ear, he keeps the same disgruntled look upon his face. You find yourself becoming angrier with every passing moment.

  Who does Brian think he is? How can he let his girlfriend walk all over you, then he insults you, and then he somehow has the right to be angry with you?

  It’s bullshit, and you shoot daggers at him over your dessert. You don’t even want it. It’s your favourite and everything.

  You turn to John, ever the organised one, “Hey, do you know what we’re doing tomorrow?”

  He tilts his chin up and chews on one side of his mouth as he thinks, “I think we planned to visit Conwy Castle.”

  You nod, humming, “Cool.”

  It’s only the first night, and the trip still has five more days, but you find yourself anxious to return home. Especially in the dim lights of a small Italian restaurant as Brian stares at you with that unforgiving gaze, you wish to be anywhere but.

  Brian and Natasha left before everyone else, skipping their coffee and choosing to head back to the hotel. They didn’t so much as question how you’d be getting back. Instead, they left you with the remaining three Queen boys, all of their curious eyes on you.

  They want answers, you can see it on their faces. It’s the first moment all of you have had together without Brian and Natasha there and they want to know what the bloody hell is going on.

  You shake your head at their silence, taking one final bite of your dessert, “Don’t ask me anything, because I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  You huff as you flop back onto the bed. It’s far past sunset, and your hotel room is dim except for the orange glow of the street lights outside your window. Roger, John and Freddie decided to go find some sort of bar to finish the evening, but you asked them to drop you off at the hotel so that you could sleep. Except you couldn’t, your mind wired with so many thoughts of Brian that you couldn’t so much as close your eyes. You decided that staring up at the ceiling wasn’t helping, instead it was making the thoughts worse, so you got out of bed and walked to the balcony and stared out over the sea, letting the cold air of the night nip at your bare skin.

  Just as you close your eyes, there’s a knock at the door, echoing through the sound of the waves in the distance. The tiny clock at the side of your bed reads just past midnight as you pad through the dark to get to the door.

  You open it a crack, “Who is it?” you ask gently.

  “Brian.”

  Your pulse jumps slightly as you open the door the rest of the way and take in his appearance. His eyes are tired and sunken, his hair mussed as if he’d been tugging on it. You wonder if it was him who tugged on it, or someone else, but based on the way his head is bowed, you don’t think anything of the sort happened.

  “Hi,” you gulp, treading lightly, ashamed of the words you threw at him earlier this evening, yet anger still fizzles within you softly.

 “Hi,” he breathes, hand rubbing the back of his neck, “did I wake you?”

 “No,” you shake your head, “couldn’t sleep.”

  “Neither.”

  “Is Natasha awake?”

  He pauses, looking at the floor and then back at you, “She’s asleep.”

  You nod, quiet after his response. What now?

  “Do you...want to come in?”

 You step aside after he nods, quietly walking through the doorway and into the dimness of your room, and then out onto the balcony. You follow, mind racing a million miles a minute, watching his back as he leans against the railing.

  You join him, staring out at the starry reflection of the moon against the sea, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He turns to look at you, though you don’t return his glance. Instead you bask in his gaze upon your face as the wind flutters through your hair and the moon glitters against your skin.

  “It is,” he whispers, his own hair rustled by the wind as he continues to stare at you.

  Neither of you speak for a while, just watching the water as it shimmers like diamonds, though you’re both aware of the words unsaid and the words that were. But for a few moments the two of you decided to ignore the rift between you, and instead let the soft silver gleam of the moon heal your aching hearts.

 But things must not go unsaid for too long or they will fester, and you’re the first to speak, “Why’d you come see me, Bri?”

  He sighs, looking down at his hands, “I came to say sorry. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about Rog, he’s a good guy.”

  You stare at him for awhile, “He is a good guy,”

 Brian’s eyebrows seem to fall, which causes your own to furrow. You continue, “but did you mean what you said?”

  He looks into your eyes and you know instantly that he did. The only reason he’s come to apologise is because he upset you.

  “I did.”

 Though it angers you, you admire his honesty. You can’t be so frank with him, you’d end up spilling your feelings.

 “Is it so unbelievable that someone like Roger would like someone like me?”

 It feels odd talking about Rog as if he’s actually your boyfriend, but you’re hurt. Natasha’s earlier words cut like a knife, and hearing Brian think the same would cut like no other.

  “That’s not what I meant at all. You’re just…” he trails off and looks back at the sea, shaking his head.

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re...perfect. You’re too good for someone who will hurt you”

  The sound of the wind fills your silence, a sense of confusion and joy fluttering in your stomach. You wish you could tell him that you appreciate his concern, but he’s been the one hurting you all this time. However it’s not his fault, and you remain quiet. He called you perfect.

  You search his face for any sign of anything, any twitch of his brow that might give anything away, but he’s stoic as always.

  “But you can’t be the one to make that decision for me.” you breathe, choosing to ignore what he said. Perhaps you’re scared of him taking it back, or claiming it was nothing. You want to hold onto the very feelings you feel now, after Brian has called you perfect underneath the moonlight.

  “I know.” he sighs, looking down at his hands. You’ve always loved his hands, his long slender fingers that are often adorned with a couple silver rings, usually on his pinky finger. You’d often imagined the way they might feel against your bare skin, but each time you dared to delve into that idea, you quickly shut it down.

  The fact that you’ve been lying to Brian about Roger makes you feel wretched, eating away at your insides as you chew on your bottom lip. It feels as though you’re seeing a bit more of Brian’s private thoughts, and he’s only shared them with you because he thinks you’re dating Roger.

  The confession is right there on the tip of your tongue, a loud exclamation of truth ready to erupt from inside of you, “Brian-”

  “-Y/N” he begins at the same time, and immediately all courage is lost. The boiling truth returns to a simmer, and your racing heart begins to still.

  You both chuckle, a sense of normalcy returning for the first time tonight as he scratches the back of his neck, “You first.”

  Shaking your head, you give him a small smile, “Not important, you go.”

  He nods, taking a breath as if to build his courage back up, turning his body to face you entirely. You do the same, concerned at the sudden seriousness that’s returned to his face. You watch in silence as he takes yet another deep breath, the dread inside of you intensifying.

  “I…” he begins, and you want to grab him by the shoulder and shake, tell him to spit it out already because you feel nauseated.

  “It’s terrible of me to say this, and I know I have no right whatsoever to do so, but...I don’t want you to date Roger.”

  You’re taken aback by his blatant request, baffled at why he is so against the idea of you and Roger being together, “Why not?”

  He looks just as irritated as you, all civility that you’d built up just moments before knocked down like a house of cards. It’s as if the idea of you not listening to his request infuriates him, and in return that makes you equally angry.

  “I told you before.”

  “But we agreed that this isn’t your decision.”

  At this point, you aren’t sure why you’re continuing to act as if Roger is your boyfriend. Perhaps you’ve let it go too far and to confess now would damage your dignity. Or maybe you want to see how far Brian is willing to go with his request. Surely he won’t force the two of you apart.

  “It’s not my decision, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable?!” you raise your voice. This conversation is going in the complete wrong direction, but you can’t seem to stop it, or stop yourself. The two of you are both passionate people always speaking for what they believe in, and in this case you are on opposing sides. Like fire and ice, or darkness and light, the two of you battle against each other.

  “Yes! Uncomfortable!”

  “Go on then, explain to me why it makes you so uncomfortable.”

  “He’s my bandmate-”

  “And why does that matter?”

  “You’ll be a distraction!”

  “I’ve known you all for years, and suddenly now that I’m dating one of you, I’m a distraction? Nice, Brian.”

  He goes to speak, but you interrupt, “And what about Natasha, huh? Is she not a distraction? Or is it just me then?”

  “She doesn’t come to the studio with us like you do.”

  “You were the one who told me that you love when I come to the studio.”

  He looks flustered, “I do, but-”

  “You’re not making any sense,” you say, exasperated, “what is the big deal about me dating Roger?”

  He doesn’t answer, instead staring at you with a burning intensity behind his caramel irises. A siren blares in the distance and a cloud sheathes the moon in a grey cast. It’s as if his answer is in his eyes, but you just can’t catch it. You’re both speaking two different languages.

  “I should go,” he says finally.

 Muddled thoughts race through your head. You want to say so many things but nothing comes out, your mind a jumbled mess of intertwined wires. Goddamnit,  Y/N, say something.

  He turns to walk through the hotel room, and you have no choice but to watch his back as he retreats. But then he stops in his tracks, turning to look at you once more. He has hurt written across his face, you can see it even in the darkness.

  “Where is Roger, by the way?”

  He tilts his head to the side, challenging you to answer him. You stare in silence, no answer on your tongue.

 He nods, his own point proven to himself as he goes to turn back around, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

[punksarahreese]

Okay instead of it being nat and wills bachelorette/bachelor party it’s Sarah and Avas

Sorry this took so long anon! I really loved this idea though

CW: allusion to Sarah’s marking kink again because I’m gay and I can’t be stopped, blood mention (fake this time though)

***

“You have your costume?” Ava’s arms slid around her waist as she asked the question, making Sarah sigh.

“Ava, you asked me that ten minutes ago,” Sarah wasn’t as annoyed as her words made her sound. She knew Ava was hovering for good reason, she didn’t like surprises and that night was supposed to be a huge surprise.

“Right, sorry.”

“Love,” Sarah stopped walking and pulled Ava over to one side of the hallway outside the ED entrance, “Look at me.”

“I’m looking,” Ava mused, “And you are as gorgeous as ever.”

Sarah’s eye roll was almost audible as she caught Ava’s wandering hand before it could land on her hip or any lower, “I know you’re nervous but we do still have to work today.”

“I know,” she replied and laced her fingers with Sarah’s, “I’ll behave.”

Her girlfriend laughed at the little pout and patted her cheek lightly, “That’s all I ask. Try not to look so scared, you’ll make Maggie nervous and then we’re all screwed.”

“I can’t help it!” Ava whined, which was completely out of character, “I hate surprises.”

“I’m aware,” Sarah agreed, “I know this is out of your comfort zone, it’s out of mine too, but it’s important to them. It would have been better if we had been in on the planning but it’ll work out either way.”

“Yeah, I know,” her short curls bounced as she nodded, “I’ll try to humour it.”

“Thank you,” Sarah replied, allowing Ava to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. They weren’t really about PDA, especially not at work, but it helped ease both their nerves in that moment. They parted ways in the lobby, Ava making her way up to CT and leaving Sarah to go to the ED alone.

Sarah was immediately met by an excited Maggie the second she stepped through the sliding doors of the ED. She was flanked by Doris and April, making Sarah nervous with their mischievous smiles.

“There’s our bride to be,” Maggie came around the nurses’ station to hug her, “Excited for tonight?”

“Terrified, actually,” Sarah hoped her tone was playful enough as she hugged her back, “Not as much as Ava though, you have the poor woman more nervous than I’ve ever seen her.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

“We don’t like secrets, Maggie,” Sarah whined, “Can’t you just tell me something about tonight?”

“Nope. Except,” the charge nurse reached under the counter and pulled out some shiny white fabric, “You have to wear this.”

Sarah realized what it was when she took the silky thing, a gaudy looking sash with “Bride to be” spelled out in glittery cursive. She sighed, cheeks already flushed in embarrassment at the thought of wearing this.

“I would really rather not, Maggie...”

“You have to!” Maggie passed another thing to Sarah, this time it was dark red; the same words written across the sash in gold letters.

“For your wife,” she explained, “Now no more complaining, you two will love it.”

Sarah couldn’t help but blush at the thought of Ava being her wife, it still felt so surreal in the best way. Still, she just muttered a comment that they weren’t married yet and insisted she had patients to see, trying to escape the nurses’ pre-party excitement.

She was excited too, of course, but the plans had gotten so out of control. She had just wanted a small dinner with their friends from the ED and CT, not really a huge bachelorette party. Maggie and April, however, decided that was not allowed and took over the plans. They even tease Sarah about it, saying that she was just lucky they were letting them have a joint party instead of separate groups for the brides like most bridal parties go.

Sarah was glad about that at least, she didn’t like crowds and she wasn’t too fond of parties either. At least having Ava close by all night would calm her nerves partially. She knew her girlfriend would appreciate that too, since she still wasn’t all too close with a lot of the other doctors from the emergency department.

She put the sashes away in her locker, along with her work bag and the one holding her outfit for that night. After that, Sarah made her way back out into the hall, deciding she might as well let work distract her as long as she could.

***

“Ava?” Her fiancée’s voice drifted from the door in the locker room, making Ava look up with a soft smile. She had been leaning against the mirror on the wall, trying her hardest to put in coloured contacts without damaging her corneas. She wasn’t sure how Sarah did this every day, contacts were weird.

“Hey, Reese cup.”

Sarah came around the corner and returned her greeting. Once Ava had successfully gotten the second contact in, she blinked harshly and then turned to the other woman. Her vision was slightly blurred and tinted by the red film, but she could still see just how beautiful Sarah looked.

“The white was definitely a good choice,” Ava hummed as she moved a bit closer to toy with the end of Sarah’s sleeve, “Pretty.”

“You like it?” Sarah asked sheepishly, “It’s a little showy for me.”

She was clad in a white ruffled blouse with a much more plunging neckline than Ava had ever seen Sarah wear. Her neck was adorned with a lace choker, the same shade of white with little strings of pearls that settled in the hollow of her throat; contrasting the fake blood on one side of her neck. Paired with heels and a nice pair of dress pants, Sarah looked absolutely gorgeous; even if the outfit was a bit out of her comfort zone.

“You look stunning, darling,” Ava promised, smiling to show the fangs she had already put in. Sarah returned her smile, her own fake fangs making Ava laugh.

“We really are a couple of hot vampires, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Sarah replied, “I really love this dress on you.”

Ava’s outfit was dramatic to say the least, but suited her for exactly that reason. When Ava dressed up she didn’t come to play, so Sarah had expected her to make this costume absolutely wonderful. Her dress was all black with some serious corseting, how she managed to do that up herself was beyond Sarah, and it fell off her shoulders into flowing sleeves. A dramatic layering of red and silver costume jewelry and some blood red heels completed the look, making her appear even more regal than usual.

“Well then,” Ava finished pinning back her hair before offering her hand to her fiancée, “Shall we?”

“Hold on,” Sarah took her hand but instead of moving to the door she stepped a bit closer. She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind Ava’s ear, smiling at her warmly.

“What?” Ava looked at her in amusement, not quite sure what the glint in Sarah’s eye meant.

Sarah just grinned wider, her free hand sliding down to Ava’s waist, pulling her body against hers. The confident motion surprised her fiancée, hands bracing themselves on Sarah’s shoulders as she laughed a little.

“You’re confident today,” she mused, “Why’s that?”

Sarah shrugged, “Can’t I appreciate my beautiful wife who just so happens to look really hot right now?”

The way Ava’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly made Sarah happy, enjoying whenever she could render her confident lover a little flustered. She looked so regal in that moment but her attitude completely changed when she giggled a little at that comment.

Sarah swore she fell in love all over again at the sight.

“I like being called your wife,” Ava hummed, leaning a little closer so they were almost sharing the same breath. Sarah was the one who initiated the kiss, though it was a lot more chaste than she would have liked in that moment. She didn’t want to mess up Ava’s pretty red lipstick just yet though; that would be a shame.

“Good,” she replied as she pulled back only to press a kiss to Ava’s exposed shoulder, “Because once we’re married I’m never going to stop talking about my gorgeous, brilliant wife.”

***

“There you two are,” Crockett exclaimed over the music, “Was beginning to think y’all ran off.”

“And miss our own party?” Ava questioned, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s not what you were saying twenty minutes ago,” Sarah said in her ear, making her shiver at the sudden closeness and her insinuation. Ava didn’t know what had gotten into her girlfriend or where all this confidence came from, but she couldn’t say she really minded. Crockett saw that interaction and rolled his eyes, ushering the two further into the room.

“Nice wings,” Ava’s remark was teasing as she flicked the fluffy feathers on his back. He just grinned, the halo on his head bobbing as he nodded.

“Ethan’s a devil,” he explained proudly, pointing to where a familiar doctor was clad in all red.

“How ironic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sarah watched in amusement as they bickered, Maggie catching her eye from across the room. She was waving them over, her pink leather jacket standing out amongst the crowd of more spooky costumes.

After Ava and Crockett had stopped their argument about whose costume concept was better, Sarah led them both over to the group of people dancing. They all talked and exchanged hugs, Ava giving Natalie a bigger hug than anyone expected. That made Sarah smile, she was glad to see her borderline reclusive fiancée open up to the ED staff a bit more.

“I’m gonna go talk to Connor,” Ava’s voice was suddenly right in Sarah’s ear, “I’ll be back.”

She left after giving Sarah’s hip a gentle squeeze, heading over to the bar where Connor had been talking up some bartender who looked too enchanted for her liking.

“Connor, you’re not terrorizing this poor girl, are you?”

“Ava,” he rolled his eyes as the bartender excused herself to serve another customer, “Good to see you too.”

“Ah yes, you do look like quite the dashing pirate. Did you get her number, then?”

“Maybe I did,” he pointed at the silky sash that was interrupting the overall vampire vibe of her outfit, “Nice, by the way.”

“Maggie,” she sighed, “I’m just here to smile and nod and pretend I’m not completely unfamiliar with half the ED staff.”

“Well they seem to love you regardless.”

“They love Sarah,” she shrugged, “And I’m grateful for that. I like knowing she has a support system.”

“Reese is a good kid,” Connor replied and then paused, looking at Ava quizzically, “Well, sometimes.”

Ava raised an eyebrow, silently questioning what that meant.

Connor just laughed, gesturing to her neck, “That part of the costume?”

Ava’s hand went to the left side of neck, realizing the skin was clearly bruised when she pressed down and if she could feel it then it was most likely pretty obvious. Which meant people would undoubtedly see it with her exposed neck and shoulders in this dress. Sarah and her damn hickeys; it’s like she expected Ava to just wear turtlenecks constantly.

Not that Ava would ever really complain.

Ava was saved from more teasing from her colleague when Sarah came up to them, a big smile on her face that warmed her fiancée’s heart.

“Hey, Reese,” Connor greeted her with a side hug, “Congratulations.”

“Oh so you congratulate my wife and not me, I see how it is.”

“How do you put up with this snark constantly, Sarah?”

“She’s sweet to me,” Sarah shot back with a shrug, “Must just be a you thing, maybe you deserve it, Connor.”

“That’s my girl,” Ava laughed, throwing an arm around her waist as they left the bar to return to their friends. Eventually Sarah saw Crockett come over and drag Connor onto the dance floor as well, which made her smile. She liked seeing everyone having fun, despite everything.

The rest of the night was spent with friends and colleagues, enjoying the Halloween party and celebrating the upcoming wedding. Even though both brides weren’t too keen on this kind of bachelorette party, it ended up being a good experience in the end. It was nice to spend time together outside the hospital, a chance to celebrate and relax for once.

[shinebrite97]

Transcendent Love

Day three of @enbymagicianweek​

“Ah, Lochlan, what a lovely name. A musical name. Lochlan.”

        Lochlan couldn't pinpoint the exact moment they fell in love with Julian Devorak, only because they felt as if they'd know him for much longer than their memories went back. Which was true.          It had been almost a year since that masquerade party when they defeated the Devil, and now the most exciting thing they got up to together was an afternoon sailing with Portia.          On evenings like this particular one, Lochlan would glance over while Julian wrote away in journals or worked through cases as the palace physician, occasionally shaking out his fatigued wrists, swollen from overuse, and admire that concentrated pout on his thin lips.          "Julian…" Lochlan asked over the candle-lit din.          "Yes, my dear?" He glanced up with a fond smile, relaxing the tense scowl from the last few hours of work.          "Do you remember how we met?" They asked. Julian scoffed, placing his quill down and languidly stretching his back.           "As a matter of fact, I do." He replied. "It was about eight years ago," he stood up, making his way over to the window ledge Lochlan was perched on and leaned over his partner, resting long languid arms over their shoulders and kissed the top of their head. "In the mood for a story, my love?" 

         “Good afternoon, Salina,” Lochlan said with a wave as they entered the apothecary. They placed their hands down on the counter, leaning in with a charming grin as the girl behind it blushed. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…” they said. “I’m sure glad to see you today.”          “Oh...Lochlan!” The girl at the counter coughed, trying to regain her senses.  “Welcome, what can I get for you today?” 

         “Julian,” they asked. “How do you know this part if you weren’t there?”           “Hush, my darling,” he replied. “I’m trying to set the scene for you.          “Well, I really need some mugwort and coneflower petals,” they replied. “Have you got any?”          Salina was already twirling about behind the counter, climbing the step-stool to reach for the jar of mugwort.          “How much do you need, handsome?” She asked. Lochlan smirked at the shameless flirting, not an uncommon thing for them here. They patted their pockets, pretending to check for money as they began their question.          “How much can I get for…” The paused. Cue the concerned expression. “Uhm…” One more pat-down. “Oh no,” They said with a pout. “Looks like I forgot my money today.” They pulled the puppy dog eyes.           “Man, I really needed that mugwort too…” Salina sighed in sympathy. “Do you think I could pay you for it later?” They asked.           Salina was losing the fight within herself. The battle between finances and her position working in the shop, and her desire to see that beautiful smile on their face again.           “I really not supposed to do that…” She said. “And I’ve already let you do it a few times before...”          “Our tragic hero knew there wasn’t much for them to do now,” Julian added with a dramatic flutter of his hand in Lochlan’s line of vision. “And when the apothecary door opened with a new customer, they were ready to cut their loss and leave.”          “But then a tall handsome stranger stepped in, right?” Lochlan asked.           “Ah yes,” Julian replied with a grin. “I believe it was a dashing doctor, standing at a gangly six feet tall.”          Julian entered the shop, stomping dust from his boots, as Salina directed her attention to him in hopes of evading the awkward stand-off with Lochlan.          “Hello, my dear,” Julian said. “I need some coneflower petals and cardamom.”         “Right away, sir.” She replied, quickly stepping up and reaching for the respective jars.          “I’m sorry,” Julian said to the wide-eyed customer before him. “Were you being served?”          “Uh, no…” Lochlan said. “I was just leaving…” They took a few steps, breezing past until Julian caught their shoulder.           “You came in here for a reason, didn’t you, kid?” He asked.           “I needed...some stuff,” they replied. “But I forgot my money.”           “Slippery mind, hmm?” Julian smirked. He stood up fully, neither of them having realized he leaned in so close and squared his shoulders, turning to the girl busying herself with scooping and weighing the herbs. “Let them get when they need,” He commanded. “On me.”           “Oh, you don’t…”          “Hush,” Julian interrupted. “What kind of doctor am I if I don’t help people?” He winked in Lochlan’s direction as Salina bowed her head, nodding when Lochlan asked for two ounces of each.           “What’s your name?” Julian asked.           “Lochlan.” They replied.           “Ah, Lochlan,” Julian grinned. “What a lovely name, a musical name. Lochlan…”           “And who are you?”           “I am Julian,” he said. “You can call me Doctor Devorak.”          “So, Coneflower petals,” Julian said. “Are you planning on using them for some kind of tea?”           “I steep them in boiling water and Prakran sugar until the whole mess bubbles, I’ve come to find that they make these little candies that help with cold symptoms. My friend and I sell them when we can.”          “Ah, so my money goes to a young upstart!” Julian laughed. “How about the mugwort.”           “It’s for my aunt. She’s feeling sick right now, and I know that tends to help her stomachaches.”                   “I’ll admit,” Julian said as he nuzzled his nose against Lochlan’s cheek. “I was impressed by your knowledge, after all...you were what, eighteen? And you already knew so much without being a doctor’s apprentice.”          “Asra always told me the little bit he knew of my parents,” Lochlan replied. “He said that I was from Zadith just like him, that I told him about my parents when we were kids.”          “Oh, really?” Julian asked.          “Yeah. According to Asra, my mother was a healer, not a doctor, but had experience; and my father had some magical abilities.”          “Amazing…” he said. “So you get your ability from your father?”           “I guess so.” Lochlan smiled as Julian peppered their face with kisses.           “My wonderful genius.” He mused.           “So what happened next?” Lochlan asked. “Did you sweep me off my feet or something?”          “I’m afraid that happened a long time later,” Julian replied. “I paid for everything, gathered my order, and left. You did ask me where I worked, but… I didn’t hear what you said fully, so I think I just laughed and walked out the door.”           “That does sound like something you’d do, love,” Lochlan replied. They chuckled, kissing away the pout that formed on Julian’s lips, before he settled on the window perch behind them, resting his head on their shoulder now as the two watched Malak fly around the roof of their home.           “When did we fall in love?” Lochlan asked. “Do you remember it?”           “The first time?” Julian asked. Lochlan nodded, and he gazed outward, staring into the sky, reddened by the setting sun.           “I remember it now.” He said. “For a long time it seemed more like a dream than a memory, but somewhere along the way, along all the adventures, it all came back to me…”          One long bony finger twirled a piece of Lochlan’s long hair as he considered it.           “It was early summer...after the plague broke out,” he said. “It had been maybe three months into the epidemic, hundreds were dead, and those who survived isolated themselves. We had been in the last lot of doctors, you were 0-65 and I was 0-69.”          “Really?” They asked. Julian nodded into the curve of their neck.          “Since we knew each other and Valdemar realized we worked well together, they paired us up, we did a lot, found a lot. We nearly perfect bloodletting,” He let out a breath that could have been construed as a laugh. “And somewhere along with all the work, we found time for each other, little touches as we read things, smiles as we fixed up each others’ uniforms, and one night you rested your head on my shoulder, falling asleep as we logged all the notes from the day, that was the part you never enjoyed.”          “How was I supposed to know that years later I’d use those notes and journals to find you again?” Lochlan smirked.           “You were so cute,” Julian replied. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you and send you to your own cot so we both slept on mine. A tight squeeze, I may add; and in the morning, you woke up on top of me,” He smiled fondly at the memory now. “And instead of being startled or angry, you just said good morning and kissed me.”          “I did?” They asked.           “Yes,” Julian replied. “I was still waking up, so it barely registered. But I know I returned the gesture, and we didn’t really stop until someone knocked on the door telling us to report to the morning meeting.”          “Oh…” Lochlan muttered.           “We ended up making a game of it,” Julian added. “If we were passing each other during the day and our hands were full, we’d brush shoulders. We’d often stand in the back during meetings and see how far we could go to make the other blush...and I seem to remember a certain someone keeping a hand on my behind for an entire thirty-minute meeting.”          Lochlan blushed, feeling the second-hand fluster years later.           “I’m sure I deserved it though,” Julian added. “Can’t for the life of me remember why, but I’m sure of it.” The way his side-long gaze landed on them made them think that he knew exactly what he’d done, but he would omit it for the sake of the story.           “I remember the second time then,” Lochlan said. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the moment.”           “When?” Julian asked. Lochlan realized now that Julian was staring at them very intently. Eyes wide open and mouth pressed firmly closed. Eager to hear their truth. When had they fallen in love with him?           “It was at the aqueducts,” They said. “I think the moment you grabbed my hand to lead me down after ripping the vampire eel off of me. Maybe it was the way your face looked, so concentrated and professional, the way your voice dropped...it was sexy. You seemed to enter a whole other realm of existence. You weren’t the fugitive, or the stranger...you were just Julian. A handsome doctor with such skilled hands. Then when I realized you had taken on the pain for me, I really had it bad. You led me to a safe haven while bleeding and injured, and kept me safe, even though you barely knew me.”          Julian opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, drawing in a deep breath while his cheeks burned a hot red.           “You’re so cute when you’re flustered, darling.” Lochlan said.           “Only you, my love…” Julian finally replied after a moment. “Only you could render me speechless like this.” Julian stood up, holding out a hand to Lochlan and they took it. Soon his lips were smashed into their. A hungry kiss that took their breath away. Hands roughly entwined into his red hair.          “I love you, Julian.” the said.           “I love you, Lochlan.”

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Fraxus Anastasia au #5

Here’s the ao3-link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144866

Summary: “Does anyone have a map?" "Nah", Freed says in a blasé manner. Maybe the bastard doesn't care about dying all that much, but Laxus would like to live a little bit longer, thank you very much. "We don't need it", he continues and Laxus scoffs. "Hey man, control your hubris." 

Chapter under the cut!

When Laxus comes to, it's not in a nice, warm and cosy room with blankets wrapped around him. Instead, it's with his face or rather his whole body half-buried in the snow. Some confused part of him thinks it's quite cosy and warm anyway. He debates closing his eyes and going to sleep, but a brutal twack to the head bars him from doing so. "What do you think you're doing?" Freed yells before lifting him on his feet.

With his brows settled in a frown, Freed brusquely dusts of Laxus' poor excuse for a coat. "Dumbass", is all he says before tugging him along to meet up with Bickslow and Evergreen. Those two greet them with varying degrees of enthusiasm. "Babes!" Bickslow yells before throwing his lanky arms around both of their shoulders. Ever opts to punch the nearest one of them (unfortunately, Laxus) and pout. "Don't do stupid shit like that again. Why did you guys wait that long? "

"We we're enjoying the scenery for a little while longer", Freed says before Laxus has to go and explain himself. "The snow, the crumbling bridge, the utter drama of it all." He bats his ridiculously long lashes at that and Evergreen moves over to give him a punch to the shoulder as well. "Of course you dragged this poor man into your ludicrous schemes", she grumbles as Freed laughs her concerns off.

Looking around, Laxus can't see anything but a white wasteland. Snow surrounds them from all sides and there are no indications of where they could possibly be. He starts to fear that they only postponed their deaths and that they would encounter a slower, more agonising one. The others haven't seem to have realised this, caught up in bickering over something or other. "Guys?" When they turn their attention to him, he waves at the white surrounding them. "How are we going to find our destination? Does anyone have a map?"

"Nah", Freed says in a blasé manner. Maybe the bastard doesn't care about dying all that much, but Laxus would like to live a little bit longer, thank you very much. "We don't need it", he continues and Laxus scoffs. "Hey man, control your hubris."

"It isn't hubris", Freed counters and squats down to write something in the snow. Very quickly Laxus realises that he isn't writing, but drawing. Soon a map appears and Laxus has to admit that the man knows his stuff. It's meticulously detailed and he raises his hands in surrender. "You win, just get us out of here please."

"I will", he promises, "and I wasn't trying to brag. You looked a bit worried and I wanted to alleviate that feeling a bit." It's surprisingly thoughtful coming from Freed. As Laxus is about to give him his reluctant gratitude, Freed slaps his arm hard and grins obnoxiously. "Also, if I were trying to brag, you'd instantly know. My dear Laxus, my hubris could move mountains."

Instead of being irritated, Laxus can't help but be amused at Freed, standing knee deep in the snow, proclaiming that he would fistfight God if given the chance. Interrupting Freed's passionate speech about his own arrogance, he throws his arm around the man and gives him a noogie. "You're nothing but a loser with a big vocabulary, ain't ya?"

"That's blasphemy!" Freed protests and Laxus rolls his eyes. "Whatever, whatever. Let's go already, it's not getting any warmer." With a confidence that's completely unfounded, Laxus turns into a direction, striding away, hoping that it'll inspire the others to finally move already. It doesn't. "Laxus darling?" Freed calls out in that tone of his that spells annoyance for Laxus. "Sweetie, you're going the wrong way. You should know that, the defective bridge is in that direction. You know, the one we were unfortunately heading to?"

"Just lead the way and shut up, please."

"Since you asked so nicely."

Surprisingly, they reach a town around the evening. Although it's not very grand, a quick look through the windows of some shops tells Laxus that the place certainly is expensive. He whistles as he sees a particularly outrageous price for a dress and Evergreen comes to stand next to him to see what the fuss is about. When she spots the price tag, she shrugs. "It's normal. This is a tourist town, famous for its fashion, quaint panorama and terrific food."

"Shame we won't be enjoying it", Laxus muses, "We don't have the money for it. Hearing those words, Bickslow turns around with a big grin. "Laxus, Laxus, Laxus", he tuts, "Money is no issue for those with fast fingers." Although Laxus certainly doesn't disagree, he does wonder what their grand scheme is. "Should you guys really be dragging a royal into the criminal life? No offense, but you guys are a little bit shady."

"A little bit?" Freed's voice sounds disbelieving. He turns to Bickslow and Evergreen. "Would you look at that, we we're doing better than I expected!" Evergreen hides her smile behind her hand in an attempt to save Laxus' dignity a little bit. "We're doing so well that he nearly promised us his first born", she giggles and Bickslow holds out his hand. Unsure of what he's supposed to do, Laxus takes. Suddenly Bickslow's face turns serious as he pulls Laxus close. "Baby, you just signed a contract by taking this hand", he says, voice uncharacteristically grave. "Seeing as you trust us that much, from now on I'll entrust something to you as well."

With his free hand, Bickslow reaches behind him, grabs an unsuspecting Freed by the collar and unceremoniously shoves him against Laxus. "Here you go, my own firstborn child." Dramatically, Freed blinks and stretches his arms out towards Bickslow. "Mommy, please don't give me to the strange man! He reeks of sweat and he looks like a mountainboar! He'll eat me for sure!" Laxus rolls his eyes. "Yep. I'll swallow you whole", he says interrupting their inpromptu theatre.

The phrase makes Freed choke on his spit, his cheeks flushing a deep red that's very visible on his pale skin. Bickslow outright guffaws and Ever lets out a little "Oh my". The exact phrasing of his own words hit him at that moment and he shoves Freed away. "You are all nasty. Mainly you", he says and points at Freed. "Nasty, nasty gremlin boy."

"I am not a gremlin boy!" Freed yells back, getting a bit heated. "Getting called nasty, I can live with, but I am no gremlin! I refuse to be adressed as such." Laxus tauntingly pats the man's head. "But you can't refuse. Here's a royal order for the two of you." Evergreen and Bickslow listen in amusement. "You are to call him nasty gremlin boy at any and all times. For all you know, it is his name now. Amen."

"Amen", they chorus and as per royal order, he-who-was-formerly-known-as-Freed is getting pestered by all three of them until he tells them that he'll leave them to sleep out in the streets if they don't knock it off. Since this implies that he-who-is-now-again-known-as-Freed can actually get them a room somewhere, they promptly shut up and bury the nickname for later use.

Once Laxus is laying on the bed in the room Freed's managed to score for him, he wonders how Freed had done it. Looking around, he can see that the room (and the whole inn) had been made for people with a lot of money and he doesn't think that any of the people he's travelling with have that. The bed he's laying on is so comfortable and soft, that it's very likely that he'll never move from there again.

"Sup buddy", Bickslow whispers as he tiptoes into the room. "We decided that I'd be your roommate for a couple of days, I hope you don't mind." Laxus shakes his head. "It's fine. Ever would probably like her privacy and if I had to room with Freed, one of us would have killed the other before dayrise. It would've been a gruesome scene."

"Not if Freed was the culprit", Bickslow winks and Laxus is too tired to think about the implications. He gives a simple thumbs-up instead. "You mind if I use the shower first?" Bickslow asks and Laxus blinks slowly. "Don't care", he mumbles before yawning. "I'm going to stay here forever."

"You do that baby", Bickslow laughs before disappearing into the bathroom. Curling up into a ball, Laxus makes himself comfortable. It's easy with the soft mattress, although it is very warm. He drifts off regardless of the heat.

When he wakes up, the heat is unbearable, but the cold he's simultaneously feeling doesn't allow him to put the blanket away. He's deeply uncomfortable, but too sleepy to think about what his next course of action should be. His thoughts are a muddled mess and unable to make sense of them, he tries to fall back asleep. Instead, he keeps toeing the line between being awake and slumbering and it doesn't make his feel any better.

The door of the bathroom opens, bringing forth a warm gust of steam that does nothing to help relieve him. "Babe, you can use the bathroom if you want", Bickslow calls out and Laxus merely grunts in response. He doesn't think he could leave the bed even if he wanted to. Hearing Bickslow approach, he painstakingly cracks open a single eye. A moment later, he feels a very warm hand on his forehead and he swats it away. "Stop that", he murmurs and Bickslow complies. The sound of his footsteps removes itself from Laxus' vicinity and he barely hears the "Be right back!" before the door opens and closes again.

By the time the door reopens, Laxus is a sweating, shivering mess. His teeth are chattering violently and he's confused whether he's cold or not. Three sets of footsteps approach his bed and Laxus wished Bickslow hadn't made a public spectacle about him being sick. He should protest, but he hasn't got the strength nor will for it. "You guys should go eat, I'll handle this", one of them softly whispers and soon, it's only the two of them in the room. At this point Laxus is too far gone to recognise them and too far gone to care about any of it. He falls back asleep.

The hours? that follow are confusing to him. Between waking and slumbering he registers someone cooling him down with wet towels, their cold hands patting his head from time to time and the sense of calmth that comes over him when they do it makes his whole body unclench. Sometimes he can feel nightmares threatening at the edges of his mind, but his caretaker waves them away with a simple hand on his forehead or sweet, nostalgic lullabies hummed under their breath.

The time he spends awake is becoming longer, Laxus notices. Now, he's able to form somewhat coherent thoughts and the first thing he does, is try to pull himself upwards. Immediately, someone's pushing him back down. "I wouldn't do that if I were you", someone advises him and after a few moments Laxus recognises him to be Freed. "How are you feeling big boy?"

He tries to answer, but no sounds escapes his mouth. Seeing this, Freed offers him a cup of water and when Laxus takes a sip, he suddenly notices how parched he is. With big gulps, he downs the whole cup while Freed watches in amusement. "You don't do things in moderation, now do you?"

"Moderation makes life boring", he rasps as soon as he's caught his breath and Freed gives him a wink at that. "Well would you look at that, seems like there are things we can agree on." Between coughs, Laxus manages to get out: "We'd probably agree on a lot more if you weren't such a bastard."

"But where would be the fun in that? We just established that neither you nor I do things in moderation. Keep up with the schedule, my dearest Laxus." Freed draws himself closer, placing a familiar cool hand on Laxus forehead and keeps it there for what can only be a short while. It feels infinitely longer though and Laxus can feel himself heating up under his studious gaze. "Your fever had broken, but now it seems to be coming back." Then he looks Laxus right in the eyes, smile devious. "Or might there be another reason for your lovely red visage?"

Determined to not let Freed have the last laugh, Laxus reaches for the sweat-ridden pillow supporting his back. With one hand he quickly draws Freed closer and simultaneously he smushes the drenched pillow right into the man's face with his other hand. Instantaneously Freed starts yelling in absolute disdain and after he's wrestled himself free it turns into laughing as the two of them grapple for a while.

It shouldn't be as tiring as it is, but he's sick and Freed picks up on his weakening arms immediately. "Looks like playtime is over for this patient. I'll call Bickslow over and leave you to him."

"You aren't gonna stay?" He hates how vulnerable his voice sounds and how obvious it must be to Freed. "Nah, you stink", Freed answers seemingly completely oblivious to Laxus' little moment of weakness. It's probably for the better. "Goodbye, I'm going to take a nap", Freed says before waltzing out of the room.

Not even five minutes later Bickslow appears and the first words that tumble out of Laxus' mouth are: "Do I smell?" He suppresses the urge to facepalm at his own words. Frowning, Bickslow asks why he thinks so. Moping like a child (he chalks it up to being sick), he explains that apparently Freed's reason for leaving is his smell. As he's explaining Bickslow's face changes from concerned to amused until he's barely able to suppress his giggling.

"Is that what he said? If he was truly bothered by the smell of a sick person, he wouldn't have been taking care of you for the past seven days. That man has a flair for the dramatic, but I think he just needs a nap. He wouldn't allow himself to properly sleep before he knew you were okay though, so he must be walking on his last legs."

Now that he says that, Freed had been looking a bit pale himself and Laxus thinks he remembers dark circles under his eyes. He does wonder though, why the man was so adamant about taking care of him, seeing as Laxus mainly seems to be a form of entertainment to him. His hands had been so careful though when nursing him back to health and his voice oh so sweet. Laxus decides to not dwell on it anymore, but he does fall asleep with the soft sound of Freed's voice in his mind.

[izzy-b-hands]

Well-Dressed

Literally all that happened here was I saw a picture of Bri with his shirt basically almost completely unbuttoned, and my brain led me to this. It’s silly and short, but it was nice to get some writing like this done since I’ve been struggling to write much of anything at present. 

And yes, this is the fic with the ending that I could not figure out that was hounding me. So I’ll admit that the way I ended this is not my ideal, but I had to end it or I was gonna yell lmao. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“How long should it take someone to put on a shirt?” 

“Context?” Freddie asked as he pulled on his own shirt. 

“How do you mean?” John asked.

“Like have they lost use of their hands, does the shirt fit them, are they even putting it on right-” 

“They’re Brian,” John interrupted, and pointed.

At the other end of the room stood Brian, fussing with his button up shirt. First buttoning more of the buttons, then unbuttoning them, then buttoning them again, only to promptly unbutton at least a few once more. 

“He’s finally lost it,” John hummed. “Tragic. And over a shirt.” 

“Stop,” Freddie hushed. “Where’s Rog?” 

John shrugged. “Maybe he’s trapped trying to figure out a pair of trousers.” 

“In a mood, are we?” 

“I have been watching him do this for the past twenty minutes,” John sighed. “And we need to be on stage soon, and-” 

“I’ve got it,” Freddie interrupted. “Worry not.” 

“I’m still going to worry.” 

“And that’s your right, but it will be for naught,” Freddie replied. “Right Brian?” 

Brian jumped, hands still on a button. “...what am I about to say yes to?” 

“Do you really need to know?” Freddie teased.

“Now I absolutely need to know,” Brian smiled. “What?” 

“John is concerned we won’t make it to the stage-” 

“I didn’t say that, I’m more worried we’ll just be late,” John interrupted. 

“Because you can’t seem to finish getting your shirt on and as far as we know, Roger has disappeared, held hostage by his trousers,” Freddie continued. 

“I mean I don’t know about Rog,” Brian said. “Where is he?” 

“Not sure, but presumably he’s somewhere at the very least,” Freddie answered. “But we’re talking about you. The buttons, what’s the issue?” 

“Ah,” Brian sighed, and looked down to his shirt as if he was somehow just seeing the buttons for the first time. “It’s silly.” 

“Sort of figured that,” John muttered.

“John!” Freddie hissed.

“Just because I’m taking some care into what I look like onstage, unlike some of us-” Brian started.

“Brian!” Freddie sighed in exasperation. “Enough, both of you! I don’t know what this is, but put it away until after the show.” 

“Then we can yell at each other to our heart’s content?” John asked with a smirk.

“No, then you can sit down and rest and not take out your bad moods on each other,” Freddie said. “And I might finally be at peace.” 

“That’s a bit dramatic,” Brian scoffed, then immediately looked down as Freddie sent him a withering glare. 

“What can we do to help you with this?” Freddie sighed, running a finger up by the buttons of Brian’s shirt. 

“We?” John laughed. “How did I get roped into this?” 

“You’re the one who brought it to my attention!” Freddie said. “Why wouldn’t you be included in the rest of this?” 

John shrugged. “Thought I might go find Roger, actually.” 

Freddie pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. “You know what? You go do that. Go rescue him from his trousers.” 

John trotted off, and Brian tried and failed to bite back a laugh. 

“Just like having kids, isn’t it?” 

“Honestly?” Freddie asked. “If you ever wonder why I won’t have children, it’s because I have all of you, and that is plenty. Any more and I’m liable to lose my mind completely. I mean, I’m used to herding cats, but you lot, some days...” 

“Extra cat-like cats?” 

Freddie nodded, and examined the buttons on Brian’s shirt. “They look fine, so what is it?” 

“I don’t know how many of them is too much, you know?” Brian fussed with the button in his hand. “If it’s too open, or too closed, or-” 

“Just wear it how you’re comfortable,” Freddie interrupted with a scoff. “You’re overthinking it, darling.” 

“I mean...some of the fans like it, you know...and not that I’m doing it just for them,” Brian said.

“But the confidence boost is nice when the girls all shout over seeing your chest,” Freddie grinned. “Still, just wear it how you like. They’ll shout for you regardless.” 

Brian nodded, but his hand still twitched at the buttons. 

“Oh, goodness,” Freddie sighed. “Let me try something, hm?” 

“Fashion advice?” 

“Sure,” Freddie said, and started to unbutton the rest of the buttons on Brian’s shirt. “There. Fixed it!” 

Brian stared down at the strip of his bare skin. “But...” 

“Just try it,” Freddie said. “It solves the issue of you forever doing and undoing your buttons, and you might like it. Or not, and then you’ll be able to better figure out the buttons issue because you’ll have a starting point on how you don’t want it.” 

Brian nodded his head. “I was overthinking it.”

“By a lot,” Freddie replied. “But no harm done, it happens. I’m just glad we’ve got you out of that loop of messing about with them. We’ve got five minutes to stage to spare even.” 

They headed for the door, only to nearly be pushed over by John. 

“You found Roger?” Freddie asked. 

“Stuck in his trousers,” John replied briskly as he shuffled through their bags, until he found a scissors. 

Brian and Freddie exchanged a look. 

“What?” Brian asked with an unbelieving chuckle. 

“He’s stuck in them,” John said matter-of-factly, and strode past them quickly with the scissors. 

“...we should go help,” Freddie murmured, his eyes following the glint of light off the scissors as John walked away. 

“It might be fine,” Brian said, only to wince as they heard a yelp from Roger. “Or they’ll manage to slice up his legs. You’re right, we should go...” 

The five minutes they were late seemed to be no mind to the crowd, who expressed no particular notice of it. There was talk of Brian’s ‘flashy’ (for him) wearing or rather not-exactly-wearing of his shirt, and a mention that Roger seemed to be wearing surprisingly loose trousers that didn’t appear to be his, by the length (and belonged in fact to another member of the road crew, though no one but them knew that.) 

“Overall, could have been so much worse,” Freddie said as they changed backstage. 

“I still can’t feel my legs,” Roger grimaced. 

“But you felt them well enough to play wonderfully, and you’ll not wear those trousers again, so still, not as bad as it could have been,” Freddie replied. 

“They’re in shreds, how would I wear them again?” Roger scoffed. “Though maybe you want them, Bri? Make it an ensemble, chest out, underwear showing with just these shreds fluttering round your legs?” 

“You’re hilarious, Rog,” Brian said, and shook his head. 

“I absolutely am, thank you,” Roger grinned. “Ah, one last thing.” 

He slowly made his way to John, and handed over a few bills. “Would have been another if we’d hit the ten minute mark, though I’m glad we didn’t.” 

Freddie watched the exchange and scoffed. “Did you two bet on how late we would be to the stage tonight?” 

“Being late is the worst,” Roger said defensively. “This was just a way to make it a bit better, a bit of fun. And it’s my money, and look who I have to give it to!” 

John grinned a la the Cheshire Cat, and shrugged. “I had a good feeling. And it made me money. No harm in making some good out of the bad.” 

 “Is the good going to buy as a round once we get to the bar?” Freddie asked, and gestured to the money in John’s hand. 

“What else would I use it for?” John scoffed, as if it were the most ridiculous thing he had heard. 

“I’m out a pair of trousers,” Roger, mused. 

“Drunken trouser shopping?” John asked, only to laugh as Roger pulled him out of the room with a happy shout. 

“We’re going to get kicked out of a shop, is what we’re actually doing, right?” Brian chuckled. 

“Absolutely,” Freddie replied, taking Brian by the arm as they followed John and Roger out. “But we’ll see that we at least get the shopping done before we get thrown out.” 

An uncounted number of drinks, one pair of new trousers, and three less-than-pleased shop owners, they had done just that. 

[anniebibananie]

au where jaime is a photographer who wants brienne to model for him

tbh this got sort of wild. thank you for sending this in who KNEW this idea was sitting inside me. 

__

There are, frankly, quite a few things Brienne finds offensive about Jaime Lannister. The list has been forming the last three days as he stalls her construction site for a photo shoot she wasn’t given an ounce of say in. The list itself has grown long and comprehensive.

One of the first reasons seems to be that the photo shoot concept doesn’t even make sense as far as she’s concerned. They’re all dressed in practically Cinderella-esque ball gowns and regal suits as they… mess up her construction site. It’s truthfully infuriating.

She just wants to get the building built, as she always does, and move onto the next project. Jaime Lannister is making that difficult as his demands grow larger (No, I know the crane is for professional use only, but I only want to borrow it for a minute), his photo shoot length keeps expanding, and the final thing. The real kicker.

“Tarth!” he calls as she walks by, plans under her arm as she’s trying to tell Podrick how he’s meant to divvy up the foundation tasks for the day. “You have to let me photograph you.”

Brienne thinks maybe for someone else this whole thing would be flattering, but she knows who she is, okay? She’s good at her job, hell she’s great at her job. Pretty much she’s been on a construction site her entire life, and by the time she’d hit 13 her father figured if she was gonna be around she might as well help. She knows the ins and outs, and she takes pride in her work. 

She’s smart, funny if you appreciate a dry sort of candor that can be hard to understand, a good friend and loyal as all hell, but she isn’t pretty. She isn’t someone you ask to take a photo of for your weird, nonsensical photo shoot. 

All she wants to do is tell him to fuck off, please and move right on, but she thinks Catelyn might have a problem with that. Brienne loves the matriarch of Stark Construction, Inc. so she doesn’t exactly want to upset her. Even if it means dealing with this highly inconvenient situation. 

“No, thank you!” she calls back, a fake cheer evident in her voice. Another thing she’s not that good at? Covering up her feelings. She’s pretty much a completely open book, unfortunately. “Hurry up and get off my construction site.” 

So, maybe she hasn’t really mastered any sense of being nice in dealing with this ridiculous joke of an experiment. Brienne doesn’t care if having a famous photographer use their construction company as a backdrop will get them more press. She’s not entirely convinced it’s actually going to help them land more big name clients. 

“You will not elude me, Tarth.” He smiles at her in that wicked way that is definitely on her list of things she finds offensive about Jaime. It’s like he smiles as if he knows it wins people over, as if he thinks it’s some sort of magic spell to getting what he wants. 

Maybe it works on other people, she isn’t sure, but she knows it doesn’t work on her. 

__

When Brienne walks into her construction site the fourth day to see Jaime Lannister sitting in the chair behind her makeshift desk, she’s pretty sure she’s never been closer to murder than this moment. 

“You were supposed to be gone,” she says, dropping her bag on the desk anyways.

If his legs, which are up on her desk may she add, just so happen to get hit with her work boots than that’s not her fault.

“You were supposed to model for me,” he replies. His eyes take their time looking over her, which she doesn’t understand because she’s in muddied jeans and a flannel, hair still wet from her morning shower.

“I get the joke, Jaime, but it’s gone on a bit long, don’t you think?” she falls into the only open chair besides her own because it’s way too early in the morning to be dealing with this without a cup of coffee, and she’s tired. 

“You do know my first name.” He perks up at that, face looking genuinely happy in a way that isn’t manufactured. “I don’t get why you think there’s any joke about it. I’m a deadly serious man.”

“Yeah, I get that impression of you.” She rolls her eyes as her fingers twiddle in her lap. Really, she’s not sure why his presence is setting her on edge, but she can’t help but feel a little put off. “I’ve seen your models. I’m not a model.”

“Why?” he asks, and the only thing she finds tied to the word is curiosity.

“Lannister…” she trails over the word, elongating it so it’s apparent she switched back to his last name. Making clear she’s saying what’s to come next with complete factual honesty. “I’m not beautiful.”

He scoffs. “Since when has art had anything to do with being beautiful. Here’s the deal,” he says, leaning forward and capturing her eyes with his own.

Really, captured. She feels like she can’t look away. It’s intense and sort of terrifying. In this moment, she sort of does feel like art the way he’s looking at her. 

“You take a single photograph for me, and I’ll disappear off your construction site today.”

“Deal.” She reaches across, not caring that her hands are forever scattered with dirt underneath the fingernails or aren’t painted and pretty compared to his clearly manicured ones. “To get you out of my life, I’d do just about anything.”

“Oh.” He smirks. “Who said anything about out of your life, Tarth. I just said off the construction site. I never make promises I can’t keep.” 

She grits her teeth, hands clasped at her side, and keeps the frustration inside. She hates being teased, hates being treated like this by men like Jaime Lannister. He thinks he’s playing some new sort of joke she hasn’t heard before?

He’ll leave, she reminds herself. It calms her at least a little. “Let’s get this over with.”

__

He puts her in a ruffled skirt and a sleeveless flannel tucked into it, which seems not only ugly but also incredibly impractical. He allows her to stay in her work boots, which are worn and dirty and not at all classified as anything but practical.

Luckily, he agrees to let them do it somewhere her employees can’t see them (she’s pretty sure she’d never hear the end of it). Which leaves them in a back, unfinished room with minimal lighting. Jaime swears he can make it work (I can make anything work, darling). 

She feels big and awkward. Usually, on the site, she feels like she was made for it all. It’s sort of her comfortable place, really.

His eyes, even behind a camera lens, make her feel bare.

“Just… take the picture already, won’t you?” She knows she sounds sort of frantic, which isn’t exactly a look she’s comfortable with in front of him, but she hates this.

“I only get one. I’m not going to waste it,” he replies, not bothering to pull away from the camera. With a huff, he pulls it back and looks over her. “Here. Sit.”

He pulls a flipped over bin near her and taps it, watching her with a raised brow until she follows the instruction and finally sits. It’s smaller than a normal chair, and she feels as if her legs are too long for the whole space. They stretch forward, the pale skin of her calves peaking out below the skirt.

“Can I adjust you, just a little?” he asks.

She nods.

His hands are gentle as he moves her, completely in his element. He adjusts one leg to rest up on a pile of wood, a hand to hold onto the bin behind her. He’s stretching her out, in a way, giving her the space to exist in the way she’s meant to.

“How’d you end up here?” he asks as he adjusts something on the camera.

She shrugs. “My dad used to be the site manager, and with no one to look after me when he was here I was just… always here, too. Got used to it, sort of like my family.”

Living construction site to construction site had certainly never done anything good for her reputation, and maybe if she had sought out popularity she would have separated herself from it more. But on the flip side she had always had a place to go where she was known, where she was given permission to be herself.

How many people had that? A place they knew their body and personality and strengths could be accepted, and so in turn she had just been left feeling bad for everyone else. Popularity be damned.

It doesn’t mean, though, that she isn’t still susceptible to the cruelty of others. She’s known Jaime Lannisters her whole life

Click. 

She looks up, eyes wide and lips open in a small ‘o’. “You took it?”

He’s looking at the shot he captured, and his face is open and happy. There’s not a trace of humor there, and she stands up to go over and see.

There isn’t much light in the room, but the way Jaime had positioned her it seems almost as if it’s all on her. Her body is long and stretched, creating an arched line, and it’s like her body is somehow pulling the light in. Her face, caught in the moments after her admission, looks oddly peaceful.

“See,” he says, turning his stupid golden boy face toward her. “Art.”

She doesn’t know how to argue with that, so she doesn’t.

__

“Tarth!”

“I thought you were leaving,” she calls back. She’s three floors up, but there isn’t actually any wall up yet between the foundation beams so she can see him on the ground from here.

She moves toward the edge and stares him down.

“I am, see.” He points toward his car, which is shiny and new and somehow had managed to sit in this lot for three days without a single drop of dirt on it. “I want another shot.”

“I gave you one. One was the deal.”

He tilts his head to the side, and she can see his smirk form in its familiar place.

“Another shot with you. I’ve never had a muse before, it’s exhilarating.” He has a hand on his chest dramatically, somehow making his eyes sparkle, and Brienne hates him. She really truly, does. 

Except she sort of doesn’t.

“This is just embarrassing. Stop yelling across my construction site, Jaime.” She scratches at the side of her face, doing her best to ignore the fact that she can hear Podrick and Gendry gossiping behind her. “Come back tomorrow, at the end of the day, and we’ll see what happens.” 

“It’s a date,” he yells, already walking away as if he knows the chance might be fleeting.

“It is not a date!” 

“A date,” he cheers, blowing the whole site a dramatic kiss as a few of them catcall and yell in excitement.

Brienne can’t help laughing so she lets herself. Even if she knows later this is going to be hell, or Jaime Lannister really is one of the most infuriating people she’s ever met.

It just so also happens… she might sort of like him. Hopefully, the two can cancel out.

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 34

Yoongi finds your phone– and so does someone else...

Pairing: Yoongi x (female) Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Genre: fluff, angst

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<–– Prev   Next ––>

You force a laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t lie to me, y/n,” Yoongi says softly, his voice a knife in your back. “These– Jesus.” He exhales sharply as your phone buzzes again, again, again. You would’ve turned your notifications off months ago, but you need Twitter for your jobs. “How long has it been like this?”

@satanhasaholdoffrance: hey @yourname make like a tree and die

@queenynuwu: I hope y/n knows we love her!! <3 @yourname

@gummyyoongi: has anyone found @yourname‘s address yet?

“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply stubbornly. You don’t want your weight on Yoongi’s shoulders, not when you know he’ll blame himself.

“Bullshit. You said this wasn’t happening! You told me that my fans weren’t coming after you.”

“And you never checked,” you reply, your throat tight. “You know what I am. I’m a liar. And you trusted me– that’s your mistake.”

Yoongi flinches. “I know you don’t mean that.”

You begin trembling, your hands and arms and shoulders tensing against your will. “You shouldn’t trust me, Yoongi.” I’ve kept too many secrets from you.

“Well, I do trust you. I know you too well, y/n, and you don’t mean that. But this?” He taps your phone. “This is messed up.”

You take a step back, shrinking into yourself. “I-I’m sorry.”

“What? No. Why are you apologizing?” Yoongi gets up and walks towards you, his eyes intense. “My fans– the stuff they’re saying– that’s what’s messed up. And y/n, I’m so, so sorry this happened. You don’t deserve it.”

“I, uh...” you mumble, confused. Why isn’t he angry at you? You lied to him, again and again and again. “Sorry...”

Yoongi sighs, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “What are you even apologizing for?”

“I don’t know!” You cry. “I thought you’d be mad at me!”

“I’m not mad at you, y/n-ie.” Yoongi raises his arm and brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face. “I’m just worried. The comments you’re getting, the haters... they’re too much for anyone.”

Your mind drifts to the nightmares, the thoughts that your hate comments have inspired within you.

Yoongi’s gaze darkens, but he’s not looking at you– he’s staring far off, at something beyond. “I’ve seen idols, trainees– friends– that internalized those things, and they didn’t see an escape... no one is equipped to deal with this shit alone, no one.” Yoongi swallows, and his voice wavers. “So don’t try, y/n. You’re not alone, and I can’t lose you.”

You blink hard before drawing back and punching Yoongi in the arm.

“Ow!” Yoongi yelps, rubbing his arm. “What the hell?”

“That’s for being dramatic,” you say, using all your willpower to keep your voice light. “And this–” you poke him in the ribs– “is for being selfish. I don’t wanna lose me either, nerd. It’s not all about you.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Yoongi laughs. “My bad, I almost forgot that you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

“Just don’t let it happen again,” you sniff haughtily.

“I won’t, promise. Hey, do you need a lift to your next job?”

“Nah, I’ll take the bus. I’m not famous like you,” you reply. Besides, you want to be alone with your thoughts.

“Suit yourself. I have to go to the studio anyways.”

“Another BTS comeback already?” You muse, and Yoongi winks.

“Nope.”

~~~

Once Yoongi leaves, you wriggle into another sweater and shrug your coat on over it. You can’t help but feel chilly lately, and you can’t afford to get a cold.

You leave your apartment building and quickly walk towards the bus stop. Your afternoon will be spent on a photoshoot for a new makeup line, and Lisa said you’d be able to keep some of the merchandise.

You adjust your face mask and pop in your earphones, your mind a whirling dervish of thoughts. You imagined Yoongi would be furious– after all, you’d promised no more secrets. You couldn’t help but keep your Twitter mess to yourself, because you didn’t want your friend to stress about it.

Friend... the word seems strange to you, almost wrong.

Well, we’re ‘dating’ now, you think, so I guess he’s my fake-boyfriend instead.

It’s weird; for years you were completely in love with Yoongi, besotted with his face and voice and laugh and lyrics. His shy, goofy nature. His irresistible charm. You remember when you and Lisa would scream together at every new music video, each concept photo, any hint or clue or theory. It seems so long ago now.

Speaking of Lisa... your phone begins buzzing with a call from your manager/friend.

“Y/n, darling, how are you doing? How’s the leg?”

“All healed up now,” you reply, flexing and unflexing your left leg. You lost a lot of blood, but your injury missed all the arteries and important stuff.

“Great. Hey, I lined up a job, it’s yours for the taking if you’re interested. They need an extra in a cologne commercial, it should only be a two-day shoot and we can plan around Moon Over The Sea. What do you think?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you murmur absentmindedly. “How much does it pay?”

“Pretty well, your cut would be only a little less than you’re making on the makeup shoot today.”

“Alright, sign me up.”

“Great. And... how’s it going with Yoongi?”

You jolt. “What?”

“C’mon, y/n, you can’t expect me not to ask. You’re dating your idol!”

“I-I’m not, really...”

“Oh, shush. It’s official, isn’t it? BigHit confirmed it last week. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were together!”

You grit your teeth– you have to tell her the truth. “Lisa, seriously, it’s not real.”

“I know, I bet it totally feels like a fairy tale, huh? I’m so jealous.” Lisa’s voice gets quieter, pouty. “We have to hang out soon, it’s been ages since we’ve had a proper gossip sesh!”

“But...”

“No buts! I’m ordering you as your manager to hang out with your best friend... who is also your manager... who is also me.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Yes ma’am, just pencil me in.”

“Will do! See you soon.”

“See ya.

Humming to yourself, you continue your bus ride, arriving at the studio a few minutes early. A fashionable young man strides up to you bearing shorts and a shirt.

“Ah, you’re here. L/n y/n, right? Perfect, perfect, put these on and we’ll get you straight into hair and makeup.”

“Uhh...” you examine the outfit he gave you. “Are you sure this is for me?”

“Of course I am, what are you talking about?”

“It’s black, these shorts are made of leather, and...” you trail off, gulping. “It’s all very tight.” That’s right, clothes like these will only hug the curves you don’t have. You’re not a sex icon like some of the female idols you’ve seen Yoongi with on TV. You know as someone in the entertainment industry, you’re supposed to be fashionable– but you’re too much a fan of oversized sweaters and soft pants to let them go. “I don’t know if this outfit suits me.”

“Nonsense, you’re beautiful– you just need the confidence! Besides, you’re gonna have to get used to this type of stuff if you want to get anywhere in your career,” the man chuckles. “Changing room is over there. When you’re ready, head to hair and makeup.”

“R-right,” you mumble, taking the clothes. They look so cold, you shiver just thinking about putting them on.

Ten minutes later, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Staring back at you seems to be a child, a little girl who doesn’t belong, who can barely fill out the tight crop top or shorts. And you’re supposed to be dating Yoongi? You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. Yoongi deserves better, someone prettier, smarter, who looks like they belong at his side. In your mind’s eye, you can see Yoongi next to you in the mirror– black-haired, a brow raised, his mouth quirking upwards in a lazy smirk. He looks like a prince, a god, and you look like you’re playing dress-up next to him. No wonder so many people are upset; you’re doing Yoongi no favors by being with him.

You sigh and shake your head. You’re cold, so cold, and you hate it. You turn away from the mirror to get your hair and makeup done.

“Okay, can you give me a little lip bite? Something cheeky? Oh, perfect! Yes, hold like that!” The camera flashes while you sit frozen in place. “Cross your legs now, hold the lipstick closer to your face... can you give me bedroom eyes?”

Face flushed, you lower your lashes and pout your lips like you’ve seen real models do, and the camera flashes again and again. The lipstick you’ve got on is a brighter red than you’ve ever dared to wear, and combined with the outfit and your bold eyeliner, you look a little edgy.

“Great, y/n, you’re doing wonderfully. We need one more photo for the spread...” the photographer looks around the photo studio, which is a rather minimalist set. “Can someone get me that chair? Y/n, sit on it backwards and try for a smirk– like an ‘I’m-better-than-you’ face.”

But I’m not. Still you try, channeling your inner Seokjin as you fix the camera with your best downward stare, and then half smiling as though you’ve got a secret– which you do, too many to count. Half a dozen shots later, you’re dismissed with the promise that the money will be wired to your account by Friday.

The next morning, you wake up to the familiar buzzing of your notifications, again and again and again. You haven’t overslept, have you? No, your clock informs you that it’s not even six AM. You groan and flip your phone over to read your new mentions.

@beautyoftheseoul: Check out our new line of matte lipsticks, modeled by #MoonOverTheSea’s @yourname!

@chimyoongles: Omg @2460sunshine did you see that @yourname liked a yoongi thirst tweet? Lmaooo I’m dying she’s rly all of us

@scarletwitchisjunghoseok: I think I love @yourname now that she’s exposed herself as an army lololol

@captainkookie21: why are ppl stanning @yourname for her fuckup lol it just goes to show what a liar and a slut she is.

You blink sleepily. You liked a tweet about Yoongi? You’ve been careful about doing that ever since you became a public figure, in case Yoongi noticed. You tap through your likes and gasp:

@slutfordionysus: rt if you want Suga to crush you between his thighs, like if you want him to use his tongue technology on you ;)

Oh, fuck. You never liked that. You’ve never even seen that tweet. Which means... you’ve been hacked?

[oh-ranpo]

more than a pretty face. (4)

Pairing: Ben Hardy x OC AN: This one’s a long one!   Warnings: Suggestive material and drinking.

The best part of being friends with actors was the fact that Charlie had the ability to utilize their resources when it came to getting ready. Lucy had invited her over to her room so her make-up and hair stylist could help her get ready, and they took time alternating between the two. It took a while to get Charlie’s long, brown hair up into a stylish bun, but once it was finished, it looked perfect.

“Wow, Charlie. You look fantastic.”  

Charlie looked up as Rami entered the room, already wearing his suit pants and button up shirt. Lucy, who was sitting in front of their shared bed, huffed dramatically and Rami turned to smile at her.

“Of course, you look fabulous as well, darling.” He walked over to place a kiss against the top of her head, and Lucy beamed up at him.  

Charlie couldn’t help but walk over to the mirror and examine herself in the reflection. Her make-up had been done first, so now that her hair was done, she was completely ready. She had insisted on putting the dress on before they started on her hair because she didn’t want to run the chance of messing it up. Her brown eyes were enhanced by black and gold winged eyeliner that really made them pop. She did look good. Most importantly, she felt good too.

“Oh shit,” Charlie mumbled as she glanced around the room. “I think I forgot my shoes. I’m going to run back to the room and grab them. I’ll meet you guys downstairs.”

“See you soon!” Lucy called after her, and Rami gave her a parting smile as he continued attempting to fix his tie. Charlie cursed herself for forgetting something so vitally important to her outfit, but luckily the walk from Rami’s room to hers was very short. She hadn’t expected anyone to be in the room when she got there, but as soon as she pushed the door open, she heard voices.

The conversation stopped when she entered the room, but it wasn’t due to the fact that they were talking about her. Joe, Ben, and Gwilym had all turned to face her, their mouths all hanging open slightly. Charlie felt her face flush at the sudden attention, and gave them all a hesitant side-eye glance as she moved through the room to grab her shoes.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Joe asked teasingly, as he moved from his spot next to the bed. Charlie turned her head so that she could give him a proper glare before taking a seat at the desk to slip on her heels.

“Shut up, Joseph.”

Joe was now standing right in front of her, and his brown eyes were wide. Even though they had been friends for a long time, neither him nor Rami had ever really seen Charlie dressed up. Charlie continued slipping on her shoes, and once she was finished, she looked back up at her friend.

“You look amazing,” he smiled, as he took her hand and helped her to her feet.

“You really do,” Gwilym piped in, dragging Charlie’s attention from Joe to the other two men in the room. Charlie smiled at the tall man, and her eyes drifted to Ben standing next to him. There was a mystified look on his face, but as soon as their eyes locked, his mouth clamped shut and all emotion drained from his face. A tightness filled Charlie’s chest as she looked away.

“Thank you, guys. Rami and Lucy are about ready, so we can head down any time.”

Joe still had his hand wrapped around one of Charlie’s as she grabbed her phone and clutch off the bed and he led her down the hall. Gwilym and Ben were following close behind, but far back enough that they couldn’t hear their conversation.

“Did you see the look on Ben’s face? What did I tell you?” Joe was grinning, and Charlie looked down at the floor as they walked towards the elevator.  

“I did. He still looked pretty annoyed to me.”  

Ultimately, Charlie didn’t care of Ben approved of how she looked. However, she couldn’t ignore how nice he looked in his simple black suit. It was similar to the one Joe was wearing, but unlike Joe, he opted to keep the jacket unbuttoned.  

“I think you missed the look he had when you entered the room. His jaw dropped so fast.”

Charlie just shook her head as she smiled up at her friend. The other two had come up behind them just as the elevator dinged, signaling its arrival. All four of them climbed inside, and Gwilym reached forward to hit the button for the lobby.

“So, I guess we will all be sharing a car since Rami and Lucy will be going with Brian and Roger,” Gwilym mused, filling the silence that had fallen over them. Ben and Joe nodded in agreement, and Charlie brushed the stray hairs that had already fallen down out of her face. Her heart sped up a bit at the reminder that not only was she attending a major event tonight, she was also going to be meeting two members of the legendary, Queen.

There was a car waiting to pick up Rami and Lucy, and a car waiting for the other four when they made it down to the lobby. As soon as the small group stepped out of the elevator, the elevator next to their popped open and Rami and Lucy stepped out. They all walked to the door together before getting in their separate cars.

“Good luck, Rami! Not that you need it,” Charlie called after her friend, and Rami turned to give her a nervous smile. Once him and Lucy climbed into their own car, Charlie followed Joe into theirs. Joe and Ben climbed into the very back, while Charlie and Gwilym got the two bucket seats in the middle.

Charlie could feel her nerves flare again as the car started moving. This was it. There was no going back now. She could hear the other three making conversation for most of the ride, but she continued staring at the window, lost in her own thoughts. While they were not going to have to be walking the red-carpet for this awards show, there were still going to be plenty of people- so many people staring and judging. Charlie squirmed at the thought.

“Are you ready?” Gwilym asked a short while later as the car came to a stop. Charlie was brought back from the deep thoughts that she was having, and turned to meet his smiling face.

“Let’s do this. I’m ready for a drink.”  

Gwilym laughed at her enthusiasm and he pushed his door open. Charlotte’s side of the car was facing the opposite way of the building, so both Joe and Ben waited patiently for her to climb across and exit the vehicle. Charlie glanced up at the façade of the beautiful building, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She told herself that she was just feeling anxious for the boys and their nomination, but deep down she knew that wasn’t true.

The room they entered was quite extravagant, and way nicer than Charlie had imagined. There were several other people milling about the room, drinks already in their hand, and Charlie quickly located the bar.  

“Do you guys want anything?” Charlie asked, turning towards the rest of the group. They all nodded, but Joe offered to join her to help carry the drinks while Ben and Gwilym went to find where they would be sitting. It was beginning to feel more like she had come here with Joe as opposed to Ben, but she liked it better that way. If she could continue the night with Joe by her side, she knew that she could handle it.

“This place is nice. Are all viewing parties like this?” Charlie asked, taking the time to gaze around the room while they waited for the bartender to fill their orders.

“Usually. I can’t believe it’s taken this many years to get you to come,” Joe replied, leaning against the bar and giving Charlie a knowing look. She hadn’t really thought about attending one of these before Bohemian Rhapsody had come around. Maybe it was the fact that both Joe and Rami were involved. She wasn’t sure.

“You know it’s never really been my thing,” she replied casually. Her eyes briefly met Joe’s and he was giving her another look that she couldn’t quite read.

“Well, I hope that you have a lot of fun tonight so that you might consider attending another one with us.”

“As long as you don’t make me come as Ben’s date, I’m in.”

Before Joe could reply, the bartender slid four glasses across the counter, and the two of them made their way back to where Gwilym and Ben were waiting. Lucy had also joined them, but she already had a champagne flute that a waiter had brought to her.

Joe took the seat next to Lucy, and Charlie took the empty seat on the other side of Gwilym. There had been a small space between Joe and Ben, but she decided that it would be best to avoid it. Charlie handed Gwilym his drink and he gave her an appreciative nod.

“This is so exciting,” Charlie tittered as her feet tapped anxiously against the floor. The show was set to start anytime now, and they could all feel the electricity in the air.

“Isn’t it?” Gwilym agreed, a wide smile breaking out across his face.  

Charlie couldn’t even imagine the amount of tension the rest of the group was feeling. She was the only one there that wasn’t involved in the movie in some way, but in some ways, she felt like she was. She was so invested in the feelings and success of the people around her, she couldn’t even imagine a scenario where they could lose. The movie was such a masterpiece- one that she had only seen six times so far- and even though the critics had not been favorable towards it, it had received remarkable feedback from audiences everywhere. They really did deserve to win.

A relative hush fell over the large crowd when the monitors changed from the Golden Globe logo to black, and they could hear the announcement that the show was about to begin. Charlie lifted her drink to scull back some of the alcohol to take the edge off how she was feeling. She knew that the boys’ category wasn’t going to be announced until the very end, so she planned on getting as drunk as possible so the anxiety she was feeling would go away.

She smiled over at Joe, and he smiled brightly back.  

“You guys are going to win. I know it,” Charlie said confidently, and Lucy raised her hands showing that her fingers were crossed. Either way, Charlie knew that they were all winners. She didn’t need someone else to tell her otherwise.

x.x.x

It all felt so surreal. Everyone around her was screaming and celebrating, but she still hadn’t let the words sink in. They had won. They all won. Rami had won best male lead, immediately followed by Bohemian Rhapsody winning best picture. She knew that they should have won, but it was completely different now that they actually had.  

Shots were being poured all around her, and she kept getting pulled in for hugs, even though she couldn’t always tell who it was. There was a permanent smile etched on everyone’s face, including her own. It was amazing. It was thrilling. It was a feeling that Charlie had never experienced before.

The second that Rami entered the room, the entire group was on top of him. Lucy saw him first, quickly followed by Charlie. He was wearing the biggest smile any of them had ever seen, and they could see tears in his eyes. As they all hugged him, each sharing their congratulatory comments, Charlie pulled away to see the two other men that she had been highly anticipating that evening; Brian May and Roger Taylor.

To say she was taken aback was an understatement. She had been a die-hard fan of Queen for a long time now, and seeing two of the legends themselves in person was shocking, to say the least. Her eyes locked with Brian first and he gave her a small smile.

“You must be Charlie,” hearing her name fall from his lips only caused more shock. Hesitantly, she stepped forward to shake his hand. “Rami and Joe have told us so much about you.”

Charlie’s eyes flickered to Joe and Rami who were talking to each other a few feet away. She smiled fondly, and turned her attention back to the men in front of her.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said pleasantly, turning so that she could now shake Roger’s hand as well. Even though he was old enough to be her grandfather, she couldn’t help but internally gush over how handsome he was. You’re shaking Roger Taylor’s hand, she thought. The Roger Taylor. His blue eyes sparkled as his eyes met hers, and she felt herself melt.

She spent the next few minutes talking with Roger and Brian until Joe appeared next to her, a shot glass in his hand.  

“I hope you don’t mind if I steal her away. We’re about to do a toast, and I didn’t want her to miss out,” Joe smiled, as she gave him a playful glare when he handed her the shot glass. She was already on your fifth drink, and had been feeling it for quite a while. She was sure the alcohol was the only reason she had the nerve to talk to Brian and Roger in the first place.

“Of course, it was nice meeting you, Charlie.”

She smiled at Brian’s words and gave him and Roger a small wave as she followed Joe back over to the group. She could tell by the way that Joe was walking that he was also feeling the effects of the drinks he had consumed. Everyone in the group looked fairly intoxicated, but also unbelievably happy.  

After the toast, the group dispersed, and Charlie made her way towards the restroom. When she came back, she saw that all her friends were scattered around the room, talking to other awards winners and guests. She smiled to herself, slowly making her way back over to the couch where they had been sitting for the ceremony. The last shot had hit her almost immediately, and she knew that she was going to have to take a break if she was going to make it through the rest of the night.

When she made it back to the lounge area, she was surprised to see Ben sitting alone. He had a whiskey glass in one hand, and he looked as if he was lost deep in thought. Charlie’s hazy mind pushed past her originally distaste for the man, and walked over to sit next to him.

“Why do you look so lonely?” she asked, her voice slurring harshly around the words. Ben looked up, seemingly startled at her company.

“I’m not lonely,” he huffed back, his own voice coming out a little more muddled than usual. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, mingling or something?”

Charlie’s brow furrowed as she processed his question.

“I should ask you the same thing. Your movie is the one that just won an award.”

Ben stared down at her for a minute, but then abruptly looked away. He lifted his glass to his lips, and Charlie sighed when he didn’t reply.

“I guess it’s fate that we find each other here anyway, huh? Being dates and all.”

Charlie turned her gaze from the blond man, so she didn’t see him give her a sidelong glance. She leaned against the back of the couch, the slit in her dress opening slightly as she crossed her legs over one another.

“You know coming as my date was just a formality. However, being your date here tonight has been a similar experience to any time I would bring Sophia.”

Charlie’s eyes swiveled back to Ben when he spoke, and she could see the irritation etched on his face. This was the first time she had even heard him mention her name since the night of the party.  

“What is that supposed to mean?” Charlie asked, feeling slightly offended by being compared to such a dreadful woman. Ben’s eyes met hers for a moment and he shrugged. Charlie groaned when he didn’t reply once again, and she scooted closer to him.  

“Listen here, Ben Hardy, I am nothing like that pathetic excuse of a human being, okay? I know you’re a little too full of yourself to notice, but I am a damn catch!”

She was angry as she poked her finger into his chest to emphasize her point. A flash of annoyance crossed Ben’s face as his eyes stayed locked on hers. He didn’t like being called arrogant. The heat and tension between them as they stared each other down only grew until Ben took the initiative and made the first move.  

Charlie was startled when Ben lunged forward and closed the distance between the two of them. His plump, pink lips attached to hers, and an involuntary moan came from her as she kissed him back. Ben’s hand that wasn’t holding his drink reached over to grip the exposed part of Charlie’s leg, sending a shiver through her body. After a few seconds, Charlie was the first to pull back, but only far enough so that her lips still brushed against his whenever she spoke.

“What was that?” she asked, her breathing ragged from the intense moment they had just shared.

“It’s nothing. Don’t ruin it with thinking,” Ben replied before crashing his lips against hers once again. The feeling that passed between them was a mixture of anger and lust. Charlie couldn’t control herself as she stood up from the couch, and pulled Ben out of the room.  

Once they were in the hallway and away from prying eyes, Ben pushed her against the doorway, his mouth attaching to her neck as his hand slid through the opening in her dress once again. The electricity that Charlie felt as Ben’s mouth moved across her skin caused her eyes to slip shut, and her hands reached up to card through his hair, tugging on it roughly.

“If anyone walks out and sees us like this, we’re never going to hear the end of it,” she moaned, as Ben’s mouth moved to place marks across the other side of her neck.

“You’re right,” he replied, pulling away and causing a discontent whimper to come from Charlie at the lack of contact. “Let’s get out of here.”  

Charlie nodded, and followed Ben outside when he grabbed her hand. The wait for a cab seemed endless as the two of them fought to keep their hands off each other. They both knew that they were intoxicated. They both knew that this was a mistake. But that didn’t stop either one of them as they climbed into the cab together, and it sure didn’t stop them as they fell into Charlie’s bed together, a ‘Do not disturb’ sign hung precariously on the doorknob. Any repercussions would have to be faced at another time.

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[thestoryteller-writer]

Flashlights

Chapter One

Story Word Count: 1,927

Next Chapter (unannounced)

Summary of Chapter: Lilly Wake and Candace Wake, daughters of Alan Wake, have been visited by a mysterious man who calls himself ‘Dark’ at their cabin camp. Out of curiosity, Lilly begins the investigation to find out who and what he is, and how he even knows of their existence. As not even the most obsessive fan of Alan Wake’s knew of their existence. Out of fear, Candace joins her older sister. She worries about what’s going to happen, and what will happen to their dad. 

She clutched her flashlight, flashing it to the dark corners of the cabin. The grandfather clock sounds as it becomes 12 AM.

 “I swear to god Candace if you’re messing with me you’re about to see Jesus,” Lilly growled. She flipped a light switch multiple times, it didn’t turn on. A crash came from right in front of her, Lilly shined a light that way, but her beam didn’t reach that far in front of her.

 Slowly, she crept that way. She instantly noticed a floor lamp had crashed, and was in pieces on the floor.

 “Nope, nope, nope,” She turned around and rushed towards the stairs. Right as she hit the first step a hand grabbed her shoulder. Screaming, she turned around, falling on her butt on the step.

 “Stay back darkness! I’ve got the light and I know how to use it!” She shouted, shining it everywhere she could see. There was nothing there, and she was confused to no ends.

 Slowly, she begun to notice a ringing. At first, Lilly thought it was her own ears. After a minute however of the ever slowly rising ringing, she had a feeling that whatever was out there was making the ringing.

 “It’s okay... just follow Dad’s protocol, no working lights? Make your own light. Yes, good idea.” Lilly got up and slowly got to the middle of the room, walking over the shards of the lamp. She placed her flashlight on the coffee table next to her, facing towards the ceiling, and turned it on. The whole room lit up with a soft glow.

 She screamed, sitting on the couch a foot away from her was a strange man.

 “Lillian Wake... daughter of Alan Wake,” He said, in a matter of factly voice. Lilly slowly brought her shaking hand to the flash light.

 “That’s... that’s right! I could ki-kill you uh, know! My dad taught me how to fend off the darkness.” With each word she gained her confidence back, and she snatched the flashlight, going to point it at the strange man. He was gone.

 “This light is merely child’s play...” The voice was right next to her ear. She screamed again, and the light was taken out of her hand and turned off. There was a thump a distance away, and Lilly knew she wouldn’t be able to find the light in the darkness.

 She felt a hand on her shoulder again. Trying not to scream, she pulled away and turned around to face her attacker. The male had two lights that seem to be shifting. They were soft lights, but she could still recognize them. Blue and red, how odd.

 “You’re not the darkness,” Lilly whispered softly. There was a sound of laughter.

 “Oh, but I am. Just not the type of darkness you’re used too,” The light above them came on and Lilly was able to finally assess the creature in front of her. Black hair, black eyes, black suite and tie. Her eyes were having a hard time focusing on him. If it wasn’t for the circumstances, she probably would’ve been crazy over him. Shaking her head, she glared at him.

 “The light doesn't affect you, you aren’t darkness, so what are you?” He laughed humorlessly again.

 “I’m what you say I’m not. I’m Dark.”

 “Okay, ‘Dark’, how do you know who I am?”

 “Well Lillian...” Suddenly, there was another sound in the dark. Her eyes widened.

 “They’re here. If you know anything about my father than you know better than to keep the lights off. Turn them on Dark, or we’ll both end up as part of the Taken.” She snapped. Dark smiled faltered when another sound was heard, a axe hit the bit of the coffee table that was still in the dark. Lilly backed up into Dark, “Look, I’m trusting you right now. Mainly because the light isn’t tearing you to pieces. Please turn the lights on before we both get shredded.”

 There was a silence, then suddenly all the lights flashed on. Three men were around them, screaming in agony as the darkness began to weaken inside them.

 Lilly grabbed the axe and immediately got to work. After a minute, the only evidence that anything was there was specks of ash that was left behind by the Taken from them turning to ash. She panted, holding the axe she turned to Dark. She pointed it at him, and his eyes widened a fraction.

 “Move, and I won’t hesitate to turn you to ash. Now, you were explaining how you know me?”

 “Put down the axe Lillian,” Dark calmly said. Lilly shook her head, making her feel like a toddler. She began to circle him, and he kept moving to keep her in his eyesight. “Lillian Wake..” He growled.

 “No. Explain how you know me or I’ll kill you. I-”

 “Lilly?” Candace, Lilly’s sister, walked down stairs. “What’s going on?” Lilly instantly lowered her axe.

 “Candace, go back up stairs. Now.” Lilly pointed up to the stairs, Candace cocked her head a little, then she saw Dark. Her eyes widened in realization after processing the whole scene.

 “Oh yes, you’re Candace Wake, aren’t you? How adorable that the two sisters would camp... together,” Dark mused, leaning back and smiling again.

 “You leave her the Hell out of this Dark. Go back upstairs now Canny!”

 “Yes, go back upstairs Candace. Where you’ll be alone, vulnerable-” There was a frustrated groan from Lilly as she raised her axe to Dark again.

 “Touch her in anyway, and you’ll see... probably your boss I’m going to be honest with you,”

 “You think I work for the King of Hell?” Candace quietly crept back upstairs.

 “Well, you don’t work for God. That’s what I’m sure about,” Lilly sneered.

 “Well, I don’t work for any of them. I am my own boss, my own entity. I am, everything, yet nothing all at once darling.” Lilly shook her head and narrowed her eyes.

 “Alright Shakespeare, listen up. We can talk about whatever crossroad deal you want to propose to me when I get back home, and I drop Candace back off with Dad. I don’t trust her going back to her apartment right now with you around, and I don’t trust you. So, deal?” For once, Dark wasn’t blurry.

“ĐɆ₳Ⱡ“

 Suddenly, gun shots. Candace was on the top stair, shooting at Dark.

 “Filthy demons, always trying to do deals,” hissed Candace. 

 Dark was gone, and the only thing signifying they had not dreamed was when they woke up the next morning and bullets were found lodged into the floor.

 “Do you think I shot him?” Candace asked. The girls were now on the couch, staring at the spot Dark once stood.

 “Five bullet casings, five bullets in the floor. I’d say he had a close call, but was never hit,” Lilly sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s a question of what he wants, and how he knows us. Our father is pretty popular, yes, but is he that popular? Popular enough to were even the entities that probably came out of a pit from Hell would know him?

 “I don’t know dude, should I call Dad? Warn him about what just took place?”

 “No Canny, he would demand we went back to the house. Wouldn’t let me leave until he knows the creature is dead. And for all we know, that... thing could be immortal!” Lilly did another dramatic sigh and looked over to her sister.

 “Whatever that humanoid is, it wants you Lilly. I’m not sure if it would be a good idea not to warn dad. Dark, is that his actual name? Anyways, if he knows dads name, then he probably seen the books. If he is part of the supernatural community, then he’ll know that was Dad’s real life experience,” Candace explained. Lilly nodded her head and sat forward. Adjusting her hands to be in a almost prayer position. She was in deep thought for a few minutes.

 “Canny... do you think Aldred’s Pub is open this time of year?”

 After packing up and paying for their trip, they hit the road. Driving from Washington, Bright Falls to Nevada, Night Vale.

 “Lilly, are you sure about this?” Asked Candace, she had just woken up from a nap while Lilly was driving.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure about this, just a little anxious. I have no idea when he’ll pop up, and for all we know he could appear in the back seat.”

 “No Lilly, I mean by going to the pub. Dad may track us here if he suddenly becomes worried, and then he’ll know we’ve been hanging out with the other side.”

 “C’mon Canny, say it how it is, we’re hanging out with monsters. If Dad happens to come across us we can just come up with a false story that we were chasing a lead here in some missing persons report. After all, that’s only the half truth.” Candace sighed, shaking her head.

“I just have a bad feeling about this Lilly. I have a bad feeling about Dad, like he’s in more danger than we think.”

“I promise Canny, both us and Dad will be okay. Aldred will help us, and we’ll be able to go on our merry way. We’ll figure out what type of thing Dark is, and we’ll figure out what he wants with us. Aldred owes us anyways, after making sure Night Vale city council didn’t demolish his place he owes us his life basically. Do you remember that? It was a offly long time ago.”

 “Yeah, I remember that. Didn’t we encounter ‘angles’ that time? I think they lived with an old woman, we should stop by at some point to talk to her again. She was pretty weird.”

 “The whole town is weird Canny, they have a monster pub for heaven's sake! The whole town knows about the creatures, and yet they still allow them in their town,” As Lilly exclaimed this, they came up to a town. A sign half scorched from the sun said “Welcome To Night Vale”

 “We’re in Hell...” Muttered Candace. Lilly sniggered and sped up into the town.

 It was only twenty minutes later when she parked the car on the hot asphalt of the parking lot. A sign looking newly painted on the building read “COME in TO aldred’s pub, wHEre even the supernaturaLL can hang out!”

 “What’s with the sign? Looks like they got a five year old to paint it,” Candace commented.

 “Knowing Aldred he probably did just that.” They walked through the doors, and silence swiftly took over. The two girls felt eyes on them every step to the bar.

 “Is Aldred in?” Lilly asked the bartender. The bartender hastily nodded and left to the backroom.

 “Why are they staring at us?” Whispered Candace.

 “Well, right now we’re the only humans here,” Replied Lilly. Candace nodded and wearily smiled at a group sitting at a nearby table, giving a sort of awkward wave. The group immediately looked away and started to gossip, pointing at the duo every now and then.

 “Lilly! Candy!” Exclaimed a bubbly voice.

 “Aldred!” Lilly said in a matching voice, pulling him in for a hug. “Al, we don’t have long. We need to talk to you about some of your recent...  patrons. We should talk in the back,” She whispered into his ear and pulled out of the hug. Aldred’s face went somber and he nodded. Lilly motioned for Candace to follow them and they all went out back.

 What they didn’t realize was something was also hunting them.

[peachyteabuck]

across a minefield, pt 3 of ‘act of godhood’

summary: the last of this series. bucky joins in on natasha’s favorite thing to play: you

pairing: natasha romanoff x bucky barnes x reader

words: 4322

trigger warnings: smut...lots of it (wax play, temperature play, spit-roasting, strap-on, rope play, etc)

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

READ PART ONE, ‘ACT OF GODHOOD’

READ PART TWO, ‘BITE OF FRUIT’

Where everything you and Bucky did together was spontaneous, scenes with Natasha took a little more planning. This included preparation of toys, possible rearrangement of furniture, maybe instructing you what to wear. Most people didn’t like to plan when they had sex, they just wanted it to happen. But Natasha - a woman with a tight schedule, a work and home life that bled together so often they often became one, and a desperate need for control - struggled to unplug from everything else in the world without warning. She always needs time to mentally prepare herself for whatever she was planning to do to you, with you, for you. So, when you got the text the morning of one of Tony’s parties that was as ominous as she is, you buzzed with excitement.

It was simple, precise:

No panties tonight. My room at 22 hours. Do not be late, pet.

That day, she was training new recruits. You were requested to help Clint with some new bow he was trying out. Therefore, neither of you saw each other all day. Maybe this was part of her plan, to make sure the temptation and eagerness built up in you like a volcano waiting to burst.

It seemed more like something she specifically construed once you actually get to the party. Both of you were too busy trying to butter up donors and MIT alumni and whathaveyou to exchange any more than curt nods and the tips of glasses. You were stuck only being able to stare longingly, and damn, did she give you a lot to look at.

The sparkly floor-length black gown hugged her in ways you never thought was physically possible for fabric. It was sleeveless, and her skin contrasted well with the sharp lines of the dress. Her hair was loose, slightly curly. The dark makeup she had on made you want to kiss her just so you could mess it up. You wanted to leave kisses along her collarbones, down each arm until you could suck on her soft fingertips, feel the sharp black nails rub against the pink of your inner lips. Her black stilettos - the same ones she was wearing when she walked in on you and Bucky - clicked against the tile as she walked around, jovially greeting guests and inviting them to look at the new technology or whatever.

The buzz of the party was loud and the all-black dress code made the crowd stick together as if they were a pack of zebras and you were a lion, but somehow she stuck out to you. The loud, sharp clicks of her shoes made it easy to mentally follow her around the place, tracing her footsteps like some kind of lovesick stalker.

Your own dress felt plain in comparison to her. Yours was short, hitting the middle of your thighs. It was black, like hers and everyone else’s attire at the party. It had this cape-thing that flowed behind you and made you seem more dramatic than you felt. A stylist had come a few weeks before, and Wanda ended up helping you pick it out.

“To show off your legs,” she told you with a wink. All you heard was, “to give Nat easy access.”

Thinking back you question how she could’ve predicted that, how she could’ve known you were hoping to get some that night.

Oh, right...mind reader

The rest of the night passes in a flurry, the only highlights being when you get a peak of Natasha laughing or when Bucky comes behind you to rest his arm on your waist. At first you thought it was protective (you do have a pair of damn good legs, and a lot of men here are single, sexy nerds just looking to get some Avenger pussy), but the third time it happened you figured it out. It was a warning, a reference to future behavior.

That, and because he whispered, “See you tonight at 10:00, babygirl,” seductively in your ear. Plus the countdown he occasionally taunted you with.

“Two hours, darling.”

“Just an hour and fifteen minute, baby.”

“Down to forty-five minutes, doll.”

“Only ten minutes left...do you think you can make it?”

Damn does that man know how to build anticipation. Natasha seemed to be aware of your little game, smirking every time she caught you with Bucky looming behind or next you. You felt just like you did that first time in the laundry room: a trapped animal sure of their own doomed fate. “Doom” seemed like the wrong word, though. Persephone was only ruined and damaged in the eyes of her mother; in reality she was now the wife to an extremely influential god and got to assistant in ruling the Underworld. Just like her, others probably thought you lost all control when you submitted to the powers of the seemingly-cataclysmic people you love. In truth, all you did was gain. You gain love, trust, autonomy.  

The minute the clock on your phone struck 10, you ran like Cinderella to Natasha’s room. You open the door carefully, finding Natasha and Bucky chatting over half-empty drinks. Bucky was leaning against the dark oak desk, Natasha was sitting on the plush carpet you two had fucked on no less than five (5) times.

It takes a second for them to acknowledge you as you stand tall (or attempt to) in front of the now-closed door. Them treating you like this always makes you knees weak. Like they’re completely indifferent to you, or you’re an object, or you’re only to seen when they feel like it.

This, and everything this entails, is what Natasha loves best. One you stepped into the room, you’re all hers. Hers to control, hers to destroy, hers to protect.

Natasha stands languidly, easily.

“Strip and get into position,” she tells you. Easily, you take your own dress and underwear off before you lower yourself to the ground. Your legs are folded under you and your hands are placed on your thighs, fingertips pointed to your knees. Head lowered so that you’re looking at the piece of ground right before her feet.

“Look up,” she tells you. As you do, you see her pulling a makeup wipe out of a container on her nightstand. You can tell she’s been planning this for awhile and thought ahead to everything you’d need: your favorite cucumber and shea butter makeup wipes, the cookies you love during aftercare, an extra set of clothes for when you’re done, a large bottle of lube. It’s sweet, the way she takes care of you like this.

The cool wipe slowly strips you of the light makeup you had on with ease. You remain pliant and calm as Natasha turns your head side to side to make sure she got all of it off, knowing any movement could warrant punishment. This is her time to make sure you’re in the right mindset to do this, make sure all you can think about is whatever she makes you think about.

By now, Bucky sort of understands what she’s doing. He’s not used to doing things like, your fuck sessions had always been fire lit with reckless abandon. The whole world was his playground, and he intended to play. This, though, is different. He watches Natasha’s careful actions with purpose. It feels like he’s witnessing something special, secret; an intimate moment no one else has ever witnessed.

“Stand,” Natasha tells you once she’s sure she’s finished. You stand. “Unzip me,” Softly, careful to make sure none of her loose hair gets caught, you unzip the long dress. It falls to the floor and she kicks it away leaving the surely expensive item in a heap. She’s still in her lingerie. “Good, pet,” she says, stroking the side of your face. Then she leaves you momentarily, moving towards the mini fridge that’s near her bed. When she turns around, you see that she’s got a water bottle. “Back into position,” she says as she opens it. You go back to the floor As soon as you’re settled, she holds the liquid up to your lips. “Drink,” she commands. You only stop when she tips it back from your lips, and by then it’s half empty. You can feel its coolness travel down your throat and into your belly, chilling the heated feeling that seems to cook your belly. Out of the corner of Natasha’s eye, she can see Bucky looking a little confused. He got the makeup wipes...but why this?  “She didn’t drink much water during the party…” she explains calmly. “I need to make sure she’s hydrated.”

She puts the bottle back in the fridge, then turns back to you...just to look. To watch you be good for her. It’s her biggest - and favorite - stress-reliever. It’s a breath of fresh air for her. Nine out of ten days are spent trying to wrangle grown-ass men that act like children, and those are just the scientists and donors and trainers and government hacks and whatever else Tony tortures you with. That doesn’t even count the Avengers themselves, who all seem to be wildly childish for a job she was bred for. “You’re so good for me baby,” she coos as she steps closer to you. Your hearts thuds in your chest in anticipation. “I’m so proud of you...remember the first time we did this together. You were so scared, and so bad. Had to punish that out of you. Training is so hard,” she muses. “But it’s so worth it in the end…”

You want to moan but you stay quiet. Natasha’s taught you better than that, spanked you until you better than that.

“Up on the bed, pet,” she instructs. “On your back.”

You happily oblige, legs and arms spread out a little. She crawls onto the bed, sitting cross-legged next to you. Bucky now sits in the same plush chair you sat in the first time you did this with them. He’s got it pushed more to the side of the bed, though. He wants a good view of the show you and Natasha were putting on. Last time only made his Porn Pickiness worse. Bucky truly hasn’t been able to rub one out without feeling so ridiculously unsatisfied in so long he constantly thinks he could drop dead any second. Plus, the excitement of watching you and Natasha do whatever this is for the first time is making his bones vibrate.

Natasha runs her hands up and down your body; squeezing your breasts, tracing your ribs, massaging your thighs. The movements are purposeful, like she’s inspecting you. It seems she’s checked every inch of you before her fingers dip between your thighs. She’s seeing how wet you are, and it’s torture. Additionally -since you’ve been waiting for this since you got her text this morning -you’re absolutely soaked. You don’t you’ve been this wet since you paid off your student loans last year.

“Ooh,” she purrs. “You’re dripping, utterly dripping for me.”

You’re now desperately trying to hold back and not move, but it’s so fucking hard. She turns her head to face Bucky’s, who’s literally sitting on the edge of his seat. “Get the pink rope from the second drawer from the top in my bathroom.”

Bucky nods curtly and goes to fetch the special BDSM rope she bought especially for you. It was a gift, presented to you after too many panties were destroyed. Every time you use it, she tells you the pale pink looks mouth-watering against your skin. How she could just eat you up.

Slowly but surely, Natasha ties your legs in a bent position and then ties your wrists together. After making sure it’s not too tight, she asks your color.

“Green,” you grin.

She smiles, too. “Good.”

You beam under the praise, always wanting more. The words that tumble past her lips are the most addicting drug you’ve ever tried, and - like other substances - no amount ever seems good enough. As she stands over you, you start to melt under her gaze. You just want this so bad and she’s just looking at you and holy Jesus you’re so horny. Natasha sees this and takes a small amount of pity on you. “You may speak, kitten.”

“Thank you Mistress,” you gasp out before you  “Please touch me, please. All I want is for you to touch me.”

“Bucky,” she barks while still looking at you. His head snaps up, almost too busy staring at you all hog-tied and whatnot to notice anything Natasha does. In truth, he’d never really had the patience for this kind of stuff...but now he really sees the appeal.  “C’mere and help me flip our little kitten over onto her stomach.”

Your body and cunt flutter as you’re placed on your stomach and arms are tucked under you. The whole time, you bite your lip harshly to stave off another moan that threatens to leave your throat. Being manhandled like this is a dream come true, it makes you feel so small and helpless. You’re happy you could cry. But, if you make a sound without permission, you’ll be punished. They’re painful normally, but you know Bucky being here is making her harsher, stricter than when you’re alone. At one point, she spanked you until your ass bled. You’re assuming whatever Bucky could make you do wouldn’t outweigh that again.

Once you’re positioned, you can see Natasha’s underwear fall to the floor. Then you feel her fingers dance over you again. “Hm...what should we do to our little kitten, Bucky?”

Bucky laughs huskily. “Kinda wanna just fuck her tight little cunt, make her scream.”

Natasha chuckles a little, too. “Then that you shall do.” She pulls you up by your hair and places you on your elbows, making it easier to for Bucky to access your back or neck if he so pleased. “Be good for our little Bucky boy, can you do that for me?”

All you can do is nod as Bucky enters you. You smash your lip between your teeth as he slides in and out of you, making them more raw with each passing minute. His thick hands on your hips make it even more sensual, you feel like all you ever need to do is lost in the slap of skin for all the previous agony to be worth it.

As you grip the sheets as best you can with your bound wrists, you almost don’t notice Natasha put on the strapon. It’s your favorite, a black average silicon one with little ridges and cute little sparkles baked into it. She bought it from someone who makes them special, which made you almost crumble when she presented it to you. That was her dirty little secret. It wasn’t that she was a total domme, it was that she cared so much about you. Emotions have never been her talent, but with you they seemed to come naturally.

She balances on her knees in front of you, pulling you up by your hair. Your eyes have glazed over, tears run freely down your face as Bucky continues to fuck you. He softens his thrusts a little bit so Natasha can grab hold of your slack jaw.

“Open up, darling,” she coos, slowly inching the cock into your mouth. Wordlessly, you take all of it. As it hits the back you gag a little, but Natasha still forces it down your throat. “Take all of my cock.”

Now you’re being spit-roasted, each of Bucky’s thrusts forcing you to take more of Natasha. It’s an inescapable rhythm that has you getting wetter by the second. You can feel your own juices dripping down your shaking thighs and your spit trail down your neck. The liquids add to your sweat, creating a sheen layer of filth that has you feeling like the disgusting whore you are.

Natasha, noticing your mind slipping from the moment, gives you a break (on her end, at least). She pulls the dick out of your mouth, and gestures to Bucky that she wants to do something a little different.

“Have you ever done wax play, Bucky?” She doesn’t look at him while he speaks, instead she pulls your hair away from your back with a hair tie she grabs from the nightstand.

Bucky shakes his head. “What were you thinking?”

You can’t see her - the tears cloud your vision way too much for that - but you’re sure she’s flashing that signature devilish grin. Before you can process it, you’re on the ground again. The position you’re in is similar to before, but your legs are a little further apart and your hands are placed between them. The rope digs a little into your ass, which seems to ground you enough to see her grab a lighter and candles from a drawer in the desk.

As she lights one and lets it burn a little, Natasha’s voice is as stern as ever. “I want to see how long you can stand this,” you shiver a little. This is something you’ve only done once before, and it ended with you screeching your safe word after the first drop hit your skin. “For every minute until you say that you’re red, you get an orgasm.”

Now this, this is something Natasha definitely thought of ahead of time. You’re so sensitive one tap to your clit could have you squirting, what would happen if Bucky and Natasha really worked to please you. Once a few are lit, she places them on the ground in front of you so you can watch them burn and she can take the strapon off. Bucky follows suit, now standing in front of you, too. It’s the first time you’ve really been able to look at him since Natasha made you lie on the bed. He’s naked, completely and utterly so. His hair is messy, sweaty, perfect. God, you want to touch him so badly.

All too soon, the candles are completely melted. Natasha picks one up and blows it out, handing it to Bucky. “Pour this down her back slowly and carefully.”

Bucky nods, a little hesitant. He trusts Natasha, though, so he does as he’s told. Slowly, carefully - just as Natasha said - the wax drips down your spine. Each time the hot wax makes contact with your skin, it causes you to gasp and squirm a little. There’s nothing you can really do, though, since your arms and legs are tied up. Natasha finds it cute, the way you attempt to twist and contort your body to inch away from the pain.

“Good girl...you’re so good for me, you know that?” she coos, petting your hair. You lean into her touch, which she happily gives you. Natasha then grabs a second candle. She pushes your shoulders back a little, your hunched back now curved the other way.

The wax drip, drip, drips down between your breasts and down your sternum. The skin there is a little more sensitive, so a few more gasps and hiccups of slight pain. Bucky and Natasha both stand over you, watching you wordlessly. In all, there are exactly five candles. When the last one is about to be poured over you, Natasha suddenly changes her mind.

Her tone is sultry, almost suspicious.“Bucky, why don’t you do the honors in finishing our little girl off with this last one?”

He takes it, a little hesitant. Wax currently covers your chest, stomach, back, shoulders, arms, forearms. The only part of your body that’s been untouched is your thighs. Easily, he readjusts you so that your legs stick out a little bit, with your still-bound arms limp between them. Natasha holds your head back with her fist in her hair, the ponytail-esque thing she created before now resembling an extremely messy bun. Her fingers clutch the scalp under it, massaging every so often.

God, you’re so spent. It shows, too. Your thighs quiver, waiting for sting of the hot wax. As Bucky pours it over you, letting it coat each leg equally, Natasha’s crouches down next to your face. She leaves light kisses along your jaw, eyebrows, nose, whatever she can reach. When Bucky’s finished, he sits on the floor on the other side of you.

They have the same thought simultaneously, because of course they do. Bucky and Natasha take turns praising you.

“I’ve never seen you do that before...I’m so proud of you, pet,” Natasha coos before kissing at your hairline.

Bucky traces up and down your arms. “God, you looked so hot doing this doll...I’m so happy with you…”

After the last of the wax has hardened, Natasha stands up while Bucky stays next to you. You’re slumped into him, your legs seemingly seconds from completely giving out. Soon, Natasha comes back with one of those large, wireless Hitachi wands. When it lands in your field of blurry vision, you could almost cry. You’ve been aching and quivering and just begging to cum this entire time...you have absolutely no idea what it’s going to feel like when you finally get what you want.

“Feel free to make any noise you want, kitten,” Natasha whispers as she turns it on. Immediately, your body starts convulsing. It feels like there’s a forest fire inside of you, like after this some old part of you will be burned away and reborn in the process. Bucky stills anchors you and holds you upright while Natasha mouth at your neck. Your senses are filled with them, and no matter how much you moan or cry out, neither of them remove themselves from you. It doesn’t take long for you to orgamsm, the waves of pleasure ripping through you like a scythe.

“Please Mistress please make it stop I can’t take it I just can’t just please Daddy please make Mistress,” is all you can ramble out. Your brain is completely fried, utterly useless. It hurts you to move, to breathe, to squirm, to do anything.

As Bucky mumbles praises into your ears, Natasha slowly unties all the ropes. She rubs that lavender lotion you and her love so much into your red and indented skin.  Some of the wax comes off in the process, but she’s careful to just rip it off of your skin (or body hair, for that matter).

She can tell you’re totally done for, brain drifting somewhere else. “Stay here with her while I draw a bath,” she tells Bucky.

“What are we going to do about the wax?” Bucky asks, tucking you into his chest.

You can practically hear Natasha roll her eyes. “They’re massage candles, you idiot. They just come off with warm water, body wash, and a loofah.”

Bucky mumbles a small “oh,” which causes you to laugh a little. Slowly but surely, you come back to life. You’re dead tired, but now you’re present in the room (or, as present as someone in your situation could be). It makes Bucky smile a little.

When the bath is fully drawn, Natasha gets down to work. If sex is her specialty, then aftercare is her side hustle.

“Do you want a bath bomb?” she calls from still in the bathroom.

You nod.

“Yes!” Bucky yells back.

“Rose petals?”

You nod again.

“Yes.”

He can hear some shuffling, the Natasha appears in the doorway in just a robe. “Bring her in.”

Bucky complies, picking you up bridal style. When he steps across the threshold into the expansive bathroom, he huffs out a laugh. “Bubbles?”

Natasha replies plainly. “She likes them.”

As he lowers you into the large tub, you sigh loudly and babble like a baby who’s been laid for a nap after an exhausting day. Immediately, you start to grab for Natasha and Bucky.

“You want us to come in with you?” Natasha asks. You coo again, nodding happily.

Without hesitation, both Bucky and Natasha join you. It causes a few bubbles and petals to fall out of the tub, but Natasha doesn’t mind at all. Her entire focus is on you, and you only.

You rest with your back to Natasha’s chest and your feet tucked under Bucky’s folded legs. At one point, he picks them up and start to massage them, an action that makes you moan in pleasure. “They’re a little stiff, aren’t they?” he asks as he digs his thumbs into your heel.

All you can is groan out a noise that sounds vaguely like a “yes.” You’re teetering on the the edge of sleep, and Natasha using an extra-soft loofah to rub your down isn’t exactly making it easy to stay awake. She’s finished with both of your arms when you finally fall asleep. Silence settles over the room as the bubbles die down and the water cools. Once all of the wax has been removed and your hair has been washed, Bucky drains the tub while Natasha picks you up and bundles in one of Natasha’s ridiculously fluffy towels she special orders.

Obviously too tired to do anything or yourself, you let her dry you off and dress you in the clothes she set aside for you. It’s one of her t-shirts and a pair of loose boxers. By then, a still-naked Bucky has joined you. He sees you’re curled into Natasha’s soft, squishy chest and curls up behind you. You coo at the warmth of both of their bodies.

Bucky waits until you’re asleep again to whisper to Natasha. “You never came...did you?”

Natasha smirks and looks down at you while she answers. “It’s not really about cumming in situations like this…”

In truth, Bucky has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about, or what she means. He’s too tired to dig further, though, so he just lets your slow and even breathing lull him into the deepest sleep he’s had in months.

[initiala]

It’s finally here! Many, many thanks to @distant-rose for the header and the art that’s to come, and also for putting up with me being a needy, anxious mess over this whole thing. And thanks to @Idoltina for always having a magic wand to make my brain work properly again in beta. To the folks over in the @cssns Discord, thanks for providing giggles and inspiration over the last couple of months.

On AO3 and FF.Net

Summary:  Emma's sure she's never been happier. But the past she thought she'd left behind starts to rear its ugly head, taking down the Boston packs one by one, and a desperate visitor in the night reminds her of the legacy she thought she'd escaped for good. Afraid of what her parents left behind and fearful for the future she and Killian are creating together, a bad moon is on the rise.

A drop of toothpaste dripped onto her black tank top before she could react. Emma sighed in annoyance, her shoulders slouching, then went back to vigorously brushing her teeth. It was bad enough she was late getting up and ready for the day, now she'd have to change, too.

"Morning, darling," Killian said, popping his head into the bathroom and kissing her on the cheek.

She leaned in to it, her hackles lowering at the feel and scent of him surrounding her. "Morning," she mumbled around both toothpaste and brush, then leaned over the sink to spit. "Running late."

"Coffee's in a thermos, and there's a fresh box of breakfast bars for you."

She smiled, rinsing and patting her face dry with a towel. He knew her so well. "Good provider," she said teasingly, patting his cheek as she went back to their bedroom to change.

Killian hummed with appreciation as she stripped out of her tank and rummaged in the dresser for something else to wear. "Down boy," Emma warned.

"You know how I get around the full moon, sweet."

"Yeah, well, we don't have time this morning. We'll try for a quickie before the moon rises tonight, you know how much I hate fucking in wolf form."

Killian sighed in that overly dramatic way of his that made her both roll her eyes and smile. She found another black camisole that would work under the top she'd been planning to wear and threw it on. "How quickly the honeymoon phase ends," he mused, and she heard him fiddling with his prosthetic. "Already we have to schedule when we have sex."

Emma pulled on the nicer top and paused to kiss his cheek as she moved to leave. "I think that part came into play when you stopped living in that hotel and moved into my bed."

"Move in with me," she said softly, almost inaudible from where she lay her head on his chest.

He didn't dare breathe, for fear of jostling her and making her realize what she said, making her stammer and take it back or make it seem like she'd meant to say something else and it slipped out. But the longer he didn't reply, the more prominent the smell of fear, anxiety, and dread became. "Say that again," he said, quiet and pleading.

She shifted, resting her chin on her hand and looking at him with wide, guileless green eyes. He'd been in the States again for only two months, working hard to open this new branch of their business and living out of a hotel - well, spending some of his time in the hotel. Emma was fairly insistent on rekindling what they'd started in January, and who was he to complain about the warmth of a woman he cared for and the familiar comforts of her apartment? After their memorable reunion in the woods, he didn't mind the extra chances to catch up on lost time.

She'd welcomed him into her home, into her bed, with only three days and a lot of sex to bind them.

"Move in with me," Emma said, more clearly this time, her eyes searching his and the scent of nerves almost overpowering him.

Instead of answering, he sat up, bringing her with him. He cupped her face in his hand, his thumb gliding along the full pout of her lower lip, his nose brushing hers as he considered her request. Every time he left her, even if it was only to go to work, he felt this aching need to return to her after just an hour. The chance to see her regularly, with no lonely, sterile hotel waiting for him on the nights she had to be out for work, gripped him tight and he pressed their lips together and made her squeak in surprise.

"Aye, love. I'll move in with you."

He grabbed her wrist before she could go and pulled her flush against him, his mouth pressed against hers in a way that made her knees go weak. Her wolf senses were flushed with the taste and the smell of him, her baser instincts clawing at her to fuck him until neither of them could see straight, but humanity - and the fact that she liked having a roof over her head - prevailed. She inhaled deeply after they parted, unable to resist the urge to take in his aroused scent. "What was I saying?" she asked softly.

"Something about me being in your bed, which is tragically empty of either of us right now." She was glad to hear that he sounded as wrecked as she felt.

"We have jobs to go to," she said, though it really did sound like a weak excuse when the pull of the moon and her desire for him felt so strong.

"Mmm."

Killian kissed her nose and she nuzzled him in return. He was so fucked later, she promised herself. "Later," she said. "Just… raincheck on this and come back to it later."

"Alright, love," he said, letting her go.

She heard him chuckle as she walked away on slightly wobbly legs. She shrugged into her leather jacket and grabbed both the thermos of coffee and a breakfast bar before picking up her purse. "Love you," she called over her shoulder.

"Love you too, darling, have a good day."

Luck was not on their side.

A stream of steamy texts over the course of the day left Emma in a nearly perpetual state of arousal and left Ruby complaining about the scent permeating the entire office. She was only lucky that none of the other werewolves in their office were in that day - everyone was either out on a case or had strategically taken the day off with the full moon coming that night; Emma had always admired those who were able to take that time, but she always worried that it would only take one savvy HR person to realize there was a pattern and out the whole community of wolves living under the noses of the humans. Hell, a whole magical community, not just the wolves; where one species fell, the others weren't far behind, or so the logic went.

So she stuck it out and suffered, the itch under her skin of the change to come later that night growing stronger as the day wore on, and the heat between her legs flaring up with every new text from Killian. And it would have been fine, everything would have gone as planned, except for the fact that at four o'clock on the nose Emma got a tip from one of her informants about a skip she'd been hunting for weeks. Weeks. The apex predator in her, both the human side and the wolf side, seethed at being evaded for so long and she jumped at the chance to go hunting and relieve some of the itching under her skin.

As she got into her Bug, she checked the time, cross-referencing when the sun would set and the moon would rise. If she played her cards right, and she was both an excellent bounty hunter and poker player, she'd have this guy locked up and delivered to the precinct in enough time.

If she didn't? Well, this guy would get dragged off by a canine more than half his height. Or she'd get a good whiff of his scent and really be able to track him down later.

With how dodgy this perp had been, she kind of hoped she wouldn't find him before moonrise.

She sent a quick apology/explanation text to Killian to let him know she might not make it in time; she hated to disappoint him and put off their plans until morning, but she knew he'd understand eventually. He might put up a front about it at first but they'd get there in the end. She stuck her phone in her jacket pocket then shifted the Bug into gear, heading out towards the last place her perp had been seen.

But it was almost stupidly easy to nab the guy, which was kind of a disappointment after how long he'd evaded her every trap. He'd been sitting right where her informant had said he was, still reading the paper with his coffee, and it took three lines before she got the cuffs on him.

"Hey, I'd remember seeing a handsome guy like you. You new in town?"

"Piss off, sister, I'm not interested."

"Weird, because your arrest record says I'm just your type."

Comically easy. It's like she'd scripted the perfect takedown: he looked up in shock, she already had the cuffs out, and then he was down on the table with his arms behind his back before he could react.

A little superhuman speed never hurt anyone. Well, never hurt any of the good guys, anyway.

Emma was even surprised she didn't have to threaten to gag the guy as she dragged him to the nearest precinct office; he was sullen and quiet the whole way. Usually, perps mouthed off the whole time, driving her crazy. The hand-off went smoothly, she got her cuffs back without having to beg for them, and even the paperwork took less time than she imagined.

The sun was setting by the time she got back to the apartment.

"Killian!" Emma called, closing the door behind her and shrugging out of her jacket. She kicked her boots off and slung the jacket over the back of a chair. "Hey, sorry I didn't have a chance to call before getting home, we've got just enough time to-"

She paused in removing her shirt, nostrils flaring. She realized his scent in the apartment was old; he hadn't been back since that morning. Frowning, she fished around for her phone in her jacket pocket. He was always home before she was, perk of being his own boss. He could work from home whenever, but he always liked to put in at least the majority of his day at the office; he'd come home in the afternoon and switch between taking care of dinner and continuing to work on accounts in the spare room they'd converted into his office, and Emma's days of coming home daily with takeout or feasting on leftover takeout were long behind her.

So him not being here was more of a concern than not; she unlocked her phone and looked at her messages: nothing. Not even a response from when she'd told him of her perp chase.

Emma worried her lip between her teeth. This wasn't like him at all. Killian was nothing if not punctual with responses to any kind of communication - he'd sent out thank you notes after he'd been included in the pack's summer birthday celebration, for God's sake. (Even Emma's mother, who had been a pinnacle of decorum and manners, had given up on making her send thank you notes after she'd turned like, eight, and threw a fit about it every time.) She didn't want to be a clingy, nagging girlfriend, calling and checking up on him, but this was really unusual for him. But…

She didn't have the best track record for coming home to an empty house. The last time it had happened it was after Granny Lucas said she was recovered enough from losing her litter to go home; Neal was already gone, Emma knew that, the pain of a broken mate-bond usurping even the pain of losing a litter, but it still hurt to return to an empty apartment and have it cemented that she'd been abandoned in her time of need. And the time before that, she'd been sixteen and her parents house showed clear signs of a fight; she'd followed the trail to the challenge grounds, only to arrive just before Regina murdered Snow for control of the North End pack.

"Mom!"

The moonlight on the snow gave her a clear view of the challenge grounds - Dad sprawled on the ground and a dark spot spreading under him, Regina bearing down on Mom, more light glinting off the ceremonial knives hidden away for such occasions.

Hearing her voice, Mom pushed Regina back with a shout. "Emma, leave!"

Her feet slipped - the stones were icy this time of year, but she had to get to Dad. He was hurt, she had to stop the bleeding until help arrived. "No, I'm not going anywhere!"

Mom lashed out, almost cutting Regina's face. She'd never heard this tone from her mother before, not even after that time she'd broken the vase in the front hall. "Go home now!"

But Regina lunged, just as Emma's foot slipped. She cried out as she went crashing into the snow, her mother's surprised shout suddenly cut off and the sound of a fight fading into the crisp winter's night.

Emma swallowed back bile; they hadn't been together long, but what they had was intense and felt more real to her than anything she'd ever had before, so she hoped she wasn't wrong about Killian and that he hadn't left. She told herself something must have come up at work, that he must have gotten sidetracked the same way she got caught up in a case, but to not even have an acknowledgement of her text felt wrong somehow. She glanced out the window, trying to run through the list of possible reasons why he hadn't responded, hating that she felt like she needed to obsessively think about this, but the deep reds and oranges the setting sun was casting on the buildings outside only made her think of blood.

While she hated to even consider it, the thought of blood reminded her that there'd been some foul rumors and doings of late. Nothing had been happening within the Dorchester pack's territory, or even where Killian worked up in South Boston territory, but the downtown and central packs, including the North End pack, had been involved in more scuffles than anyone in the outside territories were comfortable with. And the number of regular humans involved were far higher than anyone would like. It was practically begging for anyone outside of the magical community to take notice, especially as things started to spread. Even Uncle James had taken notice, and he hardly ever bothered with pack politics outside of Dorchester.

The moon turning full always put everyone's blood up, so if there was some kind of feud starting…

She hit 'call' before she could think it through any further. It rang three times before it stopped and she heard him swear and fumble with the device before answering; even that much made the anxious knot in her chest ease. "Swan?"

"Hey. Hi. Sorry, I-" Emma paused, overwhelmed just by how much hearing his voice affected her and eased the near-panic she'd fretted herself into. "I-hi."

"Bloody hell," Killian said. "Love, I am sorry, this afternoon got away from me entirely. Liam called with a merger crisis and I've been on the phone with three different countries for hours and I hardly remember how to speak proper English-Emma? Are you alright?"

She sniffled, swiping at her eyes and calling herself a dozen kinds of idiot. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay, I just… I got worried."

He exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry, love. Did you-yes, I see you did message me. Bloody-hell, it's sundown. Moonrise is when?"

"About half an hour."

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Emma said. "Better get out of there, unless you want to really freak out your employees."

Killian chuckled and she pressed the phone harder against her ear, letting the sound warm her insides and keep her calm. "Well, I think I'm the last one here, but you've a point. Though I think I'll have to leave everything here…"

"I'll drive you to work tomorrow," Emma promised.

"Alright, thank you, love. I'm sorry we weren't able to make good on our plans."

"It's okay," she said. "I was worried I wouldn't make it either. And I'm just glad you're okay. We'll make up for it in the morning."

"It's a promise. I'll meet you at our spot, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Their spot was a pond in one of the conservation areas nearby; being city wolves, it was generally agreed upon that the state parks, reservations, and conservatories were neutral ground for all the packs to use for hunting and roaming. People took enough pictures of foxes and coyotes spotted in urban areas, the last thing anyone needed was to Snapchat any larger-than-average wolves scavenging near Fenway Park.

Emma let herself out of the apartment and made her way to her usual spot for the change to take place. It looked like it was going to be a clear, crisp night - while the first summer moon was her favorite, she loved the October moons too. Not only because of her personal birthday, but something always felt extra special about an October full moon. Maybe it was the approach of Halloween and the ease the American magical community felt about the public's embrace of the occult, or maybe it was how months of running warm were starting to fade into crisp nights made for sprinting.

Or maybe it was just the satisfying way leaves crunched under her paws.

It was probably the leaves.

She took the change in stride, energy filling her veins as she shifted from woman to wolf, shaking her pale fur out and inhaling deeply. Her senses as a human were far from dull, but everything was so enhanced in her wolf form. And things that would normally bother her - the usual smells and stains of city-living - didn't affect her wolf form nearly as much. The canine part of her seemed to take over, noting with interest the changes of each scent that had previously been logged in her brain, then her growling belly took precedent.

Time for hunting.

She didn't rush herself, knowing it would be some time before Killian could meet with her, and took the opportunity to let her track meander and weave, following her nose towards something that soon become her dinner. She crossed paths with packmates and wolves from rival packs alike, keeping to the shadows as much as she could, alternating between a trot and a run, her muscles singing at the chance to stretch and run. She could hear others in the distance, the yips and howls of packmates reunited.

Ruby and Dorothy found her at one point, tackling her to the ground and scaring off the rabbit Emma had been tracking for the last mile. She rolled over under their weight and nipped at Ruby's ear in annoyance - she was hungry, dammit!

Dorothy got off first, sitting primly next to them. :Find mate?: she asked, the image of Killian coming across.

:Slow. Here soon,: Emma replied.

She'd always found the shared mind-speech to be strange - they could communicate over very short distances - about the same range as humans - but simple ideas seemed to transfer easier. The elders didn't really question it, but as technology and magic merged, more of their kind were able to study one another; there were theories about just how much of their wolf and human senses ebbed and flowed during the moon cycle. The current thought was that at the peak, the full moon, the wolf took the lion's share of the brain and so while Emma could understand complex thoughts and ideas, her wolf self needed something more simple to understand. Emma wouldn't call Killian her mate, because the term carried too much weight and meaning, but there really wasn't a term for 'boyfriend' that their more primal senses would understand.

Ruby's ears pricked up at a few distant calls. :?:

Emma listened too, Dorothy's hackles and tail going up as she tensed. There were mixed calls, most of them from other packs than theirs, and it was hard to pick up on what exactly the commotion was about. :Hunt song,: Dorothy said finally, relaxing.

:Warning call,: Ruby argued.

There'd been a few warning calls, but with all the hunt songs it made sense to interpret that as the hunters warning off anyone who might be trying to steal their prey. :Silly pup,: Emma chided, biting her ear again and tugging on it this time. :Hunt song.:

Ruby whuffed, resting her head on her paws with a grumble. Dorothy licked her mate's forehead with a sympathetic whine. Another call had Emma's ears up again and she responded in kind, getting up so quickly that Ruby rolled off of her with a surprised yelp. Dorothy's snout crinkled, revealing her teeth, a silent wolf's laugh. :Hunt, seek mate. Pack together soon,: she said, with an image of herself and Ruby waiting for them.

Emma set off towards the pond, trying not to sprint outright, but it was hard to keep herself in check. Her worry from earlier had only increased her desire to see Killian, combined with how they'd teased each other all day and the way they'd left one another that morning - all on top of the fact that she just flat-out missed him when he wasn't around.

Just a few months into this relationship and it was already so much more than anything she'd ever had before. It was scary. It was exciting. It was...

She spotted him up ahead, the moonlight gilding his black fur silver, and broke into a run, leaping at him and causing them both to tumble tail over snout into the shallows of the pond.

Killian headbutted her affectionately and she nipped at his ear.

It was everything she ever could have wanted.

They climbed out of the pond, shaking off the mud and water from their fur. :Hungry,: Emma whined. She tried to explain how Ruby and Dorothy had denied her hunt before.

Killian nuzzled her, teasing her with the image of herself lolling about on the floor like some kind of lazy, overly-indulged dog who complained when her bowl was empty for more than thirty seconds. Emma actually bit him this time, right on the snout, her lips curled back in a snarl; his ears went down in apology. Without another 'word' between them, she set off; he was a few paces behind, letting her take point.

They lucked out, tracking down a couple of rabbits and making quick work of them. Her belly feeling better now that it was full and her own temper cooling down without that need fighting to be met, Emma didn't rebuff him when he sidled up next to her, pressing himself against her so they walked almost as if they were in some kind of strange six-legged race. She pretended to grumble when he nuzzled her, her tail draping over his, and let him lead her to a mossy patch they liked to relax on while digesting their dinner.

Killian flopped down on the ground with a sigh and Emma lay half on top of him, their heads close together. She heard his tail making a mess of the leaves littering the forest floor and knew he was content with this. :Missed you,: she sent. :Worried. Scared.:

:Here now. Missed you. Mate now?: he asked, whuffing in amusement when she growled and bit at the thick ruff of fur around his neck in annoyance.

It wasn't as if she didn't want to, even if he was layering his mind-speech with insinuations that since she missed him so much and worried so much that she should really make sure he was fine. The desire remained no matter the form she took, and she knew from their talks that her scent was even more powerful in this form and it had to be driving him crazy. But even if she liked mating in this form - which she seriously did not, there were some advantages to having a human form, thank you very much - she felt as full as if she'd just gorged herself on Thanksgiving dinner. And it was never a good idea to fuck after eating that much. Ever.

:Insolent pup. Sunrise,: she promised, her eyes closing as the sleepy effects of a full stomach took over. She drowsily remembered that Ruby and Dorothy were waiting to meet up later, then reasoned they'd just have to keep waiting.

She didn't know how long they'd been napping before a shot rang out.

They started to their feet, as clumsy and confused as a newborn pup, ears straining and tails erect with fear as they tried to figure out where the sound of gunfire came from. The wolf wanted to panic, wanted to run and attack anything that got in her way. Emma clung to whatever bit of humanity remained in this form, knowing that nothing good would come out of a werewolf attack - and though they wouldn't be able to identify it as werewolf, they'd notice that the claw and teeth marks would be much larger, much deeper than those of a common gray wolf. Stories would spread about some kind of rabid wolfdog or direwolf or whatever else humans concocted when scared and refusing to face what was right under their noses, and the entire werewolf community would have to hide until the panic settled and the event labeled as some kind of freak accident.

Until the victim turned.

Assuming he was left alive that is, (and Emma felt so much panic that it was a slim chance that anyone who startled her at this point would live to talk about it), he'd be the first human to be turned in their territory in nearly fifty years. It was doubtful if anyone remembered what to do in the event of an attack and the victim lived.

And if he died, well, Uncle James would sniff the truth out of her pretty damn quick. Assailants were handled swiftly and without mercy by pack leaders, family relations notwithstanding.

So as deeply as she wanted to, she had to hold on and keep her cool until they got to safety. Or until sunrise. Or both.

Really, both was the better option.

Another shot rang out and they zeroed in on the direction it came from. :Run!: Killian ordered, teeth bared, before darting off in the opposite direction. :Hunters!:

She took off after him, ears laid back to make sure they weren't being followed. She remembered the signals from earlier, the mixed sounds of hunt song and warning calls, and realized that Ruby had been right - it was a warning call, a warning about hunters. They were the apex predators, they rarely if ever needed to warn others about being hunted.

And who was crazy enough to hunt wolves after hearing how many of them there were?

Killian barked ahead of her. :Scatter!:

Another gunshot, this one from closer up ahead - did he see something? Were there actually multiple hunters out tonight? She thought of home, their apartment, wishing desperately they were there instead of running for their lives out here.

This was supposed to be a night of reconnection, reunion of the pack, the monthly reminder that while the shapeshifting part of their lives hurt and could be hellish, they were both human and wolf and could find joy in all parts of themselves. Not this nightmarish scenario of being hunted and skinned and stuffed like some prize.

She veered away, her feet flying under her, hoping she was heading towards home - she didn't have time to pause and get her bearings, she only had to hope she was running back towards the city and not towards the ocean. She couldn't even count on her nose at the moment, she was breathing too hard, and out here it all mixed together with the woods anyway.

She heard two more shots nearby, and then someone started a Howl - it wasn't a hunt song or a warning call.

It was a battle cry.

Someone was trying to scare the hunters off and Emma wanted no part in that. She just wanted to find Killian and get home. The howls quickly turned into barks and snarls, whoever was banding together to scare their hunters off had found someone to intimidate. She didn't hear the human's voice in response, but she also didn't hear anymore gunfire as the pack descended. She started to feel some relief, but didn't stop running, wanting to put more distance between them.

Emma called out for Killian and she got a response that he was heading towards her. The scent in the air changed little by little, becoming more city-like, and she hoped they could just make it back to the apartment without anything else happening.

She saw streetlights ahead and slowed to a stop, wanting to catch her breath before needing to resort to stealth to make it the rest of the way home. She whined, pacing in a circle. She was thirsty, she was nervous, she just wanted the safety of home and Killian and-

Her hackles rose as something crashed through the brush behind her, but Killian sprang out of the woods, breathing hard, and she relaxed. Whining again, she hurried over to him, nuzzling him and licking him wherever she could reach. :Safe now, den?:

A coppery metallic tang hit her nose as she licked down towards his shoulders - then the taste of it hit her tongue, and she realized it was blood. She froze, sniffing cautiously. He wheezed, hacking for a moment like he was trying to cough something up, then his legs buckled. :Hurts,: was all he managed before falling to the ground completely.

She smelled blood, yes, but there was sulfur too, and a different metallic scent - darker, heavier, one she associated with the handgun she kept for her job.

He'd been shot.

She didn't know what else to do - didn't know when sunrise was, how long he'd been bleeding or how serious it was. She didn't even know if the bullet was silver - hunters with magical knowledge were rare but they existed.

Panic rearing its ugly head again, she did the only thing she could think. She threw her head back and let out a mournful howl, praying someone was still nearby to hear and come help.

tagging per request: @idristardis @fangirl-till-it-hurts @courtorderedcake @followbatb @ultimiflos @artistic-writer @strawwolf @dreamy--far-off--look @teamhook @theadventureofhistorygirl @blackwidownat2814 @nightingalemillo

[erinchu]

So my darling @ivemcfallenandicantgetup asked for cuddling rhack and here they are <3.

“Maybe angry Jack just fired someone but comes home to find Rhys crying at a shitty chick flick so needs to help him be okay”

I hope you like it bby ;~; ily x

It had been an excruciatingly long day and Handsome Jack could not fucking wait to be home. The CEO let out a tired sigh as he pressed the elevator button that would take him up to his penthouse. Even though it was in the Hyperion building, today it felt like it took ages to get home. Jack’s feet drug lazily beneath him as he approached his front door and his frustration grew when he couldn't find his keys right away. He felt the anger boiling up inside of him and it was about to spill over when he stopped and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He didn’t want to bring his work day rage home with him, not to Rhys. So he stood there for a few moments, gathering himself and trying to calm his temper the best he could.

Earlier in the day, it had been revealed to him by his security chief that they had come across an employee who was selling Hyperion secrets to rival companies. It had pissed Jack off something fierce. How could something like that happen, right under his nose? To make matters worse, all Jack had wanted to do with the guy was throw him out of an air lock, but he had promised Rhys he would cool it a bit on the whole killing people thing and so instead, threw him in jail. Traitors like that didn’t deserve a second chance in Jack’s eyes and he was still pouting over the fact that he had let the guy live. Geez, where was anyone's loyalty anymore? Standing out in the hallway, brooding over it wasn’t making Jack feel any better, that heated anger was building again and he decided to just go in.

Jack quietly opened the front door and swept inside, trying to keep the noise down in case Rhys was asleep already. He hadn’t realized how late it was, nearly two in the morning by this time. It was a lot more paperwork to jail someone than to just kill them it seemed. He let his work bag and jacket slide from him and dropped them both to the ground, not really caring about either at this point. Jack’s brows furrowed slowly as he walked further into the luxurious penthouse and noticed a flickering light coming from the living room. Was the TV on? As Jack rounded the corner into the room, all of his anger and stress from the day was put on hold. There Rhys was, sitting all curled up on the couch with tears streaming from his eyes. Jack was at his side faster than he could process.

“Rhysie, baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Jack’s hands were running all over Rhys’ body, trying to find anything that could be physically wrong with him, but he found nothing. It took Rhys a moment to calm himself down and he quickly wiped at his eyes and face as he sniffled a few times. Finally once he was able to breathe normally, he smiled and nodded, grabbing hold of Jack’s hands.

“I-I’m okay, Jack. I was just trying to w-wait up for you because I missed you and decided to watch a m-movie,” Rhys trailed off, looking over towards the screen where the film was still playing and burst back into tears. Jack sat there for a moment, his eyes blinking slowly as watched his boyfriend. The biggest grin pulled across Jack’s face and he covered his mouth as he let out a hearty laugh, the sound startling Rhys a bit. Rhys looked over at him with wide eyes, his brows drawing together as he began to cry harder.

“Why are you laughing?!” Rhys whined softly and threw a box of tissues that was sitting next to him at Jack’s head. Jack continued to laugh, dodging Rhys’ attack and scooted in closer to the younger man. He reached over and paused the movie before collecting Rhys up into his arms. He gently kissed at Rhys’ face, his lips attempting to wipe away his lovers tears.

“Because you’re adorable, kiddo and I just love you is all. And you’re ridiculous,” Jack winked and laughed softly, planting a soft kiss on top of Rhys’ head. “Thank you for waiting up for me, that was very sweet of you. Shall we go to bed? It’s pretty late-” Jack started to let Rhys go and stand up when he felt Rhys tugging at his shirt sleeve. Rhys sniffled as he stared up at him with misty eyes, his bottom lip pouting out as he held Jack there. Jack closed his eyes and huffed out a laugh as he sat back down on the couch.

“What is it?” Jack mused and nudged at Rhys gently with his elbow. Rhys just stuck his lip out more, his eyes welling up with more tears. Jack slapped his hand against his own face and pulled down, his head shaking a little as he continued to laugh. “Come on cupcake, use your words.” Jack carefully took hold of Rhys’ flesh hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing at his skin slowly, the older man trying to coax it out of him. Rhys felt a quick shiver run over him and he sniffled softly before nodding a few times.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d,” Rhys worried over his lower lip as his eyes slid over to the tv screen and he felt his face go a bit flush. He knew it wasn’t Jack’s thing to watch sappy chick flicks, but he really had missed him all day and was feeling a bit needy at the moment. “If you’d stay up a little bit longer and finish this movie with me. It’s almost done, really! You wouldn’t have to endure too much, ah ha ha…” Rhys tried to smile but it came out like a nervous grimace and he deflated a bit, thinking he already knew the answer. Jack tilted his head at the question and smiled as he watched Rhys. God damn, he was so fucking cute and all Jack wanted to do was just be near him right now.

Without a word, Jack grabbed hold of Rhys’ flesh wrist and pulled the younger man on to him, positioning them so Jack was propped up a bit against the couch and Rhys was lying in between his legs. Rhys blinked and let out a small yelp as he was pulled, his metal hand resting against Jack’s chest. He peered up at him with red, puffy eyes and raised a single brow. So, was that a yes then?

“Get in here babe, what are we watching?” Jack asked in an almost chipper tone as he settled further into the couch, grabbing a nearby throw pillow and sticking it under his free arm so he could get a better grip on Rhys. Rhys felt a small smile creep across his lips and he swallowed dryly as he reached for the remote, not entirely sure if he was ready for this ending.

“Aah, it’s called ‘A Walk to Remember’. It’s about these teens who fall in love but it’s later revealed that the girl is sick with cancer and uh,” Rhys’ voice broke a bit and he let out a faint whimper as he felt his eyes start to well up again. “I don’t think she’s going to make it.” Rhys buried his face into Jack’s chest and let out a very dramatic wail, his feet kicking against the couch. “It’s not faiiiirrrr.”

Jack watched with amused eyes as Rhys did this and he threw his head back against the couch, laughing loudly. He snatched up the remote from Rhys with one hand and ruffled Rhys’ hair with the other.

“Well that sounds like a roaring good time and not depressing as fuck at all. Shall we?” Jack waggled his brows a few times as he wiggled the remote back and forth between his fingers. Rhys took a deep breath and nodded and Jack hit play. It didn’t take long before Rhys was full on crying once again, the whole ending of the movie was completely heartbreaking. Even Jack felt a bit choked up watching it. Rhys’ tears were staining Jack’s shirt as they laid there, cuddled on the couch together, their bodies completely entangled. Jack was merely half watching the movie though, most of the time his eyes were on Rhys, his hand gently running through Rhys’ thick, chestnut hair, trying to soothe him. His other arm was wrapped tightly around Rhys’ shoulders, his thumb rubbing small circles into Rhys’ skin. Rhys was completely attached to Jack, at some point his arms had made their way loosely around Jack’s torso, so he was hugging him. His long, gangly legs were lying mixed in with Jack’s carefully. Really, there was no part of either of them that wasn’t touching the other.

The movie was clearly coming to an end as Rhys started crying more and more, his whimpers breaking through over the film's dialogue. Rhys had been right about the girl’s fate. Jack would give him a sympathetic squeeze and hold him tighter and closer each time until it got to the point where Rhys was so far up on him, he could barely see the screen. He was fine with it though. As the now only remaining, living main character uttered the last line, Rhys was a complete mess. He curled up into Jack as the credits began to roll and just sobbed. Jack carefully sat up as not to drop Rhys so he could get a better grip on the younger man. They sat like that for a few minutes, Rhys’ weeping slowly dying down before Jack clicked off the tv and scooped the younger man up into his arms.

“Come on baby, let’s get you away from here so Nicholas Sparks can’t hurt you anymore.” They both shared a laugh and Rhys leaned into a kiss Jack had placed on his forehead. Rhys held onto him tightly, his arms wrapping around Jack’s neck as he was carried to their bedroom. Once he was set down on the bed, Jack moved in with a kleenex and began gently cleaning up Rhys’ face until it was all dry. Rhys smiled wide and quickly leaned up, stealing a kiss from his boyfriend. Jack blinked and laughed, crumpling up the tissue and tossing it somewhere behind him. He. Was. So. Fucking. Cute. He let out a deep yawn and began undressing out of his work attire. Rhys watched him with a small smile on his face for a few moments and then drew his brows together when he glanced over at the clock. He hadn’t even realized the time. Jack had come home so late and Rhys didn’t even think to ask about his day when he got home because he was so preoccupied. He felt a bit guilty about the whole thing now.

“Late night at the office then?” Jack heard Rhys ask as he was pulling his shirt up over his head, an edge getting stuck on one of the latches on his mask. He let out an exasperated sigh as he tried to get it undone to no avail.

“Y-yeah, it was just a bullshit day. I couldn’t wait to be-” Jack growled a bit, still trapped within his stupid yellow Hyperion shirt. This was just great, the perfect ending to a perfectly shit day. He could feel himself getting aggravated when suddenly he felt flesh and metal hands grab his waist. Jack jumped a bit as the cool metal pressed into his warm skin but stopped moving as Rhys held him still. Rhys made quick work of the snag and Jack was freed within seconds. Rhys finished pulling the shirt off and Jack was met with beautiful heterochromic eyes and a warm smile. “...h-home.” Jack managed to finish his sentence finally. Even after all this time, there was still something about Rhys that completely caught the other man off guard. He had this amazing, specific smile that would leave Jack completely flabbergasted. He could feel his cheeks burning beneath his mask as Rhys looked at him like that. Rhys took the opportunity to take hold of Jack’s hand and slowly pull him into bed with him.

“That’s okay, we don’t have to talk about any of that right now. Tonight, you’ll get some rest and tomorrow will be a new, better day. Now get over here.” Rhys laughed and yanked Jack down onto the bed and quickly pulled him in close. Jack nearly tripped over himself as he was pulled and let out a laugh as he hit the bed. He nestled into the sheets, so happy to be back in their bed. Honestly, why did they ever leave it? Rhys slipped in behind him, his flesh arm wrapping around Jack’s waist and pulled him in close, their bodies pressing flush to one anothers. Jack let out an almost elated sigh, sincerely happy to just be home and in Rhys’ arms. He didn’t mind being the little spoon at times and Rhys was damn good at cuddling, so this was really nice. It didn’t take long before Jack was out, his body completely relaxed beneath his boyfriends hold. Rhys nuzzled his face against Jack’s back gently, his lips pressing lazy kisses into Jack’s skin. The younger man smiled and laughed gently as he felt his eyes growing heavy with sleep.

“Goodnight, my handsome Jack. I love you…”

[happysmilebtr]

hello, hello! @jaewwoo tis i, auntie anna aka your secret santa for this event! ^_^ it has been an honor to be your secret santa (even if there were some minor bumps here and there hehe) i do hope you have a fantastic christmas if you celebrate it along with a happy new year! you are seriously a sweet person that is funny and lovely to talk to (go and follow them btw c;) i do hope we can chat some more in the future! 

so here is your christmas gift, two in one! the first is this lovely moodboard that i hope you like! :) you mentioned yuta being you bias (for now lol) so i went ahead and centered around a soft christmas moodboard with prince yuta himself! not gonna lie, it was tricky! i wanted a very specific theme based around yuta’s picture so finding christmas aesthetic pictures to fit that wasn’t easy but i think it turned out lovely and does fit well with your second gift, a small lil written work hehe. enjoy the two in one love and merry christmas! 🎅

drabble inspired by these two prompts; “Muse a being a butt and putting their cold hands on b’s warm neck” &  “would you like some hot cocoa with your mountain of marshmallows oh my god are you TRYING to put yourself into a sugar coma?“

                                                    ❅❅❅

Sometimes the Christmas holiday’s plans aren’t always the most traditional. Sometimes, sometimes for the holiday's you just have to do something unexpected. Do something out of the ordinary. For example, go out for a drive and watch the snow fall from the inside of your car. Sometimes, that's just how the holiday's can be

Fio's Christmas was just that this year. It wasn't the typical get dressed up for the family is coming over. No, this year's Christmas was a last minute plan that involved a close friend that goes by the name of Yuta. Less then 24 hours ago, the lad had decided to go ahead and strike up the suggestion on if the idea of a small road trip would be something she would be interested. She had agreed but what she didn't expect was to have this roadtrip happen on Christmas! Fio had truly expected this to be some new year's bucket list or whatever people call it these days for Yuta and honestly it sounded appealing. Not often she has the chance to travel of any kind really. However...Christmas? And at 7 in the morning of all times!?

Oh Yuta should be counting his stars that Fio had a generous heart. That she wasn't kicking him out to the curb and instead dressed herself up for this plan of his

"So, still hate me my darling?"

Fiorella glanced over to the other side of the car when hearing the sickly sweet voice ring out, followed by an innocent smile. Letting out a faint sigh while shaking her head a bit "oh shove it" was all that she had mumbled. Even though the female beauty was indeed, quite annoyed at the fact of how this idea of a trip was planned out -that and also her precious sleeping was screwed over thank you very much. Goodbye good sleep- the gal wasn't entirely disappointed with the turn events

Key word, entirely.

"If by that, you mean am i interested in shoving my foot to your pretty face for the lake of beauty sleep? Yes, yes i still hate you Yuta" Fio replied with a faint snort, smiling softly when hearing the laugh from the male himself

"Ouch, i never knew you were such an evil person?"

"There's alot of things you don't know about me Yuta" the female beauty answered, flicking -and failing- her hair dramatically

An eyebrow arched up behind the male's bangs as he stared at the female "mhm...like?" he asked. Curious to see what Fiorella would tell him and what fun fact was he going to learn about her. At that, she shifted herself around in the car seat to get more comfortable and folded her hands on her lap

"Like how i am a fantastic comedian and before you argue back mister, i actually have a joke prepared to prove my comedy skills" the female quipped "what is barbie's favorite sauce?" she asked, watching as the dark blonde male shrugged his shoulders at the question

"barbi-que sauce!" she exclaimed, grinning at the joke she had made -while possibly trying not to laugh at her own joke- and awaited on the reaction from her friend who simply just made a face of confusion. Probably a bit unsure if he should laugh at the poor attempt of a joke or pretend it was never said

"Get it? Barbie...sort of sou-"

"Maybe leave the jokes to the professional's"

At that, the gal huffed and threw her beanie at the male who chuckled, "rude. that joke is brilliant that even the world's greatest comedians would approve of that" she mumbled, sticking out her tongue out childishly. Sadly, this little action had turned into one of a fight so to speak between the two. In retaliation, Yuta went ahead and poked her sides gently. Earning a small squeak from the female. Fio went ahead and returned the gesture with poking him back, thus their poking fight began. Pair these two together and it's like maybe watching a 'Tom & Jerry' episode sometimes.

Children stuck in grown up bodies

But someone had to put the stop to the poking war that was ensuing within the car. Who was brave enough to do such a task? Someone that holds the name Nakomto Yuta of course. "Hey, is that a deer?" was the first step of Yuta's plan. Easily this distraction had worked cause Fiorella had turned her head to try to spot this so called deer the male claimed to have spotted. Next, came the action

While distracted, Yuta quickly placed his hand behind the gal's neck. This action may have seemed, well, lame in retrospect. on the contrary, it was the perfect plan to get the upper hand in the situation...cold hands for the win.

At that spine chilling feeling on Fio's neck, she jumped in her seat, mumbling a string of colorful words and started to swat and smack the male's arm to try to get the source of the cold. Yuta? He was donning a Cheshire smile on his face.

"Get your ice cold hands away from me you jack frost!" hissed the gal. Sending a laser glare over at her friend

"Alright, alright. How about a cup of hot coco? Call it a peace treaty if you will"

Fio stared at the dark haired blonde while he reached out from behind him, pulling his hand off her neck to grab ahold of the thermos that contained the pre-made hot chocolate. Shaking it in his hand for a moment in question. The female clicked her tongue once as she crossed her arms in front of her. Still sending him a stink eye no doubt

"Seriously?"

"Seriously"

"You've got to be kidding me here? Do you truly believe that I would go ahead and let you off the hook for doing that? I could have gotten frost bite from that you know!"

Ok, no she wouldn't have. Still doesn't wash away the fact the male and his hand was far too cold my dear friends!

Yuta snorts at the reaction and rolled his eyes, "Fio...overreacting a bit there?"

"I am serious here mister!"

"Yeah, yeah and I'm sorry for my kind of-"

"Kind of? More like hella lot"

"As i was saying...do you want this hot coco that i have worked hard for?"

Fiorella narrowed her eyes for a brief moment, not saying anything as if she was trying to come up with a decision to this very crucial decision -note the sarcasm-. "Are there marshmallow's as well?"  

"Of course!" Yuta commented and scoffed, placing his hand over his heart "I'm hurt, how would you think i wouldn't include something as important as marshmallow's?" the male had replied. The female simply shrugged her shoulders and held out her hand, making a 'gimmie' motion with her hand. Yuta simply chuckled and poured the liquid into the cup

"Enjoy m'lady"

"This better be the world's best hot chocolate Yuta"

"Oh it is, i poured my blood, sweat and tears into this coco for your information"

The female beauty snorts at the dramatic comment made by the male, shaking her head. Boy did like to be a bit dramatic at times, sometimes it can be confusing though because there are times where she stops to wonder whether or not Yuta is actually serious or not? You can never be too sure with him

She took the packaged of the squishy sweets after she placed the cup on the dashboard of the car so it wouldn't spill while opening the package. Any normal person would grab a few droplets of the marshmallow's but Fio...

Oh boy

Instead, what the female had done is she went ahead simply grabbed a handful of it. Not once, but twice handful of marshmallow's! Sure, this did make a mess inside the car considering that amount spilled over the cup though she didn't care because she was content with what she had done. Yuta, he stared in disbelief at his friend and what he was seeing

"Women!"

"What?" Fiorella asked innocently, picking up the cup as if nothing had happened

"You know what! Fio...child...you cannot just simply have a cup full of marshmallow's with hot coco"

"Says who? Who said there was a rule for this anyway?"

"No but that doesn't mean you have to put yourself into a sugar coma or something!"

Fio giggled at her friend who was truly worried over the amount of sugar she was about to consume "Aww, I'm flattered to know you are worried about me Yuta but I'll be perfectly fine" she assured the male, reaching out to pat his knee to calm his worries. Ok sure, maybe the mountain full of marshmallow's is not the most...healthiest option right now but you know what they say. There can never be too much sweets in the world right?

"I swear you are going to make me lose my mind one day" Yuta mumbled

Fiorella hummed softly and popped a marshmallow that was overflowing into her mouth before she reached over to place a gentle kiss onto his cheek

"Hopefully it would be in the Christmas spirit" she mused

At that action, Yuta's eyes widened for a brief moment a bit too comically and cleared his throat. Nodding his head a few times while shifting in his car seat. This was...a bit rare to say the least. To see a flustered Yuta. Usually the male never really shows a crack in his appearance like being nervous fully, covers it up with his confidence but it seemed like a kiss was enough to make the male be red in the face like Rudolph himself -but she will spare her friend and not tell him that...now at least-

"Uh-you know what? It's bit warm in here, let me open the window a bit. Yeah?"

"Yeah, sure Yuta" Fiorella replied with a small chuckle. Throwing a marshmallow puff at her friend with a small smile

How cute

"Thanks though"

Yuta turned back at the female and furrowed his eyebrows for a moment "For what?" he asked

"For this Christmas roadtrip of yours...this is nice Yuta" she smiled. It was different than the usual holiday plans but it was something new. New doesn't entirely mean something bad afterall. New can bring in memories to think back later on in time. Plus, the holiday's are about spending time with loved ones isn't it? Yuta fits that description afterall.

“Heh, and you originally wanted to chop off my d-”

“Oh shush now!”

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

Great Minds Think Alike (Riverdale - Jughead x OC) Finale

Pairing : Jughead x OC

Synopsis : A new girl arrives in town around the time of Jason Blossom’s accident. That alone makes her suspicious and unlikeable to most people. Jughead has every reason to investigate on her, the timing is too perfect, right? And it has nothing to do with the young girl’s odd yet charming way of always seeming to find her way back to him, no matter the situation.  

Word Count : 6.2k

MASTERLIST

Part 10  <<<

She was surprised to realize that she remembered how to get to Jughead's house without using her GPS, and soon parked her car in front of the old house, her heart playing the maracas in her chest. There was a huge lump in her throat, making her wonder if she would even be able to talk at all. Iris caught her reflection in the rear view mirror and winced.

Veronica had made wonders with her, there was nothing wrong with her appearance per se, but she looked so unlike herself that for a second she wanted to go home and change, take off the makeup, undo her hair. Had this entire situation turned her into something she wasn't?

A tired sigh fell from her lips – one more, one less, who was counting at this point? Iris kicked open her door before she could chicken out of this and put the contact on again. It was now or never, she was already ditching school, she was already feeling like utter shit, so really what more could Jughead do to her? She would end up getting a lecture from her dad, and feel miserable in any case.

Worst pep talk ever, she thought to herself, and smiled a little. She used to be funny. Who had sucked the joy out of her? Could she only joke around the one Jughead and no one else? If feelings weren't so wild and out of control, Iris would have chosen to swing the other way and live her happy ever after with Ronnie. Now she groaned. She was pathetic.

Her feet lead her to the front door and her hand raised on its own to knock, the gesture being so natural that she could do all of that on autopilot. And she was thankful, because her brains was on overdrive and it didn’t help think clearly.

As soon as she had knocked, Iris began to panic good and proper. What was she going to say? Where to start? She should be calm, or scream at him for behaving the way he did? Did she have to apologize? Would he? And what if he slammed the door to her face and refused to listen? Had they reached that point? It wasn't the first time in her life that Iris lost a friend to a grief, but it burnt like acid in her stomach each time.

The door remained closed for the longest time – or perhaps it was only long due to Iris' distorted perception of time. When it did swing open, her heart nearly dropped in apprehension.

“Hello? What can I do for you?” An old lady greeted her, only opening the door enough to peek through the crack.

Iris breathed again.

“I- euh- I'm sorry to bother you, I'm looking for Jughead? Jughead Jones? He lives here,” she stuttered out, feeling like an intruder suddenly.

The old lady smiled a little and opened the door wider.

“Jughead!” The lady said. “Oh my dear the boy doesn't live here! He helps me take care of my garden sometimes, you see I'm getting too old to mow the lawn, so I give him a little something and he does it for me.”

“This... is not his house?”

Iris' mind was a mess. All sorts of red flags raised at this revelation, and her brain glitched altogether. What was going on? She was absolutely certain that she had picked Jughead up right here. She couldn't be mistaken, she remembered the roses next to the door, the wooden beams, the flowery garden.

The more she thought about it, the less this house looked like a teenager lived here, or anyone under the age of sixty for that matter. This was an old lady's house, with an old lady's garden full of peonies, roses, and gardenias. This was not Jughead's house – he had lied. He gave her a wrong address.

Why did he do that? Was Iris to high on his list of suspects that he refused to let her know where he lived? Did he mistrust her so much? Was their entire friendship a scam? If she didn't get out of here right now she was going to cry right in front of the woman, who now looked at her with concern in her eyes.

“No, darling. I don't have his address but I can give you his phone number if you want?” She offered, in an obvious attempt to stop the tears from welling up in Iris' eyes.

“I already have it, but thank you. And sorry for bothering you, have a good day ma'am,” Iris bit her farewell and walked away.

She had lost the purpose in her stride and didn't know where to go now. She entertained the idea that Jughead hadn't just hid where he lives from her, and if that was true then there was no point in asking Betty, or Archie where Jughead lived because they would give her this very address.

Cheryl only said that Jughead didn't come to class today, it didn't necessarily mean that he was home, wherever that might be. And if Jughead wasn't home, or at school, then there was only a very limited number of other places he would most likely be.

Iris' got in her car again and started the engine. Her first stop was Pop's – an obvious place to start with, but it turned out being fruitless. At this early hour the diner wasn't even open yet. Her phone buzzed just when she was going to exit the parking lot.

“Cheryl?” Iris said in her phone.

“In the flesh,” Cheryl chirped on the other end of the call. “Where are you honey? You've been MIA since I talked to you this morning, don't tell me you left to look for this brooding wannabe Shakespeare.”

“I found Betty, or rather Betty found me,” she said with a sigh. “She told me something vague about how she pretended to be into Jughead, but then she refused to tell me why and insisted I go find Jughead because he was the only one who could give me the answer,” she explained as concisely as she could.

“Well dear me, this sounds dramatic and ominous, I wonder what could make someone pretend to like this edgy teen cliché,” she said, not sounding surprised at all. Then again dramatic behavior was Cheryl's signature, so maybe she lost the ability to be surprised by it. “Anyway, did you find him?” She added right before Iris could take offense, because he actually liked this edgy teen cliché – albeit against her better judgment – and there was nothing wrong with it.

“No...” She hesitated, not wanting to admit Jughead pretended to live at a random house because he didn't want to tell her where he lives – regardless of the reasons, that was a fact. “I'm going everywhere he might hand out for now.”

“Try that crumpling, old car park cinema, he can't shut up about it being a part of Riverdale's history and that it needs to be saved from the bulldozers,” Cheryl nearly yawned as if it bored her just to talk about Jughead and the Twilight. She was right though, and it was Iris' next destination anyway.

“I'll do that,” she told her ginger friend – at this point there was really no use in pretending they weren't friends. “See you Cheryl.”

The ginger girl did not say goodby and simply hung up, as her usual. Despite herself, Iris smiled, because among all this emotional chaos, she had made a friend – a very unlikely one but a good one, she mused. Somehow, when she drove away, her heart wasn't as heavy anymore.

It came as a shock to see that Cheryl had been right, and the Twilight was not abandoned as it should be. The Godfather was playing on the giant screen, though the parking lot was empty. Iris hadn't expected to find him to be honest. A part of her even thought Jughead was gone – finally having had his fill with Riverdale's drama and tragedy.

She couldn't blame him, Iris would do the same in a heartbeat it the opportunity arose. But he was here, she knew it, and once again bracing herself, this time even taking the time to give herself a real pep talk, Iris got out of the car, and climbed the stairs leading up to the local where Jughead worked before the Twilight shut down.

What better telltale sign of Jughead's presence here than the fact that the movie stopped the moment Iris knocked on the door – and he didn't even know who it was yet. She laughed bitterly, not looking forward to this conversation but knowing it had to happen.

When he opened the door, Iris almost wished he were a friendly old lady. As soon as their eyes met, Iris' anger from the past few weeks of being ignored, looked down upon, frowned at, and generally badly treated rose up to the surface, and her mouth opened without her brain's permission, and started speaking.

“I went to your house,” she said.

Jughead, who was about to ask her what she was doing here, closed his mouth again, and looked away.

“You know the one you made me pick you up from, even though you don't live there,” she said, unable to hold back from sounding reproachful and mad. Hell! She was mad. “I met the nice old lady who assured me that no Jughead Jones lives in this house. Care to explain?”

“I-” he opened and closed his mouth a few times, taken aback both by the question and Iris' tone of voice. He distinctly remembered her as being jovial and teasing, but never harsh, not to him anyway. Unless he deserved it, like that night in the woods. After reflection, he deserved it. “It's none of your business.”

If she hated him already what was the point in telling her? He might as well keep his secret well hidden and keep Iris' at arms' length at the same time.

“None of my business,” she repeated to herself in a hushed tone. “Right.” She clicked her tongue against her cheek. “And I suppose it isn't any of my business either that you used me for your goddamn book? That you kept from me that Kevin's dad had a file on me? That I am, and always was your prime suspect in this fucking Jason Blossom case you try so hard to solve? Was it also none of my business when you pretended to be my friend to keep an eye on me, or try to dig out some deep, dark secret you think I have? And maybe it wasn't my business either when you continued where we left our investigation with Betty? And when you and her pretended to have a thing for each other? Speak up Jughead, I'm curious.”

Iris glared so hard she thought she might set him on fire if she tried hard enough, and while Jughead wasn't screaming in agony yet, he also wasn't comfortable. His hands fidgeted, his eyes averted from her like he feared she might read the truth in his eyes. He still stood in the doorway and pondered what to do when Iris took the reins and pushed him inside. If he wasn't going to invite her in to talk, she would do it herself.

“Wait!” He called but she was already inside, and she stopped in her tracks. Not because of what he said but because of what she saw.

What she saw was a bed of fortune, his school bag, a few cans of perishable goods, a toothbrush and toothpaste next to the small sink, a bag of clothes sitting in a corner. There was a pregnant pause.

“What the hell Jughead?!” Iris exploded. “You better start explaining right this second or you'll see what happens when I'm done sulking an start acting!”

This time her anger was mixed with confusion – and perhaps a dash of concern, but first and foremost anger. Her incomprehension was painted all over her features, and while her tone was still harsh and demanding, her demeanor changed altogether. Her shoulders slumped down, her eyes begged him to come clean, to tell her the truth of what was happening.

“I can't stay in the dark anymore, just tell me what's going on or I'll go crazy,” she added, seeing his resolve waver in his eyes.

He looked terrible. Had he always looked so unkempt and tired? She couldn't remember the last time she looked his way and didn't catch him staring holes into her skull, immediately looking away. Because if she didn't see him glare at her, then she could pretend he wasn't.

“Fucking say something!” She shouted when he still didn't speak.

“Okay! Okay...” Jughead finally said, gesturing her to keep the volume down. “I'll talk, just please calm down. I'll answer all your questions, but you have to promise me this stays between us.”

“Like I told any of your secrets to anyone before,” Iris spat at him, sitting on the makeshift bed. It creaked under her weigh. After a second of hesitation, and after wiping his palms on his thighs, Jughead joined on.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, they were sitting next to each other like before, about to have a somewhat civil conversation, looking in each other's eyes and not just trying to mentally kill each other. Iris felt a tinge in her heart and flinched.

“This is the part where you apologize for estranging me without telling why and making me feel miserable,” Iris told him in a much more even voice.

It hurt a lot more to hear her say that in such a flat, factual tone, as if she didn't trust herself to let filter any emotion at all. Jughead felt terrible. Even more terrible than he had over the last few weeks, when he distanced himself from Iris for reasons that Betty qualified as ridiculous and undignified.

“How did you learn about the file?” Jughead asked – he figured he had to start somewhere. Iris' expression immediately darkened and she leaned back, squinting her eyes at him.

He took a second to look at her and found she looked rather strange. She was dressed up, which was unusual, and it clashed with how worn out she looked. Like she wasn't sleep too well.

“That doesn't sound like excuses to me,” she seethed.

“Right, sorry,” Jughead said, blushing in embarrassment. What was he thinking? She was right of course, he had behaved abominably and now he reaped the fruit of his actions. “I have never pretended to be your friend, you know I can't fake that. If I don't like someone it's pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Iris snapped, making him feel even worse about himself. He truly hadn't rightly evaluated the extent of the damage he's done to their friendship.

“When we started meeting up at Pop's to write I hadn't heard about Sheriff Keller's file on you, I swear your meeting isn't some ploy.” Jughead raised his hands to show that they were clean in that matter. “It's true Kevin spoke about the file he saw in his dad's office when we pressed him about why he didn't like you. I admit I was curious but at this point I already knew you, and no matter what this file said I knew you were not a suspect. You were never on my list to start with.”

“Right, save it. You said it yourself that everyone is a suspect until proven otherwise. Getting to know me over burgers is not a proof, not even in my book, and it's nowhere near as strict as yours,” Iris fired back, unimpressed with Jughead's attempt to explain himself.

It was all good that he finally spilled the beans, but that still didn't even remotely resemble an apology. Iris could lie to Jughead but not to herself. True she wanted to get answers, but the main reason for her presence here was not enlightenment. She wanted Jughead to acknowledge that he hurt her, that he behaved like a caveman and that he was in the wrong. She wanted an apology, a genuine, heartfelt apology, and if it wasn't good enough she might have to actually scratch Jughead out of her life.

“I don't know what you want to hear Iris!” Jughead burst out, feeling more and more frustrated with the girl.

“You're not supposed to say what I want to hear, you fucking idiot!” She shouted back. “Say something you mean!”

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry I went about it the way I did, I realize it was dumb and hurtful! There you have it! I apologize.”

There was another long silence.

“You really can't admit your faults, can you?” Iris asked softly. “You say sorry but all I hear is excuses. I'm not your lapdog Jughead, I won't come back with a waggling tail because you scratch my ears. If what you said about being my friend is true, then by all that is holy, I'm begging you to make an effort, because I'm tired of running after you. If you think you can't be my friend anymore you need to tell me, I can live with that. I just want to clear the air between us, because I can't have you be mad at me forever without explanation.”

“I'm not mad at you,” he sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. “I'm mad at myself.”

Jughead angrily ran his hand through his hair, tossing aside his beanie and groaning as he leaned back and fell on the bed.

“So what? You take it out on me? My, my, it keeps getting better!”

“Will you stop being so sarcastic? You picked that up from Cheryl!” Jughead accused. “Everything isn't about you, Iris! I have other problems than our little argument at the river that night.”

“Anything to do with you sleeping at a drive in that's about to get demolished?” Iris asked to get this conversation back on track – they would never go anywhere it they kept throwing around the hot potato.

“It's a long story...” Jughead elided the question. “I know I shouldn't have given you a fake address but I panicked when you insisted on picking me up. I've been living here for a while now, no one knows and I'd appreciate if it stayed that way.”

“I won't tell anyone, you know that,” Iris promised, looking at him. Jughead, despite lying down, looked up to meet her eyes. Of course she wouldn't snitch, she never did.

“Now if you want answers you'll have to ask your questions again, but slowly this time. I never heard anyone ask so many questions at once, you made me dizzy,” he said in a snicker, prompting the same sound to come out of her throat.

It wasn't a laugh but it was damn near one, and for now it would do – an improvement is an improvement.

“I don't even remember what I asked,” she admitted, still laughing humorlessly, somewhat at a loss now that her anger had faded a bit. “I guess I just want to know what's been going on in that head of yours since our argument.”

“A lot, actually. I regretted what I said that night almost as soon as I said it. But once the words were out there I could hardly take them back, so I figured I'd stand by my word and hope for the best. Except it didn't turn out how I'd hoped, it went completely astray, and we stopped talking altogether.”

“You mean it wasn't your intention?” She asked for clarification.

“Not at all, I knew you were right, and I as the one who took the wrong decision when I left the river the night Kevin and Moose found Jason's body. I- I just don't like being wrong, so I kept quiet. Part of me wished you just dismissed what I said and blamed it on the situation, that you'd just come talk to me the next day like always.”

“But I didn't, because I'm not an idiot and I know what I'm worth,” Iris pointed out, earning a groan as sole answer.

He didn't need a reminded.

“You really hurt me, Jug.”

“I know.”

“If I had any sense of self-preservation I wouldn't be here in the first place. I should want you out of my life.”

“I know.”

“Then why am I here?”

“I don't know.” He sat up again. “But I'm not going to waste this chance. I'll tell you everything you want to know. I swear I never intended to hurt you. I know I did and I regret it, but there's nothing I can do about it now, can I? If you want to find out if I'm sincere about being sorry, you'll have to risk being disappointed again.”

“If that's how you try to convince me to listen to your poor excuse of an apology, I have to tell you it sucks.” He cracked a smile, rubbing his hands together in uneasiness. “It really does, you need to work on that.”

“I'll jot that down,” he snorted. “For now, what about I take it from the start?”

“That would be great.”

Iris shot him her first heartfelt smile in over two weeks, and gently bumped her shoulder against his. And just like that the floodgates opened, letting out a flow of revelations she was more or less prepared to hear.

*

Veronica and Betty were in a corner making casual conversation while stretching when Better confessed to having maybe made things worse yesterday by telling Iris something she shouldn't have.

“But after you left Pop's the other day I realized how tense things were between all of us, and Iris looked so hurt when Jug and I became all touchy feely,” she told her. “I felt bad, I couldn't keep up the act.”

“What do you mean 'an act'?” Veronica questioned her.

“Well, Jug was going about it the wrong way, so I suggested we give Iris a little push so she would finally take the first step and talk to him.”

“I don't understand anything you're saying,” Ronnie said with a confused and somewhat nervous laugh. “What are you saying Betty?”

“Jughead obviously likes Iris, you must have noticed.”

“Well... yes, but since their argument-” She started, frowning a big, not sure where Betty was going with this but she was interrupted mid-sentence.

“He's a mess, he does all the wrong things, he can't think clearly anymore. And if he doesn't get it together, than I had to find a way to make Iris be the mature one and talk things out.”

“Let me recap. You pretended to be into Jughead because you were playing Cupid for these two?” Veronica repeated just to make sure she hadn't gotten it all wrong, because it sounded so ludicrous and to be fair, quite sketchy for a plan made by Riverdale's very own Nancy Drew. “You scheming little match-maker!”

“I'm sorry but I couldn't bear it anymore, the tension...” Betty rolled her eyes. “But I haven't seen Iris this morning, and now I'm worried I made things worse by meddling, I hope nothing terrible happened. Oh Ronnie, what if I messed with the natural course of life?”

“Breathe, Betty!” Veronica laughed, feeling lighter and happier herself after hearing that Betty wasn't really in a secret relationship with Jughead. “She's a big, capable girl! If anything happened it's not to her, trust me... The girl has rage.”

“Please, I'd feel bad if Jughead came back with a black eye too,” Betty said with a wince, second guessing everything she did or said the day before. Curse her meddling nature.

“If you're so worried I'll go ask Cheryl,” Ronnie offered.

“Cheryl?” Betty frowned in distaste. “What would Cheryl know?”

“She's friends with Iris,” Veronica said, purposely omitting to add that she too had lowered her weapons in presence of the ginger force of nature.

So now Cheryl stared Veronica up and down in a rather judgmental way for having disturbed her lecture.

“Dismissed,” she said, and immediately the two girls she was ripping to shred for messing up a step during practice hurried off like two scared rabbits. “What can I do for you?” She asked, not as harshly as per usual.

“Have you seen Iris?” Ronnie asked Cheryl, who looked up as if thinking about it really hard.

“I called her yesterday and she was looking for her favorite charity case around town,” she very helpfully informed Veronica. “Haven't talked to her since, but if she's not here she must have found him.”

With that she twirled around, nearly whipping Veronica with her long hair, and walked away. Stunned but happy with her answer, Ronnie joined Betty again.

“So?”

“She was looking for Jughead last she heard of her,” she told Betty. “But she's right, if Iris isn't here today, it might just be because she found him. Maybe they are still working things out,” she mused. Betty stared ahead of her and hummed as sole answer, obviously not entirely convinced. “Or maybe they are boning it out?” Ronnie offered, not helpfully at all.

She smiled and rolled her eyes at that.

“Oh please! I can't vouch for Iris, but Jughead wouldn't... he's never... you know...” she trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck and blushing.

“Had sex, Betty. The words you're looking for are 'had sex',” Veronica laughed. “Wait a minute! You haven't... either?”

“So who can't say 'have sex' now?” Betty retorted smarty. Ronnie scoffed.

“Oh come on! Not even foreplay?” Veronica insisted, which increased the blush on Betty's cheek and made her stutter out a vague answer about 'being busy' and 'not having the opportunity', to which Ronnie only smiled before grabbing Betty's arm to begin practice.

*

“Jughead and Iris have been MIA since yesterday, does anyone know what's going on? Where the hell are they?” Archie asked the moment he set his lunch tray on the table in the cafeteria.

“Don't you worry Archikins,” Ronnie said, tapping his shoulder.

“Ronnie-” Betty started but she was cut off.

“They are probably making up for lost time! Before we hear from them, let's just assume the best, wadya think?” She chirped happily, spooning her yogurt.

“No I mean, Ronnie look! They are coming this way!” Betty pointed to the door, making everyone at the table, even Kevin, turn around to have a look.

Surely enough there were the two class skippers, walking side by side and looking like they were in the middle of an animated conversation, what with Iris making big hand gestures to the point where Jughead had to catch her arm before she accidentally hit someone it the face.

“What on earth...?” Kevin whispered to himself.

“Do you all see the same thing?” Betty asked and was answered by a round of silent, stunned nods. “I'm so relieve I didn't mess things up!”

“What do you mean?” Archie shook his head and focused on Betty.

“Oh nothing!” Veronica answered before Betty could spill out the truth. “Betty here just likes to give a little push to destiny once in a while.”

Archie frowned because he didn't understand anything Veronica just said but figured it wasn't all that important if everything worked out fine in the end.

“Should we call them?” Betty asked.

“No!” Ronnie's hand shot out and took hers as if to stop her. “Let's give them some alone time. We know they're fine now.”

And so they turned around again, and continued eating, the topic shifting to something else.

“Don't look behind you,” Jughead started, “but all our friends are staring at us very obviously and insistently,” he told Iris who smirked at the thought.

“Right, I haven't really talked to them since I left class yesterday morning. I sort of told Veronica that I'd call her in the evening,” she suddenly remembered.

Jughead and her had talked away the entire day once they managed to stop blaming the fault for their argument on each other. It wasn't as easy as one might think when you take into account that Iris and Jughead were both stubborn people who liked to have the last word. But after some more yelling, swearing, and sighing, they got around to both apologizing to each other for the harm done, on purpose or not.

When he finished explaining that he felt too bogged down in his own mess to simply say sorry and go back to how things were before he said those hurtful words at the river, the conversation shifted to what prompted Iris to come search for him in the first place. The whole thing with Betty.

He stammered and blushed and avoided her eyes, making it hard for Iris to recognize the Jughead she knew and loved, the stoic, sarcastic movie buff who talked pop culture references and had a five foot tall brick wall surrounding his heart. She wasn't entirely convinced that was the whole reason for this act of his, but he told her that Betty was trying to make Veronica jealous – or at the very least see if she got jealous, because apparently Ronnie's crush on her wasn't obvious to her.

Iris decided to accept the explanation because she hoped for Ronnie that it was true, and she figured she had squeezed out enough information from Jughead for one day.

“Go figure, maybe they signaled us missing to Sheriff Keller,” Jughead snickered, peeking over Iris' shoulder. “They are not looking anymore.”

Iris turned around too and saw their friends chatting over their lunch – nothing unusual. She exhaled and leaned against Jughead.

“I should go say something at least, otherwise they'll spy on us until they know more,” she decided, and Jughead approved, telling her that he would be getting lunch and waiting for her at their usual spot.

She walked away and she hadn't even crossed half the distance to the table that Betty spotted her and jumped off her seat to meet her halfway.

“Sooo?” She whispered with a conniving smile on her face, as if she was waiting great news she had participated in making true.

“Please don't smile like that, it's a bit freaky,” Iris chuckled. “Everything's fine, we talked it all out. Cold war is officially over, you no longer need to pick sides.”

Iris' humorous yet dramatic announcement wasn't what Betty was referring to though, and the blonde girl made it known.

“No! I was talking about the other thing! About Jug and I pretending to flirt and all that...” she specified.

With a crooked smirk, Iris leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. She knew what Betty wanted to hear, but she was building up the tension.

“He told me too. You could've just said it that it was for Veronica, instead of making me chase Jughead around town,” Iris said, and Betty nearly jumped to her throat, putting her hand over Iris' mouth. ���What-?”

“Shhh!” Betty shushed her. “Not so loud! And what do you even mean? I'm not trying to make Ronnie jealous, wh- why would I- I-” she stuttered out.

“Don't bother, I know you two have a thing for each other,” Iris said, making Betty blush and sigh in relief, somehow both at the same time.

“Yeah, okay, alright, cool...” she said in the least laid back manner Iris ever heard. “But it's still not why we put up this act. “It wasn't me who was trying to making someone jealous. It's Jug. I mean, it was my idea, the blame is on me for this one, but we did it to make you jealous of me for being with Jug.”

Iris' eyebrows went up and down and frowned and arched a few times during this confusing explanation that was a little far fetched and hard to believe, but way too strange to be a lie. If Betty wanted to lie, she would come up with something more convincing.

“Me?” She said, astounded. Betty nodded. “The fuck?” Iris exclaimed, having lost her ability to speak properly over this piece of news.

“You like Jughead Iris, you said so yourself. What's so strange about Jug liking you back?” She said softly, speaking low so no one could overhear.

“Do you hear yourself? The person I like liking me back? Unrealistic,” Iris dismissed the sheer though, waving it off. “He must have thought you wanted to make Veronica jealous and rolled with it while you thought you did it for him, classic misunderstanding.”

“We're not in a teenage drama,” Betty argued, grabbing Iris' arm before she could walk away. “And trust me, there was no misunderstanding. Jughead wanted you back.”

“He never had me!”

“Yes he had! Iris, come on!” Betty was this close to begging her. “Just go ask him if you don't believe me!”

“I will!” Iris replied, as if Betty just threw her a challenge. “I'm sure he'll laugh at me for even asking!”

“I'll be waiting right here if you feel like saying hi to the others and, I don't know, telling me I was right?” Betty smiled one last time and shooed Iris away and towards her and Jug's spot under the tree.

Iris marched with purpose and confidence, standing right in front of Jughead who was sitting against the tree like always, blinking at her because of the sun behind her back, and looking at her questiongly.

“I'm almost scared to ask, but: what's going on?” He asked.

“Betty told you something interesting, I'd like your input,” Iris said, and Jughead swallowed thickly, easily guessing what it was about – if only thanks to Iris' tone and demeanor, the girl liked to have to upper hand in a conversation and she used it mercilessly. “You know about this whole making Ronnie jealous scheme...” She trailed off, giving him a chance to explain before she got to the best part.

But he kept quiet and stood up, as if he had tied springs to his shoes, grabbing Iris' arm and dragging her away from prying ears and eyes, leaving their lunch on the ground. Iris followed him a winning smile on her face – so Betty was right after all! She couldn't believe it! She was ecstatic but she couldn't believe it! Jughead was so red in the face she could hardly recognize him.

When he finally deemed they were far enough he stopped in his tracks, and Iris shortly avoided walking straight into him, Jughead reaching for her so she wouldn't lose balance.

They stared at each other, both flustered, happy, and a nervous. He didn't remove his hand immediately, only realizing he was still holding her when she cleared her throat, and withdrawing his hands.

“I- euh, I thought-” He started, having no idea whatsoever what he was going to say, he just started talking on instinct, having no clue where he was going with this. “Betty said- and then I... I wasn't sure, and maybe it was... I don't know,” he mumbled.

It seemed Iris had unlocked the secret to making a future author lose all of his vocabulary, and it made her smile to big she thought she must have looked silly, but she couldn’t help it.

“You thought what, Jug?” Iris pressed him, having no mercy for the stuttering mess he had become.

“You know what,” he accused her, recomposing himself a bit. “Making me say it would be sadism.”

“I can live with being a sadist. Please enlighten me, I want to know what you thought,” she insisted, enjoyed herself oh-so much. “I'm enjoying this a lot, by the way.”

She took a step forward, and while Jughead was still nervous about his lie being exposed, he didn't step back and that was a good sign, right? She took it as a good sign anyway, and before he could come up with another way to dodge her inquiries, she reached up for his neck, and pulled him into a kiss.

Damn it all, they thought. Jughead might have forgotten how to use his brain but his body still functioned, and he answered the kiss right away, his hands holding onto Iris like it was natural. She expected him to pull back in surprise, but was glad to feel him reciprocate, and for a brief moment they both forgot the pain they inflicted themselves and each other the past weeks.

That is, until a round of cheers and enthusiastic whistles interrupted their moment. Archie, Betty, Veronica, Kevin, and even Cheryl stood uphill and showed their support in the most ostentatious manner imaginable while Iris and Jughead stood there, holding each other, smiling embarrassingly, and wishing their friends were a bit more subtle.

“All is well that ends well,” Cheryl declared, winking at Iris and stealing a glance at Veronica who was leaning against Betty.

A/N: Apologies for being the slowest updater in the history of fanfic writers, but at long last here it is, the finale of GMTA. It’s twice as long as tee other chapters to make up for the time it took me to write it - which was exactly 12h, because yes I suddenly woke up and decided to finally write that bitch, so I sat down and typed all day until my arms hurt and posted it without proof reading because I was SO HAPPY this is behind me, I feel so accomplished today. It’s nothing like I picutred it when I first started this series, and it damn nearly ended up being a Cheryl x OC because I hate season 2 Jughead (which is why I didn’t feel like writing this anymore) but I forced myself anyway, because this story deserved an ending, and you and I deserve CLOSURE.

Wow, longest author’s note ever

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