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possiamo-andare · 3 years

Text

Just You (5)

JJ x Reader x Rafe (love triangle)

MASTERLIST

word count: 7.4k

a/n: you know I had to sprinkle a couple of jane austen references here and there ;)

The Midsummer festival had been celebrated at the Cameron household for decades, if not longer. Their family was one of the oldest in the small town of Outer Banks and it became tradition for Rose Cameron to organize the event. She spent a majority of her year planning for one night of festivities, relying only on her close friends for help. She bore the brunt of the work, deciding on the theme, caterers, decorations, live band, venue, and so on. After all was said and done, Rose slept for a week, exhausted from all the planning. At one point in her and Ward’s marriage, she had almost decided against planning it at all since the task was so stressful. But she had pushed on, determined to make this year’s Midsummer festival the best one yet.

And, in theory, she succeeded. This year’s theme was regency; an idea that slipped into her mind after she had watched Pride and Prejudice for the first time. Rose had a taste for the finer things in life and although Ward gave her everything he could, she did grow envious of the women who lived in the regency era and got to live in exquisite dresses. So, with further support from her friends, Rose handed out invitations to Outer Banks’s elite, citing on the invitation that this year was regency themed. Now, all she needed to do was plan the festival.

She decided to host the festival in a beautiful hall called the DeClaire Hall. Most of the time, the Midsummer festival was hosted merely from their big backyard that spanned acres of land. But Rose wanted to outdo herself and prove to the snobby PTA moms that she had what it took to host an event for the town. This hall was one of the only ones in Outer Banks and it was rarely used, mostly because the Outer Banks’s Historical Society deemed it a national landmark. It had been a hotel for the elite some 120 years ago and it had not been used in the last fifty. But it was beautiful, the original marble and vinyl floors still in great condition, and Rose knew the festival had to be thrown here. So, with permits from the city council and Historian Society, Rose began planning the Midsummer festival at the DeClaire Hall.

Once word spread of where the festival was being held, everyone was gossiping about it. All the Kooks, even the ones who thought they were too good for the Midsummer festival, had RSVP'd. Well, everyone except Y/N’s parents.

“You’re not going?” Y/N grumbled, entering her kitchen with loud stomps of her feet. She had just got off the phone with Sarah. who had mentioned to Y/N that her parents had never RSVP’d.

“Your father and I decided that none of us are going.” Y/N’s mother spoke sweetly, cutting her daughter's sandwich in half. She placed her plate on the table, but Y/N made no move to sit.

“Why?” Y/N stood tall, watching as her mom and dad walked around the kitchen, preparing lunch. Her siblings were at the table, eating, but she promised herself to go on a hunger strike until her parents let her go.

Her father stopped for a moment and looked up from his plate. “Sweetie, why do you wanna go to a party like that anyways?”

Y/N furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

This time, Y/N’s mom spoke. “You said it yourself a couple days ago; the Cameron’s have been nothing but unkind to you since you got here.”

“But not Sarah! She’s been nothing but nice.” Y/N felt a deep urge to defend her friend from her parent’s hurtful words.

“Yes, Sarah is lovely but I’m not talking about her.” Y/N’s dad began. “I’m talking about Rose Cameron, who didn’t let your mom join the PTA and called your mom names behind her back. And Ward Cameron, who bad mouthed me to the country club so I wouldn’t get in. And let’s not even talk about how rude Rafe Cameron has been to you.”

Y/N bit her lip, shuddering at even the mention of Rafe’s name. “Seriously? Firstly, mom didn’t even want to join the PTA. She hates those snobby women. And you,” Y/N points to her dad. “You don’t even like golf. It’s bad for the environment.”

Y/N watched her mom roll her eyes. “That’s not the point, Y/N. Even if we don’t want to do those things, we should at least have the choice.”

Y/N sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew her parents, in some ways, were right but she still wanted to go. She had never dressed but before and she wanted to feel like a princess for at least one night. “But I wanna go. I already stick out like a sore thumb in this town, I just want to fit in for one night.”

Y/N’s parents glanced at each other, sorrowful looks on their faces. They hated seeing their daughter so upset and tried to swallow their own disgust. Finally, after looking at each other for a moment, their eyes returned to Y/N.

Y/N’s mom spoke first. “If you go, promise me you’ll be careful.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “I promise.”

Y/N’s mom forced a smile, unsure on whether she made the right decision. She wanted her daughter to be happy, but she also wanted to protect her daughter from the Cameron’s bitterness. “Okay, then you can go.”

Sarah had bought five regency themed dresses for the Midsummer festival. She had the first two tailored, a white and pink one but, when they didn’t look the way she wanted, she custom ordered another three from a small business on the mainland. The three dresses; a blue, green, and yellow one, had been shipped from the mainland to OBX in a matter of days and had come in just on time. Literally. The morning of the festival, a frantic delivery man dropped them off at the Cameron house. This was literally Sarah's last hope. If none of them looked good on her, she would just not show up.

Thankfully, the blue one fit perfectly and looked like a dream on her. It was a sky-blue silk dress that flowed down to her feet. The sleeves, which were this blue lace material, ended just above her elbows. The dress, although flowy, was cinched just a little at the waist by a ribbon. It looked absolutely stunning on Sarah and Y/N made sure to tell her the second she saw her friend.

“You look gorgeous.” Y/N spoke sweetly, marvelling at even how Sarah’s hair was styled. It was in this half up, half down hairdo; the top pieces of her hair held together by the same fabric of her dress.

Sarah blushed, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?”

Y/N had and even she had to admit that she was blown away. Sarah had let her choose from all the dresses she had, and Y/N decided on the white one. It was of the same style as Sarah’s dress but much more elegant. Sarah didn’t think she could pull it off but as she looked at Y/N, she knew her friend made a good choice. It was a white satin dress with short sleeves but, over the satin dress, lace was decorated. Stitched into the lace were small red flowers littering the dress. It was beautiful and complemented Y/N so well.

Not to mention, Y/N’s hair looked breathtaking. It was a simple style but matched the sophisticated theme of the festival. The two front pieces of Y/N’s hair were pulled back, the only thing holding them together was the same red flowers that decorated her gown. She passed Sarah for a moment, looking at herself one more time in the full-length mirror. She was in awe of how she looked.

Y/N rarely had an occasion where she could dress up this elegantly. At her old school, she had been invited to prom by a senior and went with him, dressing up in a pink floor length gown, but that had been years ago. Besides, she didn’t exactly have the best time since the senior that invited her never even asked her to dance, too busy with his own friend group to care if she was having fun.

Y/N shook off that awkward memory. This time it would be different. This time she was going to a party with someone who genuinely liked her. She had a feeling that she was going to have a different experience at this party.

“Sarah!” Rose called from downstairs, momentarily stopping Sarah and Y/N’s conversation. “It’s time to take pictures!”

Sarah looks to her bedroom door, then back at her friend. “Ready?”

Y/N nodded, a slight flutter in her chest. She knew Rafe would be down there, and she wondered, for a moment, what he would think of her dress. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Unfortunately, Rafe was concerned with other matters. As Y/N and Sarah made their way downstairs, Rafe stood uncomfortably in his father’s study. They had been in there for five unbearable minutes. Rafe dreaded every time his dad had to speak to him alone because he knew it’d only spark an argument. They rarely got along; Ward being too tough on Rafe and Rafe constantly looking for validation from his father.

“You’re going into your first year of university in the fall and you have no plan.” Ward said, rather matter-of-factly.

Rafe gulped. Against his father’s approval, Rafe enrolled in the business program at the University of North Carolina. His father wanted him to enroll in a science program, which he thought was more structured. But Rafe wanted to own his own business someday, just like his dad. Besides, although he was good at science, he didn’t enjoy it the way he enjoyed the business classes he took in high school. What Ward didn’t know was that Rafe had a plan, he was just afraid to share it with his father for fear that his father would disapprove and eventually stop helping him pay for school. Rafe couldn’t do it alone and he knew his dad’s money would help.

“I’m taking courses that will help me graduate. I promise I know what I’m doing dad.”

Rafe pulled at the collar of his shirt. He wore a stunning but simple suit. He wore a white dress shirt, the two top buttons unbuttoned for comfort rather than for style, and a black fitted blazer. The gold cufflinks Rose gifted him shone against the light in his dad’s study. The most annoying part of his outfit definitely had to be the sleeves. There were annoying frills at the edge of them, some type of embroidered pattern sewn into the sleeves. It was supposed to scream regency, he remembered Rose saying, but all he wanted to do was scream bloody murder.

“I’m giving you one year Rafe, if you don’t have a plan by then,” Ward sighed, massaging his temples. Rafe grew sad at the idea that he was stressing his dad out by simply following his dreams. “I’m cutting you off.”

Rafe didn’t try to protest. He knew there was nothing he could do to change his dad’s mind. All he could do was prove to his dad that he made the right decision. He had to be the best and he had to outperform everyone in his class. That way, his dad would be proud of him and support him in university.

Rafe only nodded at what his father said, making no effort to even respond. Over the years, he figured it was best to just let his father get the last word.

There was a knock on the door before any more words could be exchanged between the two. Ward, knowing that it was probably his wife, welcomed the person inside. The door opened slightly, only enough for the person to peek their head through. It was, in fact, Rose. Rafe smiled, remembering to make sure it looked like he was having fun. Rose had gone through all this trouble to plan this festival, the least he could do was play along.

“Oh, honey, we’re taking some pictures before we leave.” Rose’s voice was quiet and mellow, not wanting to disturb whatever conversation Rafe was having with his father.

Ward smiled, nodding sweetly to his wife. “We’ll be right there.”

Rose nods, leaving the door slightly ajar so Rafe and Ward can follow after her. Ward makes his way towards the door, glaring at Rafe.

His words are just as menacing as his glare. “Do not disappoint me.”

Rafe doesn’t even nod this time. He’s too afraid. He knows, not only by his dad’s glare, but also by how his dad leaves the room, that he is serious. More serious than he’s ever been. Rafe doesn’t move for a moment, almost too nervous to take the first step. His legs feel like jelly, and he knows that if he doesn’t calm down soon, he might faint. He wants his dad to be proud of him so badly, that he’s ready to work himself to the bone. His dad has never so much as given him a nod of approval before and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t something he craved. He yearned for the day when his dad would smile at him, telling Rafe he was proud of him.

But that day was not today, and Rafe knew he had to get over it. One day, it may happen, but he had to push all that down for tonight. Tonight, was a night to support Rose and all the hard work that went into planning a celebration like this. So, Rafe began to walk towards the door of his dad’s study, trying to forget about the conversation he just had with his dad.

As he exited the study, he straightened his collar. He felt very uncomfortable in such a fancy suit, but he tried to focus on the afterparty, something he was a little more excited for. Sure, Y/N was going but he knew JJ was jealous and would try to keep them apart all evening. All he had to do was tolerate her now and on the way to the hall and after that, he would not have to think of her for the rest of the night.

Unfortunately, things never go Rafe’s way. The second he walked outside, he felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Rose was taking pictures of everyone in their front garden, mentioning to Rafe before that her tulips would look great as a background piece. He had figured that since no one seemed to be in the house, they were all outside. He was right, but at what cost? Well, the cost was his sanity.

She stood there as if it was another normal day. As if she dressed like that every day. Rafe was utterly speechless. How could she be doing something as mundane as talking to Sarah but look so stunning? This was the first time he envied JJ Maybank. Although Rafe had everything a guy could ask for, JJ got the ultimate prize; he got to escort Y/N to the Midsummer festival. He got to intertwine their hands and show her off. He was the one who could dance with her and hold her and tell her how breathtaking she looked. All Rafe could do was watch (more like stare) and pretend to not notice the most beautiful woman in the room.

He hesitated for a moment. His eyes were trained on her dress instead of her face, fearing he would blush too much and make his attraction toward her obvious. Unfortunately, looking at her dress didn’t help. The fabric blew in the wind, enhancing the silhouette of her body. Ultimately, Rafe just looked away. Every moment he looked at her was another moment he was reminded that she was not his.

“Rafe!” Rose called, watching as Rafe stood away from the group. His head was down and only when she called did, he turns it up slightly. “Come over here and take some pictures!”

Rafe nodded, realizing her eyes were probably on him now. He gulped nervously. “O-okay.”

Rose frowned, confused at Rafe’s shy behaviour. She looked to Ward, who was typing something on his phone. She knew how rocky Ward and Rafe’s relationship was and knew that whenever they entered Ward’s study, Rafe would come out a meek boy. She figured Ward had done something again to hurt Rafe. Although this was true, it was not the real reason Rafe was acting so shy.

“What did you say to him?” Rose whispered to Ward once his phone was tucked away.

Ward rolled his eyes. “He needs some tough love, that boy.”

Rose was fuming but tried to keep her cool. Just for this one night. “I swear Ward, this is my day. Do not ruin it.”

Ward smirked, leaning down to kiss his wife on her cheek. “Of course, not darling. Everything will go your way tonight.”

If only they knew what was to come.

JJ Maybank was nervous. He swears, before he met Y/N, he was never an anxious person. Now he seemed to be panicking all the time. He knew it was because of Y/N. She was one of the best parts of his life right now and JJ had a dangerous pattern of ruining all the good things in his life. He knew it was because he was always scared of losing someone or something so special to him and never recovering. This was especially true with Y/N. Although they were not official, they had hung out basically every day since they met, and JJ’s feelings had become clear. He wanted to be her boyfriend.

And tonight, if everything went well, he would ask Y/N to be his girlfriend. He had never moved this slow with a girl before, but he was willing to try. He didn’t want to scare her off, so he played it safe.

Except, for right now. Agreeing to go to the Midsummer festival was probably the least safe thing JJ could do. He was not accepted by the Kooks, his reputation preceding him. He was rarely on his best behaviour when Kooks were involved so he was very nervous that he would somehow ruin the evening for Y/N. He could tell she had been excited for this festival, and he was sure that if he ruined the night for her, she would never want to be with him. So, with a deep breath, JJ promised himself that no matter what, he’d be on his best behaviour.

And then he saw Y/N exit Ward Cameron’s car.

She stood out like a sore thumb. None of the other girls could compare to her. JJ felt time freeze for a moment as he looked at the most beautiful girl in the world. Her white dress fitted her perfectly, it was as if it was made for her. Her hair made her look ethereal, like a fairy glowing in the dimming light. The festival was supposed to start right as the sun set so many people were already using flashlights so they could see the path to the entrance of the hall but not JJ. Y/N was his flashlight, illuminating not only herself but his entire life.

Once their eyes met, it was fireworks. JJ felt his heart skip a beat, the reality of her beauty setting in. He didn’t have to smile at her, he’d been smiling since she stepped out of the car. When she registered that it was JJ who was wearing the goofy grin, she smiled right back.

Although JJ thought Y/N looked beautiful, Y/N thought JJ looked handsome. He wore a black button up with black blazer and slacks. The collar of his shirt was embroidered with white flowers and lace, seeming to match Y/N without knowing. The usual messy hair look he wore so well was brushed back and styled. All the dirt and grime on his face was gone. It was like looking at a new JJ. A JJ that Y/N never thought she would get to see.

Once she’s an arm’s length away, JJ’s arms stretch out towards her, and she gladly accepts the hug. They both seem excited but nervous to be here. Even though Y/N is technically a Kook, she feels out of place. She knows that everyone is looking at her with disdain; knowing her family is from new money. Everyone except JJ and Sarah.

“You look beautiful.” JJ remarks as they pull away from each other.

“Thanks, J. You don’t look so bad yourself.” Y/N blushes, looping her arm around JJ. “Where’d you get that suit?”

JJ smirked. “Sarah lent it to me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, glancing at Sarah. She was being escorted inside by John B. Y/N reminded herself to thank Sarah again. The festival is starting and every woman with a date is being escorted in now. “Shall we?”

JJ nods, tilting his chin up higher. “Yes, m’lady.”

Whatever image Y/N had in her mind of how the DeClaire Hall would look quickly vanished once they were inside. Large, tall marble pillars stood tall in every corner of the room. They were white, reflecting off the marble walls and vinyl floors. The middle of the hall was empty, only a few couples dancing to the melody of a violin playing. The tables were scattered along the outer part of the hall, decorated with white linen and golden embellishments. Both Y/N and JJ were astonished that Rose pulled it off. It was as if Y/N and JJ had been transported to the regency time period, watching in awe as every person seemed to be playing a character. The women wore long, bright dresses while the men were styled in fitted but elegant suits. Sarah was right; Rose really did go all out for this celebration.

“Woah.” JJ gasped. He had never seen something like this before. Although he was in awe, he was still a little bitter. The Kooks had all this money to spend on a festival that didn’t really matter but couldn’t donate some money to fix up JJ’s school or help out the dirt poor Pogues? He was bitter at the thought of all these Kooks enjoying themselves while his friends like Kie and Pope sat at home.

Y/N nodded; her eyes trained on Rafe. She couldn’t help herself. She wished he didn’t look so good but there he was, standing 20 feet away and looking like a dream. “Yeah, woah is right.”

Before any more words could be exchanged, the soft music stopped, and Rose entered the dance floor. She stood tall, the train of her yellow dress trailing behind her. “Hello everyone!” She had begun to speak but instead of her normal voice, she pretended to put on an English accent. “Thank you for coming to the ninety fifth anniversary of the Midsummer festival!”

Y/N snickered, leaning towards JJ’s ear. “This can’t be real.”

JJ smirked at her, his voice lowering. “We call them Kooks for a reason.”

“Shortly, the festivities will commence but before then, let us go over some ground rules.” Rose paused for a moment, waiting until everyone quieted down. “Firstly, young ladies will not stand up for more than two consecutive dances with the same partner. Secondly, there will be no vulgarity of any sort. And lastly, have a wondrous time!” The last sentence was spoken in her own words, the English accent no longer present in her voice.

Everyone seemed to cheer, some even clinking their champagne glasses together. The music began again, a soft melody flowing throughout the hall. Although everyone else seemed to be taking this seriously, waltzing with their partner and speaking in an English accent, Y/N and JJ were not.

JJ bowed, a goofy grin on his face. “M’lady, would you care to dance?” His southern accent was hard to disguise, even under a fake and terrible English accent.

Y/N giggled, curtsying slightly. “Why, of course!” Her hands rested in JJ’s as he led her to the middle of the hall. With anyone else, she would feel embarrassed, but it was so fun being with JJ that she didn’t care what other people thought of her.

As they pushed past crowds of Kooks, all dressed up in the finest clothing she ever saw, JJ leaned down, his breath fanning against her neck. “This has to be the stupidest shit I’ve ever done.”

Y/N smirked, looking up at him. Their lips were inches apart and she had the sudden urge to kiss him. “That can’t be true.”

JJ pouted, finally finding an open spot for them to sway to the music. He twirled Y/N around, watching in awe as her smile only grew wider. He swore he could watch her like this all day. “You’re right, it’s not.” He knew the stupidest thing he’d ever done was not kiss her sooner.

Y/N grew nervous, unsure of how to actually dance with a partner. She had never done this before. Thankfully, JJ did not hesitate like she did. She watched as he carefully placed one hand on her waist as the other clasped onto her hand. She let her other hand fall to the side, unsure of what to do next.

She looked up at JJ sheepishly. “How do I do this?” There was an awkward giggle at the end as Y/N tried to hide behind her embarrassment.

JJ smirked, his hand leaving her waist for a moment and guiding her limp arm to his shoulder. “Hold me.” Once his hand returned to her waist, he pulled her body closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her chest against his which only made his heartbeat faster. They had never been this close. Never touched each other in such a delicate way.

Soon, the two of them swayed to the music, a lovestruck grin on both of their faces. Y/N wished she could capture this moment forever. She was sure no one else had ever made her feel like this. She felt so protected. So secure. She knew that if she could, she’d choose to be in JJ’s arms forever. She was the happiest she could ever be as she danced with JJ, swaying to a song about unrequited love.

But, about twenty feet away in the corner of the room, Rafe enviously watched as the girl he wanted most danced with another man.

The first two hours of the Midsummer festival went marvellous. Y/N and JJ seemed to be attached at the hip, dancing, drinking, and laughing together the entire time. It seemed that all the nerves the two of them had at the beginning of the night dwindled down when they were with each other and had a few drinks. For Y/N, the best part was she had not run into Rafe once. He had been on the other side of the hall all night, drinking with his friends and dancing with a few girls. And although Y/N convinced herself that she was not watching him, she couldn’t help but feel a tad envious seeing Rafe dance with a couple girls.

The rules that Rose spoke about at the beginning of the night were more serious than Y/N and JJ initially thought. They thought it was all for show, just another way for the night to feel more realistic. But in reality, Rose would not let women dance with the same man consecutively. It was odd the first time she caught JJ and Y/N dancing, both of them ready to lie just so they could dance together again, but Rose shooed them away, telling them to wait for the next song to come on before they danced together again.

After the fourth time of Y/N and JJ trying to sneak past Rose and being caught red handed, they decided to just wait it out. How long could one song be?

“JJ,” Y/N cooed, sitting down at their table. They were seated with Sarah and John B at table two while Rose, Ward, and their friends were seated at table one. “Can you get me a glass of water?”

JJ smirked, crouched down to meet Y/N’s eyeline. “I’ve worn you out already?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a devious glint in her eyes. “I’m sorry I don’t have the stamina to drink and dance for two hours.”

JJ shrugged, standing up again. “Fine, but you owe me a dance after. That line is so long and I’m gonna have to make conversation with those snooty PTA moms.”

Y/N giggled. “Well, if you come back with a cold glass of water, I’ll do more than dance with you.”

It was supposed to be a teasing comment and it was, but there was a serious undertone to the way she talked. She had waited too long to kiss JJ. If he could just stop being a gentleman for one moment.

JJ’s back straightened, his brows raised. He slightly nods, as if he’s tipping his nonexistent hat in her direction. “I’ll be right back.”

Y/N watches in amusement as JJ scurries across the hall, impatiently waiting in the long ass line. Y/N sighs, thinking she’ll be able to relax for a moment. Although she loves dancing with JJ, she needs to rest her feet. Unfortunately, before she can properly rest, Sarah and John B rush towards her.

“What did you say to JJ that got him so riled up? That man basically ran to the bar.” John B jokes, glancing at his friend. Some of the PTA moms began talking to JJ and he watches as his friend uncomfortably tries to make conversation.

“Nothing. I’m just waiting until we can dance again.” Y/N smirks, watching JJ from across the hall as well.

“But the waltz is on next, and JJ won’t be back in time!” Sarah frowns, glancing at JJ before her gaze returns to Y/N.

Y/N shrugs. She knew her and Sarah promised to dance the waltz together with their partners, but Y/N wasn’t too worried. She figured the waltz would be played many times that night and they’d dance it next time it came on. She tried to reassure Sarah by saying so, but Sarah only frowned deeper.

“No, I’m leaving in, like, twenty minutes. Rafe and I have to start setting everything up at our house for the afterparty. It starts in an hour.” Sarah groaned.

Y/N frowned, now a little upset as well that they wouldn’t be able to fulfill their promise. “I’m sorry. I wish I could dance with you guys; I do.”

It seemed that the second those words left Y/N’s mouth, Sarah’s eyes lit up and she was no longer frowning. “Maybe you can.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “JJ’s not leaving that line now. I promised him something if he got me some water.”

Sarah giggled, instantly knowing what Y/N was implying. “No, silly. Not JJ. Someone else.” But before Y/N could ask her who she had in mind, Sarah dashed off, disappearing into the crowd of people gathered on the other side of the hall.

Y/N looked to John B, getting up from her seat. Her feet didn’t hurt as much anymore, the little rest she took had helped a lot. “What’s she up to?”

John B shrugged, a smug grin on his lips. “I never know.”

Y/N giggled at John B’s little remark because it was so true. Sarah was a very creative person and someone Y/N could go to whenever she was having a problem. Sarah always came up with the best solutions.

Except for now. Sarah was Y/N’s best friend in OBX but, when she emerged from the crowd tugging on the sleeve of a familiar face, Y/N wished Sarah didn’t have these creative plans. The person she was dragging along was Rafe. She had somehow looped Rafe into this. The last person Y/N wanted to see tonight. He looked confused and it was clear to Y/N that Sarah had not let Rafe in on her plan. This comforted her a little; knowing Rafe would be just as mortified.

When they reached about six feet away from Y/N and John B, Rafe finally understood what was about to happen. Y/N was right, he looked mortified. Rafe didn’t feel as though mortified was the right word. Humiliated. Nauseous. Literally any word that would describe how shitty he felt the second his eyes met Y/N’s.

He tried to run away; he really did. He stopped walking the second he realized what was going on. Sarah was only tugging on him because he let her. If he really wanted to, he could overpower her in seconds. And that’s what he did. He stopped in his tracks, refusing to move even as Sarah pulled harder on his sleeve.

“C’mon, she’s, my friend.” Sarah pleaded, her grasp on Rafe tightening.

Rafe shook his head, glancing Y/N’s way once more. He quickly grew embarrassed that her eyes were still on him and immediately looked back to Sarah. “Well, she’s not my friend.”

Sarah sighed, her lips in a deep pout. “Whatever weird energy you have for her, swallow it. Just for one dance.”

Rafe wanted to argue. He wanted to say that they shared no weird energy. That he just didn’t care for that hippie. But his sister knew him too well and although she might not have noticed his feelings for Y/N fully, she did register some tension between them. Rafe hated lying to his sister so, with a deep breath and a quick roll of his eyes, he agreed. It was just one dance. What’s the worst that could happen?

Y/N, on the other hand, was less flexible than Rafe. The second Sarah was close enough to hear, Y/N voiced her disdain. Which was bold since Rafe was standing in front of her.

“No way. I’m not getting a pity dance from your brother.”

Rafe scoffed, rolling his eyes for what seemed like the tenth time tonight. “A thank you would suffice.”

Y/N shook her head. “Oh, a thank you?” She repeated, her blood boiling. How could someone be so attractive yet so annoying at the same time. “How about this as a thank you?” Without even thinking, Y/N raised her hand and stuck her middle finger in the air defiantly.

Y/N’s anger only made him cockier. Call Rafe a coward all you want but he was damn good at hiding behind anger to protect his own feelings. “Not very ladylike, is it? Especially in this time period.”

“You know what is appropriate in this time period though?” Y/N grumbled. “The guillotine.”

Before Rafe could come up with an intelligent rebuttal, John B cut through the tension by stepping in between the two of them. It was getting pretty heated, and John B was sure Y/N was about to punch him. “Hey guys! The waltz should be on any minute so can we please put a pin in this and just have a fun time?”

Y/N stared at Rafe, her heart fluttering a little at how rosy his cheeks had gotten during their conversation. Although he had said such terrible things, somehow, she knew he had not meant any of it. So, with a steady breath, she outstretched her hand. She had a tiny smile on her lips and this time, it wasn’t forced.

“I’m willing to put it aside if you’re willing to dance with me.”

Rafe gulped, looking at her outstretched hand and gingerly taking it. “Fine.” It was all he could muster out. He was so nervous, and it didn’t help that this was the first time they had touched. She had always felt so far away from him and now their hands were intertwined. Her skin felt soft against his and he swore he felt a buzz of electricity course through him the second their hands touched.

Y/N could feel it too. She tried to ignore it, blaming it on static electricity or anything else. She would blame it on the wind before she would conclude that there was some part of her that was drawn to Rafe Cameron. They both stayed speechless and even as they approached the middle of the hall where everyone was dancing, they barely made an effort to look at each other. Everything felt so tense the second their hands touched.

Finally, the music died down for a moment. The waltz was the next song and Y/N prepared herself mentally. No matter what her brain told her, she did not feel anything for Rafe. She liked JJ. But as the music began and Rafe made the first move, she was not so sure. His hands were gentle but hesitant, scared to place his hand on her hip. They were in each other’s space. Y/N had never been this close to him. She breathed in through her nose, smelling his wonderful cologne.

“You’re gonna have to hold me, you know that right?” Her tone comes off as sarcastic because it’s the only one she’s familiar with around Rafe.

Rafe rolls his eyes. “Uh, yeah. I know.” He places one hand on Y/N’s hip, swallowing harshly before reaching out with his other hand and holding onto her hand. Their thumbs are intertwined, a small gesture that causes Rafe’s stomach to stir.

When the music starts, it’s soft and low at first and Y/N expects them to just sway. She had really only been swaying when she danced with JJ since they both weren’t sure how to formally dance. But Rafe had been to enough of these festivals to know how to lead a girl through a dance. So, as the music’s pace began to grow, Rafe led Y/N across the floor. Their feet seemed to be at the same pace, quietly shuffling like everyone else. He wasn’t going too fast like Y/N expected and she was grateful for it. But she was nervous nonetheless and looked to her feet so she wouldn’t accidentally step on Rafe’s toes.

Rafe chuckled at Y/N’s nervousness. He couldn’t stop thinking that she was so cute. “You have to look at your partner when you’re dancing with them.” The tone was more teasing than he wanted it to be.

Y/N looked up, blushing at her naivety. “Um, I’m afraid I’m gonna fall.”

She was being vulnerable with him. Sure, it was a very small step, but it was a step forward, nonetheless. Rafe beamed, endeared at her bashfulness. She had never been this way with him. He was taking her out of her comfort zone. “I promise you won’t step on my toes. And if you do, I won’t mind.”

Y/N gives Rafe a bashful smile. She’s looking at him while they dance now, never breaking eye contact. But Rafe is the bashful one now and continuously finds himself looking away. He’s so nervous. She’s looking at him. She’s really looking at him. He has to wonder; does she like what she sees?

“Now look at who's not focusing on their partner.” Y/N’s tone is teasing, and he can’t help but blush.

Rafe says the first thing that comes to his head. “It’s hard to look at someone so beautiful and not blush.”

This only makes the two of them blush more. Y/N wants to tell Rafe she thinks he’s beautiful too. She wants to ask him how they could be mean to each other one moment and all bashful the next. She wants to ask him if he’s ever felt like this with anyone else. She wants to know how he feels. But before she gets a chance to do any of that, they’re pulled apart.

JJ was going to let it go. He was going to just wait in that stupid line and get her a glass of water. He even wasn’t going to complain that Rafe and Y/N were dancing even though he was sure he would burst from jealousy. He convinced himself that Y/N was probably just trying to be polite and Rafe was the one to blame. But when he saw that Rafe had made her smile like that, a smile he had never seen her use, his blood boiled and all he saw was red. He left the line, not even saying goodbye to those snobby PTA moms, and bolted to the centre of the room where they were dancing. He knew that pulling Rafe by the collar would cause a scene. And he knew he promised himself that he was going to be on his best behaviour, but he couldn’t help himself. Rafe was not about to take the only good thing in his life right now. He cared so deeply for Y/N, and he wasn’t gonna let Rafe Cameron, of all people, ruin it. So, he did the only thing he knew; he used his fists.

Rafe choked on his collar as JJ pulled him off of Y/N. He fell backwards, a surprised gasp leaving his lips before his back hit the ground. Before Rafe could even defend himself, JJ was on top of the poor boy and punching him. The only thing Rafe could do was shield his face as JJ tried his best to punch Rafe.

Y/N was mortified. She could not believe this was happening. She had never seen JJ so angry, let alone at Rafe. Sure, JJ wasn’t the biggest fan of Kooks but to fist fight one? Besides, she couldn’t remember a time when JJ mentioned such disdain for Rafe. But that didn’t matter now. She needed to intervene.

“JJ! Stop!” She tried yelling, her voice piercing through the air. The music had stopped, and many people had begun congregating around them to see what all the fuss was about. It was no use though, even Y/N’s yelling did not stop JJ.

The only thing that stopped JJ was John B. As JJ threw his fifth punch, John B approached JJ and pulled him away from Rafe. JJ fought against John B, trying to free himself from his friend’s grasp but it was no use. John B held him in a way that was difficult for JJ to get out of.

“Let me go, bro!” JJ continued to struggle as John B’s grasp, unaware that all eyes were on him.

“Dude, stop!” John B tightened his grip on JJ.

JJ finally stopped struggling, noticing that the room got very quiet. Suddenly, his actions came rushing to him and he realized the mistake he made. When John B felt JJ relax, he finally let go. He was unsure what his friend would do but he knew he had to be there just in case.

Everyone was looking at JJ, their judgemental stares burning holes onto his skin. He felt so exposed, so embarrassed that strangers had seen him like that. But he was more worried about Y/N. He knew he made a mistake and wasn’t sure how she’d react. Knowing her, it wasn’t going to be good.

And when he looked at her, her eyes brimming with tears, he knew he had fucked up big time. She was standing off to the side, standing beside Sarah who was trying to comfort her. JJ took a few steps towards her, his face pale.

“Y/N…” JJ began, the look on his face saying it all.

But Y/N didn’t care. She just wanted one perfect night. She had never seen this side of JJ but now that she had, she was afraid. She shook her head, backing away from him. “No, leave me alone.” And with that, she turned on her heels and walked farther and farther away from him.

Sarah stood there for a moment longer, dumbfounded. “JJ, I think you need to give her some space right now.”

JJ wanted to cry. Although he was embarrassed, it didn’t matter now. He had just ruined the only good thing in his life. The dangerous pattern had finally caught up to him.

taglist: @tovvaa @canyoubuymetoast @multisimpinghoe @devcarlsons @pogueslandia @theywantedplayer @lovelyxtom @milkywqze

#jj x you #jj x reader #jj one shot #jj fic #jj fanfiction #jj maybank #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fic #rafe x reader #rafe fluff #rafe imagine #rafe cameron obx #obx kiara #outerbanks #outer banks fic #obx s2 #rafe cameron

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sunstar-of-the-north · 3 years

Text

A Date With A Plumber

Bowser gently laid white cloths on the steaming bowls of food. While doing so he noticed that a fork was crooked. Alarmed, he quickly adjusted the utensil so it matched the rest of the dishes. The koopa then took a step back to analyze the table. It was set for two, one dish adjacent to the other at the end of the table. Bowser would have liked it if they were positioned across from each other but talking would be proven difficult with how long the table was.

He took a nervous sigh and moved to the mirror on the wall. His hair was a complete mess. Bowser smoothed it to the side with his clawed hands. Once he finished, he smiled proudly in the reflection. A second later though it reverted to its default look.

He growled in annoyance. The turtle then started to fix his silver cravat. He was wearing a maroon dinner tuxedo with a double lapel. He ditched most of his typical accessories, save for his bracelets. It was the compromise Bowser made with Kamek. He glared when he remembered the overwhelming amount of advice the old wizard gave him. “Don’t slouch over the table. Don’t talk with your mouth full. And DON’T for the love of the stars lose your temper!” He began to realize that instead of fixing his neckpiece, he was gripping it for dear life. Bowser let go of it in alarm. He groaned, lightly slapping his cheeks. “Pull yourself together Bowser,” he said in aggravation. “You’re the King of the Koopas! You have no reason to be all shaken up over one silly date!”

No matter how much he tried to convince himself, Bowser still felt like there were fighter flies in his stomach. Even though this was their third date, he was still a nervous wreck. Besides this one was different. Unlike the first two, which were at her house, this date was on his turf. Not to mention there would be a chaperon. “It’ll probably be that tomato colored Mario,” Bowser grumbled. That was a part of the agreement between the three of them. Whenever they would go out, there had to be someone—which was always picked for them by Mario—to keep an eye on the two. Panic hit him like a train when he realized he didn’t make a bowl for the red suited plumber. Before the turtle had time to think, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned; smoke escaping from the sides of his mouth. “WHAT?” The koopa troopa swallowed nervously.

“S-Sir? S-She’s here.”

Like a Bullet Bill out of a canon, Bowser charged passed the troopa, sending the poor thing flying. Thankfully his other minions were able to get out of their king’s way as he ran down the halls. In moments the twin doors were in sight. He slid to a halt, nearly blasting through them. Bowser took a moment to steady his breathing before opening them. His breath was cut short when the koopa saw who was standing on the steps. It was Luciana, adorned with a simple dark green dress with see-through lace sleeves. Her brunette hair, which was normally straight, was curled. When her blue eyes met Bowser’s, he felt like time stopped.

“Hellooooo? Earth to Bowser!”

Bowser snapped out of his daze when he noticed a hand waving near his face. He shook his head and looked back at Luciana. She seemed to be worried. “Is—everything alright?” He nodded rapidly. “Yeah! Yeah, everything is g-great!” She grinned in relief, causing Bowser’s heart to pound like a drum. “Buona!” There was an awkward silence between the two. The koopa then noticed the shorter woman was staring at him. “What? Is there something on my tux?” Luciana blushed in embarrassment. “N-No! I uh—your scarf thingy is all…” She motioned to his neck. He looked down and saw his cravat was still a mess. Bowser wanted to retreat back into his shell. The plumber inched closer to him, hand slightly raised. “Um—may I?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise but squatted down at her request. She then tidied the cravat. “There! All better! Looks like all those years helping Mario with his ties came in handy!” She said with a chuckle. Bowser winced at the mention of her brother. Luciana picked up on his shift in mood, facing falling a bit. “O-Oh uh—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—“

“No, no! It’s ok…” Bowser realized that something was missing. “Speaking of, where is your chaperon? I was expecting him to be with you.” She gave him a playful smirk. “I was able to talk him out of it!” He was shocked and somewhat impressed. “How?”

“Well I told Mario that I’m a grown woman and he shouldn’t be treating me like a little kid. Besides I can handle myself!” She then flexed her arms with a semi-serious look on her face. Bowser cracked a smile, finding her display adorable. “After a long talk we came to an understanding.” She horizontally put her finger below her nose and spoke in a deeper tone. “Alright Luciana! You can go on your date alone. But you gotta come home at midnight! Even if you’re a minute late, I’ll break down those castle doors faster than you can say ravioli! And if that slime faced koopa tries anything funny, you take care of him like I showed ya. Got it?” Bowser chuckled, clapping his hands. “Perfect impression. 10 out of 10.”

She did a little curtsy in response. “Grazie!” Bowser leaned against the door frame, feeling a sense of relief knowing it was just the two of them now. “Man, who knew the String Bean could stand up to her brother like that. She keeps throwing surprises at me.”

Luciana started rocking back and forth on her heels. The king koopa realized that she was still outside. He nearly jumped out of her way, bowing deeply. “Pl-Please! Come in!” His sudden movement made the plumber flinch but relaxed once she passed the doors. Bowser followed her in.

Soon the two were in the dining hall. Bowser sped walk toward the table. He quickly pulled Luciana’s chair out for her, causing a loud squeak as he did. He winced at the sound but still gave her a smile. She smiled back and sat down after thanking him. Bowser scooted her chair toward the table and clapped his hands. The lights were turned down low. He then lit the table candle with his fire breath. “Che meraviglia!” Luciana whispered under her breath. “Hopefully that means something good,” he thought to himself. The turtle then brought his attention to the bowls. He gingerly took the white cloths off, steam pooling out from them. “Bon appétit!”

Luciana’s eyes grew to the size of moons. The bowls were filled with cooked rice and beef, a variety of different vegetables, and a fried egg to top it all off. Bowser couldn’t help but be smug with her reaction. She turned to him, eyes sparkling. “What is this?!” He sat down, resting his hands on the wooden table. “It’s called bibimbap.” Luigi scrunched her face as she tried to say the name. “Bimbi—bimbipab.” Bowser let out a hearty laugh at her attempt to pronounce the word. The plumber’s face turned a bright red. “Say it with me. Bi-bim-bap.” She repeated after the turtle, saying it correctly this time. “There ya go!” He gave her a toothy grin. She smiled back, twirling her hair with a finger. Bowser looked to the side with a bashful smile. “This—is one of my favorite dishes. I wanted to share it with you since you shared one of your favorites with me.”

He looked at the corner of his eye to see Luciana staring at him. He blushed, coughing into his hand. “What w-was that called again? Tor-tortilla gardinata?” Now it was Luciana’s turn to laugh. “Tortellini gratinati.” Bowser chuckled, scratching his head. “Yeah, that. Oh before I forget, here’s Gochujang if you want some.” He passed her a small bowl of red paste. The woman cocked her head at the little dish. “Gochujang?” Bowser nodded. “Yeah. It’s a red pepper paste. It gives the bibimbap an extra kick!” Her face lit up after hearing that. He gave her a wink. “I know how you like things a little spicy so I thought I would oblige.”

She giggled, sending a flurry of warmth to Bowser’s chest. “Grazie, grazie!” She at first picked up a fork but then eyed the chop sticks. “You can eat it with those?” Bowser raised an eye brow at her. “Uh yeah. That’s how you’re supposed to eat it.” She let out a soft oh in response. The koopa realized how harsh his tone was. He reprimanded himself in his head. “Um—I can—show you how to use them, if you want that is.” Luciana blinked at him and then smiled. “Sì! I always wanted to learn how to use them!” Bowser got up and moved to her side. He gently guided Luciana how to hold the utensil. The turtle noticed just how small her hand was compared to his. “They’re so tiny—so—delicate.” He looked at the woman, who was staring at their hands. She brought her gaze to him. When their eyes locked, they both blushed crimson. Bowser removed his hand and they both looked away from each other.

He stiffly walked back to his chair, sat down, and proceeded to stuff his face to hide his blushing. After a while he turned his eyes to the green dressed plumber. She was able to pick up a bit of vegetables and rice. Luigi dipped the food in the Gochujang and put it in her mouth. Her eyes lit up as she chewed more. She looked at Bowser with a big grin. “This is amazing! Please give my compliments to the chief!” Bowser glowed by her praise. “Thanks! I was worried that I might have over-cooked the carrots.” The woman raised her eye brows in surprise. “You made this?”

“Yeah! Cooking is one of the few things I like to do.”

“Don’t…you have cooks to make your meals?” Bowser shrugged. “Yeah, but sometimes I do the cooking, especially if it’s for one of my kids’ birthdays.” Luciana stared at him. “You…made this specially…for me?” Bowser was confused by her statement. “Of course! You’re my girlfriend! What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make food for you?” Luciana’s face was red once more. Realization hit Bowser like a blue shell to the kart once the words left his mouth. This was the first time Bowser ever called her his girlfriend or referred himself as her boyfriend. “I—um—.” He took a sip of his wine, not wanting to speak anymore. He felt a hand rest on his. The turtle looked to see Luciana, giving him a sheepish smile, cheeks pink. The king gazed at her for a moment and returned the look, intertwining his fingers with hers. Soon the two were enjoying the rest of their meal, having small talk and telling stories to pass the time.

The bowls were empty while the room was filled with laughter. Both human and koopa were smiling ear to ear. Bowser then got up and moved toward Luciana. He offered a clawed hand to the woman. She gladly took it, Bowser helping her out of the cushioned chair. “I wanna show you something.” Luciana cocked her head. “Oh? What is it?” He winked at her. “It’s a surprise!” He led her out of the room and further down the hall. A few moments later they were in front of two glass doors. Bowser opened them for Luciana, trying hard to contain his excitement. She stepped through them and gasped. The room was filled to the brim with beautiful flowers and plants, some of them the plumber had never seen before. “Oh Bowser—they’re gorgeous!”

“The ash from the volcanos makes for great fertilizer. All of our vegetables are grown here too.” Luciana turned to the koopa with sparkling eyes. He couldn’t help but crack a grin as he brought her further in the garden. They soon stopped at an elaborate stone bench. Bowser sat down, patting the spot next to him. Luciana took a seat, smoothing out her dress. She looked around, taking in all the scenery. She wasn’t the only one taking in the view. Bowser watched her, feeling lighter than air. He couldn’t explain why though. He then remembered why they were here in the first place.

“L-Luciana,” he asked softly. She turned to him, the same warm feeling from earlier hitting him harder. “Yes Bowser?” The king felt his cheeks get hotter when she said his name. Swallowing, he took something from his coat pocket. “I—I wanted to give you these.” He opened his fist to reveal a pouch of seeds. “They’re green cymbidium orchids.” Luciana gaped at the seeds. She then turned to him, bewildered. “That’s my favorite flower! How—how did you get them?! They’re so hard to find!” Bowser proudly smiled, tapping his snout. “I have my ways.” Luciana rolled her eyes playfully. Her expression grew softer as she gingerly took the pouch from his hand. “Grazie Bowser. I’ll make sure they grow big and strong.” He gave the woman a tender look. “I know you will.”

The human and koopa gazed at one another. They both felt a pull, slowly closing the distance between them as they inched closer. Luciana rested a free hand on Bowser’s cheek, making his spiked tail wag steadily. Suddenly, she had an alarmed expression on her face and placed her hand over the king’s mouth. “Aspettare! What’s the time?!” Bowser had to take a minute to process what she just asked. He then took out his pocket watch. “It’s 11:50.” They stared at each other in utter fear. The duo then sprinted out of the room and down the halls. The minions that were still awake never saw their boss run so fast before, unless it was to escape from a fight or for food. Before they knew it, they were both in a lakitu cloud and booking it to Mario and Luciana’s house.

Once the cloud stopped, the king and plumber quickly jumped out of it. Bowser whipped out his watch. Luigi watched on in anticipation. He showed her the clock. “11:58,” she gasped out in relief. Bowser wiped his forehead, feeling ready to collapse. They walked to the front door, slowly catching their breath. Bowser leaned against the wall while Luciana fixed her hair. Bowser loosened his cravat, clearing his throat. “…I hope you had a good time.” The woman nodded happily. “I did! The bi-bim-bap was excellent!” She pulled a strand of hair behind her ear with a small blush. “It was nice—to be alone together.” He agreed in silence with a small grin. He licked his lips nervously. “Also—you can visit the garden whenever you come to the castle. That way we can spend more time—alone.” The plumber was surprised but giddily replied, “I would love that.”

Without thinking, Bowser leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Good night, Luciana.” The human blushed profusely, touching where he kissed her. She looked up at him in surprise. Bowser started to sweat bullets. “Oh no. Did I go too far?! I-I didn’t mean-“ Suddenly, Luciana gave him a warm kiss on the cheek as well. He felt like his whole body was on fire. “G-Good night, Bowser,” she said with a bashful grin. The koopa watched Luciana as she opened the door to her home. Before she closed it, the woman gave him a dreamy expression. Bowser swore he heard music as she gazed at him with those beautiful eyes. He gave her a blissful grin, waving good bye. She waved back, leisurely shutting the door.

Bowser jumped onto the cloud, gushing so hard that fire was peeking out of his mouth. Once he returned to his castle, the koopa’s heart was racing. He was astonished that he was even tired that night. Regardless, Bowser got ready for bed. After he put a pair of pajamas on, the king then climbed into a large bed, pulling the blanket over his chest. He let out a happy sigh, his last thought before falling asleep being his girlfriend’s pure smile.

I wrote this like--last year. Sorry it took so long to submit. Characters (c) Nintendo

#bowuigi #bowser x luigi #bowser x femluigi #gender bend #otp #nintendo #Bowser #Mario Bowser #luigi #nintendo luigi #video games #text #monster x human #monster boyfriend #bowser x luciana #My writing

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halfway-happyyy · 3 years

Text

She’s My Kind Of Girl

AN: this started as an idea of the lovely @bskarsgardlove92‘s and i kind of just rolled with it! i hope you enjoy, and as always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated!

synopsis: Alex dresses in drag to attend a costume party with his girl, as one half of Swedish superband, ABBA! Absolute fluff ensues!

“Though you may hail from a long and distinguished line of inexplicably talented thespians, I know you well enough by now to recognize when you're not telling me something.”

Alexander passed a serviette over the front of his mouth and swallowed back a bite of salmon, cocking an eyebrow in amusement. “I beg your pardon?”

She sipped deeply from her glass of chilled wine, and cocked her head to the side, eyeing him. “Don’t play coy with me, Alex. You were on the line with Eija when I came into the kitchen. That glint in your eyes says so much and then nothing at all in equal measure.”

“One could almost say that you know me too well, kid.”

"Almost," She grinned around the delicate rim of her glass. “Now spill it, Skarsgård.”

Alexander leaned back against the oak chair, dangling a long arm over the back of it. “Dad’s seventieth birthday is next month. Eija’s hosting a party back home for him, and she wants us to be there.”

She thought fondly of Alexander’s father often; he had been one of the first faces of his family that she’d had the privilege of meeting when her and Alexander had started taking things a little more seriously. Where her own father figure had been virtually non-existent most of the time, she was blessed to have such a wonderful father-in-law in Stellan. He was such an integral part of their lives that the thought of not returning home to Sweden to celebrate him was almost too much to bear.

“I’ll look into flights tomorrow morning. What kind of get together is it? I would imagine knowing Eija as I do, that she's got something wonderful up her sleeve?”

Alexander's lips curved up into a devilish smirk and he cocked his head to the side.

“She's hosting a costume party.”

There it was…

“God, I can only imagine the ideas that beautiful mind of yours has already dreamed up.”

Alexander tipped the rest of his wine into his mouth, his blue eyes glittering mischievously in the low light from the dining room lamp. “Hm, you know how much dad loves ABBA…”

It was the precise tone of his voice that she reckoned prepared her for what was coming next. “Oh boy,” She giggled under her breath.

“Well, I propose that we go as Björn and Agnetha.”

She mulled the thought of it over in her head, and then an idea swam into her mind's eye that caused a smirk similar to her other half's to tug the edges of her lips skyward. “I'll do it on one condition, my love.”

His eyebrow lifted in intrigue. “I'm all ears.”

“I will do it if I can be the Björn to your Agnetha.”

His laughter- utterly loud and booming, filled every square space of their home with a warm and joyous sound. When it subsided, he leveled his gaze with hers and she noticed immediately, the blush that had risen to the apples his cheeks. After a moment, he nodded his head finitely. “You've got yourself a deal, kid.”

She glanced at the watch face beneath the bell sleeve of her silver, sequined blouse, and sighed heavily. “C'mon dancing queen, we haven’t got all night…” Alexander emerged from the bathroom door a moment later, a blonde, perfectly styled wig fell below the cups of a filled-out bra.

“I must say,” He reached toward her to tousle the brunette wig atop of her head, a smirk in place on his features. “Silver and forest green sequins do wonders for you, kid. Or should I say- Björn.”

“Oh hush,” She giggled. “I can hardly imagine the outfit you’ve conjured up for this evening." They gazed at each other in silence for a moment before she gestured to her vanity. "Shall I do your makeup?”

Alexander shifted from foot to foot. “If you wouldn't mind,” He murmured.

She stood on tiptoes to twirl strands of blonde hair around her finger. “It would be an honour, Agnetha.”

She followed Alexander to the vanity next to their bay window and turned on the lamp so that it illuminated his face perfectly. Pulling up a photo of Agnetha on her phone for reference, she set to work. “She sometimes likes to wear bold colours on her eyes, so that’s the look we’re going for this evening.” She started the process by moisturizing and priming his face, opting out of a foundation, and using a tinted moisturizer instead. “Alright, close your eyes for me, my love.” He did as he was told, and she allowed herself a moment to admire how breathtaking he truly was. After a couple of seconds of searching, she found a palette that was made up of different shades of purple and applied a muted lavender hue over both of his lids. Wanting to go a little darker, she blended a violet shade into his creases and stood back to admire her handiwork. Nearly done, she decided to go dramatic on the eyeliner, but when she reached for her favourite tube of mascara, Alexander faltered.

“I don’t need… falsies?”

She blanched. “Alex, I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but your natural eyelashes are beautiful,” She took his face in her hands and gently turned it to the side, gesturing to his left eye. “Look how long and healthy they are. I think I have some cheap lashes lying around somewhere if you really want them, but I think a few coats of mascara will do wonderfully.”

He reached up to press his lips to the underside of her jaw, shaking his head. “No, I trust you.”

She kissed the tip of his nose and got back to work. “You’ve done magnificent so far. I’m just about finished…” She glanced around for her mauve pink lipstick, held a hand beneath his chin and applied the colour to his lips. “Alright, rub your lips together for me please.” She watched him do as she asked. “Now pat them together, as if you were smacking them.” She waited. “Alright, for the finishing touch,” She reached for her bottle of setting spray, told him to close his eyes, and let the mist settle over his face. “You my love, are finished and ready for the evening.

He leaned forward to inspect her handiwork closely, and a large smile grew on his face. “You’ve done a wonderful job, kid.”

She nodded towards the washroom door. “Go on then, Chiquitita. The party awaits.”

“You and your ABBA puns, huh?” Alexander smirked, before closing the door behind him.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Just wait until your brothers get a hold of us.” She snickered. While she waited for Alexander to wrap up, she began lacing up the white platform boots she had found weeks ago. They added an extra four inches to her height, and she fought back a giggle as she sipped the last remnants of her pre-game cocktail.

Ten minutes elapsed, and she began to feel the familiar tug of inebriation deep in her belly. Suddenly, Alexander cleared his throat. “I’m coming out. Are you ready?”

“I’ve literally never been more ready in my life.” She deadpanned.

Alexander emerged from the washroom, and all she could do was gape at his figure as he stood poised in the doorway. Lord knows where, but he had managed to find a hot pink jumpsuit with a silver-sequined trim around the neckline and a heart-shaped cutout that showed off his adorable, trim bellybutton perfectly. He donned glossy, white boots on his feet that only added to his seemingly immense height. “Well, what do you think?” He asked, dubiously.

She swallowed hard. “I have lots of feelings about it actually… but our car is here, and your father awaits.” She held her arm out for him to take. “Shall we go, my beautiful Agnetha?”

Alexander accepted her arm gratefully and bent down to press a kiss to her cheek. “Lead the way, Björn.”

“What are your brothers going as?” She asked, as they slid into the backseat of the sedan.

“Uh, I think Bill and his family said that they were going as Disney characters. Gustaf and Valter are going as Top Gun’s Maverick and Goose, respectively,” He paused so that they could share a laugh at that. “And I’m not sure yet what Sam and his family are doing.”

She scratched contemptuously at the back of her head. “I hate this wig already.”

Alexander snorted into his drink. “But it looks so good on you… the way it kind of frames your face in that ‘the 70’s called and they want their hair back’ kind of way…”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s the heart-shaped bellybutton window for me.”

Alexander guffawed loudly. “Oh really? We're playing that game? Well then, it’s the extra four or five inches that you’re wearing but you still don’t reach past my sternum, for me.”

They rounded the corner to Stellan’s street, and laughter bubbled up out of her mouth like a song. “It’s the fact that you look better than most women I know, for me.” This sent Alexander into such a frenzy that she paid the driver herself. “Alright, Agnetha, I have a dream and it involves you exiting this vehicle tonight,” She nudged his back to get him out of the open car door. “Let's go, girlfriend.” They ambled up the pathway hand-in-hand and stood giggling in front of Stellan’s door. Roaring laughter and bits and pieces of broken Swedish and English conversation could be heard from inside as her finger hovered above the doorbell. “You ready?”

Alexander nodded, finitely. “Go on then,”

She rang the bell and waited for what felt like years, before the door flung open and Eija greeted them in a demure, feline costume. Her face was disbelieving at first, but then her painted-on whiskers twitched; she cracked and laughter roared from her belly in happy waves. When she could speak again, she shook her head gleefully. “Come in, come in you two. What an honour to have one half of the world’s greatest band with us!” She ushered them into Stellan’s lively home, the scent of a freshly-cooked feast hung tantalizing in the air, and made her mouth water hungrily. “Just wait until papa sees you!” She clapped her hands merrily, pulling them into the adjacent living room.

Their entrance caused mass hysteria; pure laugher on a level that was hard to fathom. Gustaf approached them first, a pair of sunglasses sat perched atop his head, and he was sporting a mustache. Clad in a pair of army-green coveralls, the badge on his chest simply read, ‘Gus.’ “I have to say that when Alex first told me what the two of you were planning, this was not what I had in mind…” He scratched absentmindedly at the bridge of his nose, his smile wry. “But you two absolutely knocked it out of the park. Well done, brother.” He belly laughed, and wrapped an arm around Alex’s shoulders, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I can’t wait until dad sees you.”

Valter appeared before them next, clad in the exact same costume as Gustaf accept that his badge read, ‘Maverick’, and he had on over his blue eyes, a pair of mirrored Rayban aviators. “Mamma Mia, Agnetha! Such lovely bosoms you have!”

A hand appeared out of the abyss and sneaked its way toward Alexander’s ample breasts, but the younger Skarsgård's plan was foiled before he could get there with Alexander slapping it away just in the nick of time. “Touch them and die, Valter.” He beamed, devilishly.

Valter's grin was sheepish. “My apologies Agnetha- Björn.”

She tossed a wink his way. “Turns out she can take care of herself just fine.”

“Alright, alright, where are they?” Stellan’s achingly familiar voice- unmistakable anywhere, boomed throughout the room. When he caught sight of them, he stood stock-still and tilted his head back, his rolling laughter loud and genuine. It caused pleasant goosebumps to rise in waves over her arms, and she couldn’t help but laugh along with him. “This is it,” He announced. “I couldn’t dare to ask for another thing after this. My eldest boy and his love coming in drag as Agnetha and Björn? This is seventy, folks!” He closed the distance between them to wrap them both in a crushing bear hug. When he pulled away, his eyes were glittering brightly beneath the low light of the many lamps scattered around the living room. “How unbelievably wonderful it is to see you both here.” He kissed both of their cheeks over again, his smile wide and utterly contagious. “On a totally unrelated note- that you and Björn here have similar situations happening… ehm, up top, is really quite miraculous, isn’t it?”

Alexander rolled his azure eyes, laughing loudly at that. “Happy birthday, dad.”

“And what a wonderful birthday it turned out to be. Come, come. We have much to discuss.”

The night carried on in much the same fashion; drinks were had (and spilt), laughter was shared, pictures were taken- and all the while, she just felt unimaginably blessed to be a part of it all. Closer towards the evening’s finish, she felt Alexander’s hand tighten around her own, and she knew then, without a shadow of a doubt that this was her family. This was where she belonged.

#literal ICONS #who doesn't love little ABBA??#alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard imagine #alexander skarsgard oneshot #alexander skarsgard drabble #drabble #writing #fluff #alex sstuff

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thecagedsong · 3 years

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Forgotten Light: Chatper 8: Boundaries

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 8: Boundaries

Ronodin hadn’t returned, and said that he wouldn’t until tonight. Kendra had another day to whittle away. She read more in her book on the Fair Folk over breakfast, then sat in front of her crafting materials again.

Kendra had no idea if her medallion even worked, but at least it dried nicely. The wooden texture came through the paint, but that made it look functional. Like, hey, this is a wooden medallion meant to weaken my enemies, not be a high school shop class project.

Did she take woodshop class? Did she ever go to high school? From Ronodin’s story, Kendra probably had tutors. Why did she feel like she knew more about the American public school system than she did about monster hunting? Or even tutoring schedules?

Trying to figure out her past by evaluating what bodies of knowledge she possessed and what she didn’t left her with a headache.

Kendra refocused on the fabrics in front of her. She did okay with the medallion, maybe her body had remembered something her brain didn’t. Hopefully that subconscious knowledge would help her do what she wanted to make next: create a jacket.

Ronodin assured her that the clothes in her wardrobe were all hers, taken and given to Ronodin from her own closet for exactly this time. Pieces her family didn’t approve of and wouldn’t know to find missing. But old Kendra’s clothes…left a bit more exposed than she liked. Aside from also being mostly black and red, and she was really growing tired of those colors, the dresses were low cut at the top, and high cut around the thighs.

She looked sexy in them, but with Ronodin continuing to ‘forget’ that she had only met him two days ago, sexy wasn’t the look she wanted to wear. She’d start with a simple cardigan, covering up her shoulders and back, then see what she could do about altering hemlines.

Looking over the fabrics, she wished she had pink. She thought she liked the color. Pink wasn’t among the fabric options. There was more red and black, and white, silver, dark blue, green, orange, and dark purple.

Because it would clash horribly with the red and the black, she selected the pumpkin orange fabric. If she was enough of an eyesore, maybe she could convince Ronodin that they needed to pop into a shopping mall for a real wardrobe. Something she was comfortable with now. The orange fabric was a wool/giant hair blend, dyed with pigment from the Fala plant, that produced its own distractor spell to convince people that it was dead until they forgot what they were looking for.

Sewing was a lot harder than she thought, especially without a sewing machine. Did she do this by hand the first time? The needle felt so awkward, her stitches were uneven, she was approximating the designs in the book, but some of them had her folding fabric before cutting? What did it mean by grain? She tried to incorporate ‘make me look hideous!’ magic intentions as she sewed, imaging Ronodin cringing away from her, refusing to look at her in it, but it was a little hard when most of her focus went to not pricking herself.

Still, she wasn’t a quitter. Kendra had to undo a seam, because apparently clothes were assembled inside out, but by referencing the book every few minutes, and working through hand cramps, she managed to at least make the pieces stick together.

It was early afternoon when Kendra finished her uneven hems. Some of the tools in the basket might have helped her, but her books didn’t reference any of them, so she left them alone.

Holding up the final product, Kendra giggled. She’d done everything on larger estimates, figuring that her goal was to be covered and folds in fabric were easier to have than one side not fitting, and cutting down was easier than adding. The result could generously be described as an orange tent. Kendra had to see herself in the monstrosity. She rushed to the bathroom, passing Mendigo in the hall, and positioned herself in front of the mirror.

She slung on the cardigan over the black lace dress, and cracked up.

“Hi Ronodin!” Kendra waved to the mirror with both hands, one sleeve reaching halfway up her palm the other so wide it fell back against her elbow at the motion. The ruby necklace looked like it was suffering, trying to hide from her attempts at sewing.

“Oh, er Kendra, I see you tried sewing,” Kendra mocked in the mirror with a low voice.

Kendra twirled, then did an impression of herself with a higher pitch than normal, “I did, do you like it? I love it! I put soo much effort into it! I love the pumpkin look, don’t you?”

She imagined Ronodin’s face, the horror, the strain not to insult his girlfriend, and burst out laughing. Kendra couldn’t wait to see his face for real. She would insist on wearing this until he took her to the mall.

Kendra stopped laughing and frowned at her reflection. That really didn’t seem right. Even if she had arranged all of this herself, why would she arrange a hideout she couldn’t ever leave? If old Kendra had wanted to live a free life with Ronodin, why didn’t she pick a hide away that let her go outside? Her family couldn’t be powerful enough to search the whole world. If she had been able to pick anywhere, a remote island seemed like a much better hiding place than where she was.

Maybe she and Ronodin had had a disagreement over how long she should stay underground. He might be capitalizing on her memory loss to keep her extra safe; it’s possible Kendra had never intended for herself to remain sealed away. That seemed like something Ronodin would do. Slip in a little lie amongst the truths to save himself battles.

Well, wherever they were, Kendra wanted out. Now that she wasn’t dressed for a cocktail party, she would find her way to a window at least. She went back to her room, and decided to arm herself with the bow she had brought with her through the barrel, even though she didn’t have any arrows. She hadn’t had anything else on her, so she slipped on her shoes and went to the door that Ronodin usually walked out of.

She turned the heavy knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. Jiggled it some more, but didn’t move. She searched everywhere for a key, but couldn’t find on. What kind of front door could be locked from the outside?

“Mendigo?” Kendra called, and her puppet came forward. “Open this door.”

Kendra stepped to the side as Mendigo started straining his wooden hands at the door. He turned back to her and shrugged, showing his wooden fingers. Duh, no way could he get the grip he needed that way.

Should she order him to break down the door? These rooms were rented to them by their mysterious ‘host’, who apparently had Ronodin working like a slave. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her busting his door down. She decided against it until things looked more dire.

The last hasty, destructive action she had ordered had almost killed her fiancé. She would demand a key from Ronodin when he got back before resorting to property damage.

“Thank you Mendigo,” Kendra said, “Let’s see what else there is in this place.” Putting her hand on the wall to the left of the door, Kendra started walking, never lifting it. She discovered three different storage closets: one for cleaning supplies, one empty, one for linens. Kitchen, Ronodin’s bedroom (extremely frugal, disappointingly empty) (he had a couple of robes Kendra considered using to augment her own wardrobe, but decided that would send the wrong message), Library, bathroom, craft room, Kendra’s room, Kendra’s bathroom, Kendra’s closet, sitting room/front room, and back to the main door.

That was it. The entirety of her existence, done up in blacks, reds, and gray stone and drenched in blue firelight. Some of the carpets had cream accents, but that was it.

Kendra knew what kind of front door locked from the outside.

She wandered back to her craft room and picked up a canvas to draw. This was about passing time. Next time she wouldn’t let Ronodin leave without her. Kendra just needed to stay sane until he got back. Even if practicing her magic with nicer emotions would create a less effective item, she wanted something nice to look at. Something peaceful. An outdoor scene, and she’d try to work peace into it. It was for herself anyway, and she’d do it in blue and green and white, and it would look beautiful.

Unfortunately, Kendra couldn’t visualize what ‘outside’ looked like. She knew the sky was blue, it had a sun, and grass was green and flowers came in all colors, but the pieces wouldn’t put themselves together. Kendra had never seen ‘outside’, she had nothing but rote facts. She put her pencil to canvas anyway, figuring that if she drew the pieces, it would all come together eventually.

Her hand refused to move. It had no direction on what to draw. Were horizons bumpy or straight? What color blue was the sky? What did sun look like on plant leaves?

Glaring, Kendra started sketching her craft table, in front of her, with the wall behind it turning into prison bars. She’d seen those in her mad-dash self-kidnapping.

Sketching came easier than sewing or carving. Maybe because more art principals were known by the public, the curse wasn’t able to remove them as personal memories. It was nice to have something come together, even if it was only a picture of her cell.

When she got to painting, she ignored the descriptions of materials and focused on colors. Easier than before, she took threads of magic, threads of the flame from the candle inside her, into her hand and turned them to her own emotions, mixing with the paint materials. She wanted people to look at the painting and know that she was trapped. She wanted them to know the suffocation, and the feeling of crafting little trinkets while sun and stars roved the heavens unseen. Not being able to draw the sun or the sky. Not knowing what those looked like. Not knowing what anything looked like outside of six people, a puppet, and her prison. It was a nice prison, possibly one of the nicest in the world.

Kendra painted black beyond the bars. Even gilded cages birthed insanity.

#Forgotten Light #Fablehaven #Dragonwatch #Kendra Sorenson #I...may have been dealing with the initial pandemic claustrophobia when I wrote this #I'm just being dramatic #I'm at it again like an addict with pen

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abloomntime · 3 years

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A Bloom In Time Ch 20 Starella

Poppy was exhausted.

All the hard working running around crawling through tunnels and cleaning everything even with help was hard. Didn't help that she also had to fix a hole in the attic. Luckily for her Hattie did have some nails and a hammer, so fixing it took at most seven minutes tops. But she still was feeling really exhausted. So she grabbed one of those adult sized dresses from the wardrobe which to be honest, she didn't find attractive at all. Both were a dark blue color with white laced collars and sleeves, studded with a row of obvious fake rubies. But hey. She needed something to wear if Snatcher was offering to repair her old blue one. So after a quick dip in the bathtub and brush of her teeth she returned wearing the gaudy thing and her old dress folded neatly to be handed to him. He sorta stared at her for a moment with her long slightly wet hair clinging to her and the strange dress she wore. But she didn't say anything other than what sounded as a mumbled thanks before taking the dress and a moment later disappearing in that cloudy mist of purple without a good bye. She supposed with all those letters cuz they weren't there after he disappeared. She was SO tired. She swore she could drop to the carpet right now and sleep for another thousand years or more.

Poppy yawned loudly and stretched out her back which popped, but didn't get much time to relax before a few tugs came from her dress and she looked down with a hum to meet the eyes of the children smiling up at her. "Yes?"

"Can you please read us a bed time story?," Bow asked politely smiling up at her. "Snatcher said our reward for helping was any story we wanted!"

"And I....*yaaaawn* suppose he told you I'd read it huh?" Both nodded and she sighed reaching a hand up to rub her face. "Oh, alright. G-Go take a bath and brush up. I-I'll meet ya'll there."

Honestly she was expecting a hallway to a child's bedroom to be less...I don't know...intimidating? But the dark purple carpet with black vines woven into them was something that sent a shiver down her spine. It was so spooky, but she bit her tongue and made it to her destination. All she remembered was flopping face first into the pillow pile and closing her eyes for just a moment to relax before those youngins came back a looking for her and demanding their story. Which is exactly what happened. She guessed she must've dozed off because she was violently shook back awake with a snort from her and she tiredly blinked those tired eyes open to two little smiling girls, dressed in star and cat printed pjs, and Hattie holding a book in her hands.

"Storytime!," Hattie loudly shouted and shoved the book at her in excitement.

Poppy blinked at it tiredly for a moment before sighing and picking up the book. "A-Alright. *YYAAWWWWNNN* Y-You two go get in bed and I'll Just..b-be there in a sec." She yawned loudly again as the two scrambled for the giant bed as she got up and walked over to it. Plopping herself down at the end of it and looking at them. The bed was big enough for three adults so there was easily enough room for the both of them there snuggled down in the blanket surrounded by toys. Smiling and eargerly awaiting for the reward Snatcher had promised them. Well she couldn't just not give them a story. With a yawn she turned to the book in her hands and blinked at the title. A single orange-red silhouette of a woman stood on the cover. "Starella?"

Hattie nodded. "Yeah! DJ Grooves gave it to us. He said it's the most popular story right now! We really like it! Please read it!"

Poppy gave a small smile and a smaller yawn. "Alright. Just settle down now." Turning her blue tired eyes back to the cover she sighed and read outloud. "Starella. Written by Pen Gwen. Illustrated by Sunny Shine." Opening the cover she saw the same Orange-red shadow of the woman on the cover next to a larger man's silhouette of the same color. Both were standing in front of a large mansion and pretty landscape. "O-Once upon a time far away in the milky way galaxy, there lived a kind man and his daughter. The man was a very wealthy business man and his daughter was one of the most magnificent people of heart and beauty in the land. With a firey passion and flare like fire, and kindness that shone brighter than the very sun. Because of such bright straits people often referred to her as a star among the people. So she was named, Starella." She turned to the next page and it had the same two orange-red people but this time with two other silhouettes of two women wearing dresses. The taller green person was holding hands with the orange man inside what looked to be a princess's library. "One day Starella's father fell in love with a beautiful widow who had a daughter close to Starella's age. But the woman's beauty hid a cruel heart of greed that would ultimately reveal itself-" Poppy jumped when Hattie suddenly blew a raspberry at the picture and Poppy blinked at her. "Now what was that all about? I thought I was reading this here story pretty well."

Hattie huffed and crossed her arms pouting. "Those pecknecks need to get lost."

"Hey!" Poppy pointed at her. "Watch your language young lady! One more curse outta you and I'm going to stop right here."

Bow scowled and nudged Hattie who groaned. "Fine. I'm sorry."

Poppy nodded. "That's better. Now don't let me here either of ya say that again." She turned back to the book and turned the page. It showed Starella, who she had now come to know as the female orange-red silhouette, staring out the window at a horse drawn carriage leaving the home. "One day her father's rich work came to a point where he had to leave for a year long business trip and left poor Starella in the care of her Stepmother, which is where the trouble began." She flipped the page again and it showed Starella washing dishes and mopping floors as the green stepmother stood in the doorway pointing. "Starella's Stepmother and stepsister were cruel to her. Taking away all her fine clothing and treasures and making her dress and work as a maid in her own home. Despite this she never lost that shiny kindness she was named for." Turning the page she got a whole new bunch of settings. A beautiful green landscape, a good sized town, and a giant castle. "One day the Prince of the land had finally become eligible to be married and his parents wanted nothing more than to know he found the right soul mate for him. So one day one of his fathers asked his son a question."

She turned the page again and paused. On the next page was two silhouettes of two men wearing crowns and sitting in thrones. One man a light blue and the other a dark red. Before them stood a young dark blue silhouette of a young man with his hair in a ponytail standing before them in some grand ball room. Wow. The artist really knew their stuff drawing all these details in didn't they?

" 'My son,' one of the Kings asked their son.," Poppy continued to read. " 'Your father and I are growing more old in age and one day you shall take responsibility over the kingdom and all who live in it. We must know, have you picked who will rule by your side?' The prince sadly hung his head before his two fathers and replied, 'Alas for I have not. For no one has caught my attention and no one has wanted anything more to do with me than my throne. I wish to meet someone I can love as much as they truly love me in return, but no one I have ever met had showed me such a thing.' " Poppy blinked in slight awe and turned the page as she focused more on the story. It had the same scene only the red king had stood up and was now pointing at the dark blue prince. " 'I have a grand idea!', the king yelled for all to hear, 'One that shall solve this problem. We shall invite all the eligible people in the land no matter commoner or noble. From them you can choose who you shall wed!'" Poppy turned the next page and it showed a yellow silhouette man handing out letters to other men and women silhouettes of various colors and shades. "The prince happily agreed. So a message was sent out to every young eligible man and woman no matter commoner or wealthy noble." She turned the next page and she saw the same yellow messenger standing in front of the doorway holding out a letter to the green stepmother.

"Poppy?" She hummed and looked up to Hattie who gave a tiny yawn before asking, "What does eligible mean?"

"Oh. I-I *YAWN* means you're able to be able to do something. L-Like how we're all eligible to sleep." The little girl responded with an 'Oh' and the red head looked back to the book. "One day a letter arrived at Starella's home. Offically inviting Starella and her step sister to the grand ball." She turned with a yawn to the next page which had both the step mother and stepsister's figures glaring down Starella. " The Stepmother and Stepsister were overjoyed. 'This is your chance!,' the Stepmother said to her daughter, 'You are the most beautiful young lady in the land! You must make the prince fall in love with you and you shall become the queen! Then we shall both live the rest of our lives in peace.' Starella politely asked if she could go but the stepmother ignored her in favor of showering her own daughter in praise and telling her what needed to be done for their goal." Poppy yawned again loudly as she turned the next page. Shaking her head and looking at the next page which showed the same scene from before but this time Starella was glaring back instead of her face turned down. "Days passed and the day of the ball came to be. Defying her Stepmother's wishes she stole back one of her fancy dresses and said to her stepmother, "I don't care what you say anymore. I will be going to the ball and my father shall hear of your ways.' With that Starella marched up the stairs to get herself ready for the ball that night. Enraged by Starella's actions the stepmother and stepsister decided to seek revenge."

Poppy again turned the page and it showed the mansion at night time and a carraige being driven away from the house, Starella was looking out one of the windows. Night time....sounded like a great time to get some well deserved sleep. Her tired body ached and she yawned again, those eyes slowly closing ....closer....closer.... She yelped when something made the bed move a bit and looking over found it was Hattie looking tired but pouting.

"C'mon. What happened next?"

"Huh...OH! RIGHT!!" Blue tired eyes looked back to the page. "Without Starella knowing the carriage to take them to the ball arrived. As quickly and quietly as mice, the two slipped away and made off into the night. By the time Starella noticed, it was too late." She turned the page and it showed Starella in a flowing dress on the kitchen floor in a crying pose. "Distraught. Starella sat by the kitchen fire to warm herself and weep her sorrows away. 'Do not be said', cried a woman's voice." Turning another page, it showed Starella gazing up at the kitchen window where a white duck was perched. "Startled, Starella turned her face up towards the sound of the voice and saw a tiny duck perched in her window. 'Who are you?," Starella asked. 'I am the great Mother Goose.,' the duck replied, 'Do not weep. Dry those tears. You saved me when those two wicked women wanted to fry me for dinner, and now I shall repay your kindness in full. Bring me one chess knight that's snow white, a nutcracker, and one apple from the pantry. Now hurry. We haven't got much time.'" She turned the next page and it showed Starella holding a bright red apple and the white horse piece from a chess board game outside. " She....*YYYYAAAAWWWNNN* quickly did as the duck asked and brought what she needed. 'Lay them upon the ground and stand aside,' the duck said. Starella quickly did as she was told as the duck waved her wing over the items. "

"Poppy?"

"Yes?"

"*yawn* W-What's a chess knight?"

"It's the little pieces of the game chess that look like ponies," she replied before turning another page tiredly and there was a pretty sight. A beautiful red carriage with the door held open by a handsome man in a suit, and the most beautiful white horse at the front. "Before her very eyes the items turned into a magnificent couch with a horse and driver to navigate it. As Starella climbed into the couch, Mother Goose perched upon the door to give one final warning. 'I hope you find the happiness you seek, but remember this,' she warned, 'You must leave by Midnight for that is when my magic will fade away and you shall be stranded.' Starella promised the Mother Goose she'd remember the warning and bid the goose good bye as it flew into the sky, and the couch slowly made it way towards the castle." Turning to the next page it showed the castle and the steps leading up to the grand entrance and sitting on the stairs gracefully was the dark blue prince. "Unknownst to her the prince was awaiting within the entrance to the grand castle, tired from the large gathering of crowded people inside and not having the desire to having others and so many seeking him out at once. But suddenly he saw the most unusual sight." Turning the page again, it showed the red apple couch pull up to the castle steps. "The most radiant of red couches he had ever seen appeared pulled by the most purest of white horses. Surely this must've been someone important. As Starella emerged from the couch, the prince was entranced by her beauty as she stepped towards him." Another page turn, reveling the two figures looking at each other on the stairs. "Taken by her stunning beauty, the prince stood to greet the fair maiden and welcome her to the castle. Moved by the handsome strangest politeness she asked what he was doing out here all alone, and he replied, 'It is because it became too crowded for my liking. I wished to come out here and take a break and talk to someone. But you look new around to the castle. My I offer to show you around the castle?' Starella agreed and took the arm the man offered her. Leading her into the castle above."

Poppy took a moment after turning the next page to turn to look over at the Girls. Hattie was snoring away flopped back against the pillow. But Bow was still wide awake, smiling at her and pointing to the book. Where it showed the duo standing in the middle of a very crowded room filled with other colorful silhouettes.

"Next page please."

Poppy smiled and figured she might as well finish the book for the one who was still awake. "Well...Starella and the prince spent the entire ball together sharing each other's interests and experiences, getting along so very lovely enraptured by each others' personalities. As time went on Starella forgot all about Mother Goose's warnings as they talked, laughed, and danced the night away. But that all changed in a blink of an eye." The next page beheld Starella running away from the prince who had his arm outstretched out for her and a giant clock tower shone from behind them with the face reading midnight. "The clock struck midnight and everything the Mother Goose had ever said came rushing back to her. In an instant full of dread, Starella fled from the Prince and to the exit but it was too late. The couch had transformed back into an apple. The horse to a chess knight. And the handsome couchman back into the nutcracker. Having no other choice, Starella fled down the road into the night back towards her home." New page, new scene of the prince in the middle of the crowd with everyone looking at him. "Determined the prince announced that same night that he would love nothing more than to again meet this mystery lady and he was determined to meet her again." Another page showing the stepmother and stepdaughter home glaring at Starella again. "Because the castle was so crowded Starella's Stepmother and Stepsister had not seen her at all, and so paid no attention to her upon arriving home. Only caring about the Prince's proclaim." New page showed the prince riding through town on a beautiful white horse through town. "For days the prince searched far and white for the maiden with bright kindness and hair that shown brighter than any star. No one could tell him who this mysterious maiden was and he was beginning to lose hope when he finally reached the home of Starella and her step family. Where he finally found what he seeked." Turning the page it showed the prince kneeling, face pointed towards the floor, and holding her hand the green figures of the stepfamily behind them. " 'At last I have found you,' he said with glee, 'Starella, I have searched far and wide because before no one had ever showed me the kindess you have. With your p-permission..*YAAAAWWN* I-I would love nothing more than to learn more about you.' "

Poppy didn't notice but Bow had already long since laid down to sleep as well, but she kept going reading the story to it's end as her own body was slowly falling into the same spell of sleep they had by the Sandman. The next page showed Starella's father pointing outside standing in the doorway pointing as the Stepmother and Stepdaughter fled.

"Starella happily agreed and her father returned. Upon hearing what her Stepmother and Stepsister had done while he was away, he banished them from his home never to return again." She turned to the last page where it showed a very elaborate wedding and the Prince and Starella being the ones to be wed. "After a few years of letting their love and fondness for each other grow, Starella and the prince were finally married. The End."

The book was slowly closed by the red head along with her eyes and with another loud yawn, sleep had finally claimed the last lady there. All three sleeping peacefully until the morning had come.

#Snatcher #a hat in time snatcher #a hat in time florist #A hat in time the florist #The Florist #florist #florist x snatcher #the florist x snatcher #snatcher x florist #Snatcher x the florist #ABloomInTime #flowercrown

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scribeofmorpheus · 4 years

Text

Covet of the Wolf [2]

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Warnings: language, references of blood and injury.

A/N: I do love using Peter as a shenanigan plot driver, he’s so dramatic I couldn’t resist. Some characters from the previous series will begin to take backseat because i’m juggling waaaay to may characters. lmfaooo.

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

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“Peter,” Derek all but growled. You could picture his snarl without having to look at his face.

The dark silhouette stepped out of the shadow, “Hello, lovers.”

It was indeed Peter. Older, silver streaks growing in places that weren’t there the last time you saw him. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and wide—unsettlingly so. He cocked his head to the side, that shit-eating grin of his lining the skin around his lips. He seemed smaller somehow. Thinner.

You swallowed. The anger you felt towards Derek and your little—or perhaps big—argument was shelved to the back of your mind.

Derek marched down towards Peter so they stood on the same even ground. This wasn’t at all how you’d pictured their reunion. A hug may have been too much of a fantastical notion, but a handshake at the least seemed appropriate. They did neither, simply staring each other in the eye as if speaking through the flinches and blinks.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked.

“What?” Peter held up his hands to show he bore no ill will. Then he reached into his back pocket and waved a card with delicate calligraphy letters on it. “I was invited.”

Derek snatched the card, “This is my invitation card. Did you break into my loft?”

“Can’t break in if you know where the key is,” Peter walked around Derek and headed for the homestead. “Best go greet the stunning brides to be. Y/N.” He tilted his head at you.

“Peter,” you half-smiled. It was a relief to see he was alright. The current situation, however, not ideal. You didn't know how to react, so you let the Hale's do all the reacting.

Derek grabbed Peter’s elbow, “What are you really doing here, Peter.”

Peter shrugged then winked, “It’s like I said. I’m just here for a wedding.”

The tub was warm, reminding you of warm summers swimming in the lake as a kid. Your skin had started to prune, but you also knew that once you got out the tub, that meant facing Derek. Facing the tension.

An unexpected knock at the door made you gasp. Derek’s voice had that mix of concern and soft-spoken weariness: “You alright in there?” He wanted to make up. “I got towels.”

You glanced at the stack of towels on the shelf by the soap and smiled, “Come in.”

He opened the door slowly and walked with a low hanging head. He sat on the edge of the tub, not making eye contact.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he ran his hand through his hand, the curling ends were still a foreign sight to see. They did shape around his face beautifully though. “I guess being here, with all the… I just forgot what it was like.”

“What what was like?”

“Being around family…feeling like a part of one.”

You took his hand and kissed between the dips on his knuckles, “Just so we’re clear, I’m not saying no. I just don’t think we should be thinking about marriage when we still don’t know the full effect of the mark.”

You kissed the bandage hiding his mark. He recoiled subtly, pretending to shift to a more comfortable sitting position on the floor.

“You can’t tell me it doesn’t bother you—”

Derek grumbled, head leaning back onto the tubs walls, “Of course it bothers me. It itches a little.” He smiled warmly.

You rolled your eyes, “That’s not what I meant. If the mark didn’t bother you, why do you get all prickly around Peter? And don’t tell me it’s always been that way…You avoided talking about him the last couple of months and now that he’s here you practically looked like you were ready to tear his throat out. Why?”

Derek shrugged, “It’s Peter.”

“Derek,” you sighed.

“Okay, I just…He never shows up out of the blue for no reason.”

“Maybe he missed you.”

Derek huffed, “I’m sure he did.”

You snaked your wet arms around his neck and whispered low, “I know if I didn’t get to see your handsome face for a long time, I’d be really, really lonely.”

Derek craned his neck so his lips were close enough to feel the heat of his cheeks and lips. You indulged in his open invitation and kissed him, deeply. Derek found your hand and laced your fingers in his.

Maggie and Caleb were arguing about something in her room, you had been busy checking boxes, making sure everyone was dressed and all the flowers were in the right places. Derek and Peter hadn’t been seen all morning. You imagined they were out in the hills arguing or something.

Jonah needed not one but two shirt changes because he kept getting them stained. The first stain was jam and the second was a coffee stain. Jonah didn’t drink coffee, but he did like peddling it out as a bribe for something. Esme had taken over Markus’s room for the day and Markus had returned from the airport with Stiles.

“Stiles,” you hugged him warmly, a frown pulling on your face. “I thought you were bringing Lydia?”

Stiles winked and pulled out a tablet, “I am, she’s just going to be a couple thousand miles away.”

You shook your head, “And they say romance is dead.”

“I’ll just go set this up in the barn quickly,” he smiled like a goof from ear to ear.

Maggie looked gorgeous in her dress, you had to run up to her room to drag Caleb by the collar away because they kept fighting over the pettiest squabbles. Derek and Peter reappeared just in time for the start of the ceremony. Neither looked too pleased. Derek made every effort to seem okay. You could tell he wasn’t. Even Stiles was behaving suspiciously around him, whispering with a frown of his own when they were together. Derek’s habit of secret-keeping was getting under your skin.

If you had had time to think, you would have found everything a little strange, but there was barely enough time left to get dressed before the ceremony started.

You couldn’t reach the zipper at the back of your bridesmaid dress. It was green, not a lime green that was too bright or a forest green that was too velvety and dark; the dress was almost deep emerald, not silky in material and tight. Maggie was never one for body-hugging dresses, she enjoyed wide felt skirts, and her preferences showed obviously in her choice of bridesmaid dress.

Out of nowhere, Derek’s warm hands met yours and he whispered something as he helped zip you up: “Green is definitely your colour.”

You blushed, the reflection in the mirror was breath-taking. Derek in a dark suit with no tie and an unbuttoned collar. You in the dress that complemented his human eyes. His large hands on your waist. The flush of your cheeks matching the shade of lipstick.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” you turned around and tugged his suit jacket. “We should take a picture. Commemorate the moment. Something tells me it will be a long time before I see you in a suit again.”

“Hmmm,” he leaned in and kissed you. “You’re hard to forget. Especially today.”

The first bell tolled.

You pulled Derek with you as you left the room, “Come, we should get to our places.”

The ceremony was small, simple in a delicate and intentional way that could be described as classy. As Deaton officiated, everyone was thrown off when Esme had been the first to shed a tear during the vow exchange. The red ribbon that bound Maggie and Esme’s right hands was the only vibrantly rich colour that stood out. Caleb explained it was a homage to hand-fasting.

Stiles sat next to an empty chair occupied by his tablet, Lydia, who dressed for the occasion despite being miles away, watched through a laggy video chat connection.

The reception was quieter. A few people exchanged jokes and Caleb got hilariously drunk on white wine. You were a little tipsy yourself, snuggled next to Derek who smelled of a rather expensive cologne you weren’t used to.

Peter looked bored, so you ventured over to pick his brain a little.

“Peter,” you announced yourself as you sat down on the empty chair beside him.

“Don’t you look radiant today,” he sipped whiskey.

“Where’d you get that?”

“You’re family has quite the collection of alcohol in that alcohol cabinet of yours.”

You leaned close to whisper, “We aren’t supposed to steal from Dad’s cabinet.”

“Well,” Peter sipped his whiskey slower, savouring the taste. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

You noticed he wasn’t wearing a bandage to hide his mark.

“You want to see it?” Peter raised a brow.

“What?”

“The mark.”

You looked over at Derek, he was in the middle of having a one-sided conversation with Jonah. You felt guilty but you didn’t know why.

“Yes,” you nodded.

Peter rolled up his sleeve. The mark was still—no longer moving under the skin. A raw colour, pinkish-red like a rash. The symbol was familiar to you. You’d seen it somewhere, or at least an iteration of it.

The crows from Deaton’s photograph, you realised. A double spiral.

You were drawn to the symbol, wanting to touch it, hoping it would hold all the answers if you just reached out…

Without warning, everyone’s heads pulled up, nostrils growing larger and then smaller. A werewolf tick. It was only the non-supernaturals that didn’t react; you, Stiles, Deaton, Maggie and Caleb. Them and Peter.

“Right on cue,” Peter took his final drink of whiskey.

Derek stood from his chair, an accusatory stare burning imaginary holes in Peter’s skull.

Peter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stake. He tossed it at Derek, “You’re gonna need that.”

“What did you do?” Derek’s eyes glowed blue, the stake shaking in his fist. The commotion drawing everyone’s attention. Your stomach churned and you felt nauseous.

“I may have run into some trouble,” Peter shrugged. “You weren’t answering my calls. I needed a little help.”

“So you led them here?” Derek moved quick, suddenly Peter’s shirt was bunched up in Derek’s fists. You sat back down. Vertigo getting the better of you.

“Can someone explain what’s happening?” Stiles asked the room.

Derek hissed, letting go of Peter’s shirt to grab his arm.

“It’s the order…” you whispered in realisation.

Stiles threw his hands up in the air, his next words coming out loud and exasperated: “I thought they weren’t a problem anymore.”

Peter frowned as if innocent, “See, I thought so too. But apparently, something crawled out of a very old box when we killed the old man walking around in my little nephew’s brain. And Astrid tells me it’s a sign of the end of days. Blah, blah, blah. So naturally, some wanted revenge. I—I may have overestimated my…ability to handle things and…well now I’m here.”

Maggie stood up from her chair, anger turning her skin a terrifying shade of red, “So you used my wedding as bait?”

Esme grabbed Maggie’s hand as if to hold her back.

“Safety in numbers,” Peter winked.

The barn doors flew off their hinges. Everything happened so fast. Snarls, slashing claws, a few curse words exchanged like it was Secret Santa. At one point, one of the last remnants of the order got close enough to Caleb to slash at his belly while he shielded Maggie. Out of the blue, two other people arrived, both men and both friendlies from what you could tell. One had a greying beard and short sandy brown hair. He was holding a shotgun because it would seem the Hale's didn't have any friends who baked or had a more domestic hobby than werewolf hunting. The other younger of the two was handsome, with sad eyes that drooped like a puppy's. They were a werewolf yellow, a colour you’d only ever seen on Jonah. His were more intense. Brighter. At one point, you thought you heard Stiles mutter the name, “Isaac.”

You didn’t care, there was no time to care about anything other than Caleb. You rushed over to Caleb’s side to tend to his wound. It was then, as you held his stomach and had trouble breathing that you realised just how beautiful he looked in his blue velvet suit.

The ringing in Derek’s ears was superficial. The sharp stabbing pain it brought to his ears meant nothing next to the chaos unfolding in the room.

The white cloth on the joined dining tables was soaked on one end, a deep red, almost black under the candle light in the barn.

Derek’s heart beat rapidly. He hadn’t felt like this in a long, long time. Was it hopelessness? Fear? Dread? All of them at once?

Instinctively, his hand sought after yours. He could feel you, smell the faint scent of your perfume, behind him. But you didn’t take his hand.

Derek glanced behind him and saw you there, applying pressure to Caleb’s gut wound. Shock in your eyes. A look he swore to himself you’d never wear again. Not while he was by your side. But there it was, wide eyes and quivering lips failing to stay shut behind a clenched jaw. And this, all this destruction. The blood. The weeping brides—one out of anger, the other out of desperation. The blood soaked table cloth. And a severed head held in Peter’s hand. All this happened because of him.

Derek looked down at the mark that could pass for a rash on his arm. His claws extended and he tried to cut it out. But it simply healed back to normal.

This was all because of him. Him and that damned mark.

Standing beside him, unseen by all except Peter, was Alyster.

Dead Alyster living in Derek’s mind. Incorporeal, but all the same there, knocking about in his grey matter.

“Today was meant to be a happy day,” Alyster spoke with a faint shiver of regret. His voice contained to Derek’s consciousness. To the supernatural mark. Alyster’s face held a sadness permanently plastered to his drooping, lined eyes. “It would have been. If you had listened.”

Blood meandered from Derek’s nose to his chin. That smell. He knew that smell. It was pungent, earthy. The smell of decay. And it was coming from the severed head in Peter’s hand.

Suddenly the head began to mummify, skin turning leathery, cheeks sunken to the teeth.

Someone screamed, maybe it was Jonah maybe it wasn’t. A retch or two, some disgusted sounds. But Derek couldn’t focus on anything. His senses were running rampant.

Peter dropped the head. It didn’t land with a squelching sound. It didn’t land at all. Before it reached the ground, it turned to dust. Millions upon millions of finite skin particles reduced to a puff of dusty brown.

“You’re an asshole, Peter,” Derek was panting, his words wheezy.

“You should have answered my calls,” Peter’s face was glistening with sweat. “Jerk.”

Peter’s nose bled too. He didn’t seem to fight the pain. But Derek did. He held out, for as long as he could. Then, like lead balloons, both Peter and he fell. The mark burning like hellfire.

A connection severing from the collective. One of many considering the other dust piles on the floor.

Members of the Order of Sagittarius had just been killed.

And it was by their hand. Again.

#teen wolf #motw sequel #derek hale #derek hale x reader #derek hale x you #tyler hoechlin #peter hale #stiles stilinski #alan deaton #isaac lahey #chris argent #derek hale imagine #teen wolf imagine

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songofsoma · 4 years

Text

I’m Here

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles pairing: ava du mortain x cecilia beck rating: mature [ for themes of grief and loss ] word count: 1644

read it on ao3

**CW FOR THEMES OF GRIEF AND LOSS OF A PARENT**

January 14th.

Cecilia hated that day with a passion.

The date hung heavy at the beginning of every new year, taunting her the same way it had for the past eighteen years of her life.

She was the only person in Wayhaven’s small cemetery. A heavy silence thickened the air, making it hard to breathe at times.

Cecilia passed by the rows of gravestones standing like soldiers at attention, each held the root of someone’s pain—a parent, child, sibling, friend, someone. The thought alone was enough to create a hard lump in her throat as she struggled to swallow it down.

A bouquet of white lilies was clutched to her chest. She was too afraid to look down to see if she had crumpled some of the delicate petals. Inspecting them meant she would have to face all of the memories that came with them.

Some days, Cecilia hated that she and her father favored the same flower. There were times where she looked at a bouquet of lilies and suddenly, she was eight again and her mom’s cries of anguish filled the kitchen as she collapsed to the tile floor.

She remembered that afternoon vividly.

The way Mom could barely even stand from the grief ravaging her body. How tightly she held Cecilia and the way she sobbed into her hair when her child asked when Daddy was coming home.

Eighteen years later and the pain was still fresh, oozing from the wound that had been torn open time and time again.

Cecilia hadn’t told any of Unit Bravo where she was going or what this day meant. All they knew was that she had told them she wanted to be left alone.

As close as she was with her team, they couldn’t see her broken in such a way. Hell, she hardly even told her mom how much it still affected her. She was already cracked in multiple places, Cecilia refused to be the one that caused her to finally shatter.

She stopped in front of the headstone. It was towards the back of the graveyard, near the iron grate fence that had been rusted from the weather.

Isaiah “Rook” Beck.

Beloved husband and father.

Until we meet again.

The last line had been her mother’s idea. It’s how he signed off first his love note to her back in the eighties when they first started dating.

Cecilia remembered reading it, her father’s handwriting looking like what Mom referred to as “chicken-scratch” which was code for barely decipherable. Still, it had been his.

Her chest tightened and tears slipped gracelessly from her eyes before she even realized. She wiped at them feverishly before kneeling down to replace the wilted flowers with the fresh ones she had brought.

Both she and her mom visited his grave regularly, so the dead flowers never lingered for very long. Ever since joining the Agency, Cecilia hadn’t been able to come as often as she used to. She didn’t want to constantly steal away from the unit that was already constantly on edge with her safety. If they knew, they would want to come with her—and that would involve explaining the feelings she had repressed for most of her life.

Cecilia sat back on her heels, playing with the wilted flowers in hopes to try and concentrate on something else besides the risk of being swallowed whole by her internal battle.

She had given up trying to hide the unrelenting tears. They fell freely, gathering on her chin before dripping down on to her coat or running down her neck. The wetness that was starting to soak her collar made her shiver and realize she had not dressed properly for the weather. In her defense, her mind has been elsewhere when she got dressed and decided to walk across town to get to the cemetery.

Her hands trembled as they tossed aside the dead flowers, fingers beginning numb from the bite of the winter air.

Cecilia knew, rationally speaking, there was no way she could make it home on foot. Especially not in the sorry state she was in.

Her eyes squeezed shut out of shame as she pulled out her phone, holding it tightly in her grasp, not doing anything for the first few seconds.

She knew the person she wanted to call. There was a greedy part of her that wanted her to come. Cecilia yearned for the weight of her embrace as she sunk into the comfort, she didn’t even realize she offered. She needed her to whisper that it was going to be okay, that she would never that alone every again.

With a shaky sigh, she opened her eyes to begin scrolling through her contacts to select the one she was searching for.

It only rang once.

“Agent du Mortain speaking.”

“Ava—” Cecilia cringed as her voice cracked, fresh tears rolling down her face.

She heard movement in the background as Ava stood up, followed by the confused voices from the rest of the team. “Cecilia? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Panic colored her words.

She sniffled. “I need you.”

Ava was moving quickly now, hurrying to an unknown destination. “Where are you? I’m on my way. Cecilia, are you hurt?”

“No. I’m at the cemetery.” Her voice cracked once again as she tried to swallow back a sob.

“I will be right there.”

The line went dead and Cecilia was left by herself once again.

Time moved quickly as she stared blankly at the gravestone, her mind seeming to have a sudden talent for resurfacing every memory that could hurt her further. She hadn’t even heard the car come to a halt at the entrance or the hustled footsteps as the vampire approached.

She was only pulled away from her thoughts when Ava draped her heavy coat around Cecilia’s shoulders. The fact that she had been shivering never occurred to her.

Dropping her head, Cecilia sunk into the scent of sandalwood. Anything to distract her. “I didn’t for you to come just so I could steal your coat.” She met her concerned gaze with an unconvincing smile.

“You need it more than I,” Ava’s worry melted into her tone, shoving her hands into the pockets of her trousers. She seemed unbothered by the frigid wind clawing at her arms now protected by only a grey long-sleeved shirt.

Ava knelt next to the girl after a long moment, her attention turning to the epitaph engraved in the stone.

“It’s been eighteen years,” Cecilia’s voice wavered as she studied a bit of rock that had been eroded at the top. “And it still hurts just as bad every year.”

A hand landed between her shoulders as Ava tried to comfort her. Cecilia leaned into the touch, grateful for her presence. One small touch eventually turned into an embrace she fell into, allowing Ava’s arms to wrap around her, shielding her from the world.

Ava held her tightly against her chest, pulling her on to her lap as she sat on the dead grass lining the grounds. “I’m here, Cecilia. Always.” She pressed a kiss to the top of her head as Cecilia buried her head in her shoulder to muffle the sobs causing her small frame to tremble.

They stayed just like that even as the sun began to set. How could the dusk offer such a cruel display of beauty at a time like that? On the anniversary of the day, her family was torn to shreds. Few things made her heart turn bitter, and the mockery of the rawness of her pain was one.

“Let’s get you home,” Ava finally murmured. She didn’t give Cecilia a chance to stand for she slipped an arm under her knees to lift her bridal style.

Too tired to argue, Cecilia allowed her head to rest in the crook of her neck, enjoying the feeling of their closeness as a distraction from the storm churning in her mind.

The drive home was quiet.

Ava had let Cecilia pick the music, which was rare seeing as how the vampire turned green every time Cecilia chose a song. But she hadn’t been in the mood for music. So they sat in silence, her head leaning against the glass of the window, simply listening to the sound of the tires against asphalt and the gentle hum of the engine.

Not long after they had left, Ava’s hand came to rest on Cecilia’s thigh, offering continuity of a comforting touch.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” she finally spoke.

Ava glanced over. “Of course. I’m glad you called me. I had been worried about you today.”

“You knew?”

She let out a long breath, squeezing her thigh tenderly. “I had suspected something was wrong. Then Agent Beck cancelled our meeting and it clicked.”

Cecilia frowned a bit, focusing her attention on the passing landscape.

“I cannot lie to you.” She could hear the smile in her words. “I was concerned the rest of the unit was going to follow me.”

She looked back over to meet Ava’s softened gaze. “Even Morgan?”

The woman snorted, grinning at the road ahead. “Yes, even Morgan.”

“I knew she liked me.”

Ava’s hand slid up her thigh to capture one of Cecilia’s hands, lacing their fingers together. “I find it hard to believe there exists a person that couldn’t be charmed by you.”

Rolling her eyes, the stubborn corners of her lips quirked upward. “Flatterer.”

“I don’t know what you are referring to, my love,” Ava said with a chuckle as they pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Cecilia blurted out. Her cheeks flushed the moment she spoke, but Ava only smiled like she had expected the question.

Bringing their intertwined hands to her lips, she kissed Cecilia’s knuckles. “Always."

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

The Softest Fire (Part 2)

Prompt: Rosaline Vaughan had it all: fame, money, power, glory, a high status job. Until, one day, she woke up, and realized something was missing from her life.

Word Count: 5413

Warnings: dealing with animals(??)

Notes: First Fantastic Beast fic! I could NOT have done this at all without @arrow-guy. They have created a counterpart to this fic, writing it from Nora Vaughan’s perspective (Rosaline’s cousin/adopted sister). Fic aesthetic done by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo.

Newt had dropped by my flat less than twenty-four hours after my imposed visited.

“Rosaline,” he had begun, “my work is… well in some ways similar to what you do and in other ways it is quite opposite.”

“You mean how you deal with animals?”

“Yes and no,” he responded, his head dipping in that shy, insecure way. “In your line of work, you deal with uncertain circumstances that must be dealt with quickly. The same is true for mine. But in your line of work, the target of your attacks are defending themselves against the law. My targets are defending themselves against us. You’ll have to learn the difference. The creatures I find, help, and study are just living in their habitat, trying to live, mate, eat… They don’t pose a threat to you, until you pose a threat to them.”

I nodded. “Of course, Newt. I’d never hurt any creature.”

“No, of course, I know that. I just want you to have an idea of what you’ll be dealing with before I offer you the job. Also, your um, ensemble?” He eyed me up and down. I wore a blush pink satin dress with a dress over coat.

“What’s wrong with my dress?” I wondered.

“Nothing. If you’re sitting in an office. In the wild though, where we will be most of the time, or taking care of the creatures, it might be a bit more sensible if you dressed in trousers.”

“Trousers?” I questioned, nearly as if I were offended. I couldn’t help it. I’d never worn trousers a day in my life.

“If that’s a problem, Rosaline, I understand--”

“No, I don’t mind. Anything to get this job.”

He gave you a twitch of a smile before telling me, “Then I’m pleased to say you have the job. I just hope it doesn’t bore you.”

“I’m sure nothing we do together will bore me, Newt. Thank you so much for this opportunity.”

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

“I’m sorry… You’re what?” Mr. Briggs, my immediate boss asked, confusion and surprise on his face.

With a polite, confident grin, I reiterated, “I’m leaving. Two weeks notice should be enough, correct?”

“Well… I… I suppose we can fill your spot in that time and have you train another recruit but--but why? Would you like to be put up for head of auror office?”

I laughed at the offer. Not because it wasn’t a good one, but the fact that they were trying desperately to keep me was rather amusing. I shook my head and quietly replied, “No, thank you. That’s Theseus Scamander’s department, isn’t it?”

My boss shuffled awkwardly in his seat. I could practically sense the sweat soaking through his black and white pinstripe suit. “Well yes, but, we could relocate him.”

I waved my hand, dismissing him. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I wish to leave the Ministry altogether,” I clarified.

“But… you’re campaigning to become Minister… What ever changed?”

“I… I don’t know,” I stated. This wasn’t a lie. I don’t know what changed. I just knew my heart no longer lied there.

“Well I can’t say I’m not sad to see you leave… But I support your decision, Rosaline. You have been nothing but an asset and a friend since you got here. I wish you all the best and you can expect a glowing reference from me, should you need one. I’ll start looking for a candidate to take your position, if you don’t mind helping to train them.”

“Not at all. I’d be delighted to help someone out.”

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

Just like that, my time at the Ministry was over. In two weeks, I had trained another recruit who was still green, but promising. Newt was going to leave a week after my interview, but seeing as I needed time to exit my career gracefully, he agreed to staying behind until I was ready.

It was odd. I thought it’d feel bittersweet, or that I may even have felt guilty for leaving, but somehow… it felt perfectly right. The transition felt natural, like a stepping stone. Most would say going from a Hit Witch to a magizoologist’s assistant might be a step in the wrong direction, but not for me.

Life, as I knew it, would be different. No more heels, no more skirts, no more hair pinned neatly into a fitted hat. I would have to learn how to style myself to chase down and follow mysterious creatures all over the globe.

My next step after finishing my last day on the job was to see Newt for my first day of work. For the first time ever in my life, I was nervous. I had no idea what to expect, what I might see, what I might work with. My love for animals runs deep, but I was still worried that I may encounter some creature I’d never seen or didn’t know how to handle.

I arrived at Newt’s flat, knocked twice, and heard nothing. I knocked again, still nothing. I checked the door, it was open. Slowly opening the door, I peeked my head in. “Newt? Newt? It’s Rosaline,” I called.

I heard nothing back, so I eased inside his quaint dwelling a bit more. I heard nothing, saw nothing, but I didn’t feel worried. I went into the front room, calling out again.

Finally, I heard a noise coming out of the kitchen, so I followed my ears. This led me to a door half open that seemed to lead down some stairs. My feet carried me down, and my eyes beheld something absolutely wonderful. Creatures of all kinds in their natural habitats, seemingly eating or frolocking.

“Newt?” I said, a little curious as I watched him run back and forth between his suitcase and some of the creatures’ areas.

“Ah!” He looked up at me, a smile on his face. “You’re here! Just in time.”

“Yes, sorry, I knocked but--”

“We have no time to waste. Alright. I’m taking the nifflers, the murtlap, the demiguise…”

“You’re packing your animals with you?” I questioned, a bit of knowing in my voice. It was mostly rhetorical.

“Of course,” he stated. “I need you to join me to help study and rescue them. We can’t leave them here, no one could care for them.”

“Nora?” I suggested.

“She’s much too busy. Besides, we only have thirty or so creatures,” he stated. “They’ll all fit nicely in here. Now, could you help me with murtlap? I need to catch the little bugger and he’s in this pond here. He’s fast, and he bites so... be careful, hmm?”

I peered at him, worry on my face. “Um, alright.” I took a deep breath. I’ve fought some of the most vicious wizards and most powerful beings out there. I could handle a little murtlap.

I bent over the edge of a small pond and reached my arms down into the cold waters, soaking my coat sleeves. Suddenly, something soft, almost squishy, slithered around my fingers. I gasped at the sensation and tried to grab it gently. I lift the fat little thing out of the water. “Here you go,” I said to Newt, holding it out for him to sort it into his suitcase.

Newt was preoccupied with giant dung beetles before the last one went in and he looked up and a look of utter shock befell his face. “You...you’re just holding him?”

I shrugged. “Am I not supposed to be?”

“They’re… usually rather wild.”

I looked around, unsure what to say. “Maybe he’s tired?”

He nodded, not exactly satisfied with that answer but he grabbed him by the tail and lowered him into the suitcase.

“Alright. I think that’s the last of them. Well, shall we go then?” he asked once he shut the lid on his suitcase and snapped it shut.

“Yes, my suitcase is all packed and ready to go,” I informed, politely. “Where is our first stop?”

“Moscow,” he responded.

“What’s there?” I questioned.

“I have it on good authority there are some mooncalves there.”

“Mooncalves, hmm?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you all about them on the train. We should get going.”

“Right, yes, lead the way, sir.”

Newt stopped in his tracks to turn to me and laugh slightly. “Rosaline, we were at school together. We practically grew up together. Don’t call me sir, please. Theseus is a sir, I’m merely… Newt.”

I nodded, a small grin touching my lips. “Yes… Newt.” I bobbed my head, trying to wrap my mind around not being so formal. For Nora I’m sure this came as easy as breathing but for me, my straight laced, straight arrow life. I was by the book, I practically wrote the book on rules. The idea of working informally, with anyone, went against my very nature.

But, if I wanted to leave behind the life of idle, boring, strict, repetitiveness, I needed to embrace this way of life. I only hoped Newt would be patient with me, and help me with that.

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

“So what is our mission?” I asked sitting on the train.

“Our mission?” Newt questioned with a slight frown. “Oh, you mean, why are we doing this?”

“Mhm.”

“I’ve been commissioned to write a book about beasts all over the world.”

“I see… Why?”

“Because some people, myself included, believe that creatures should be protected and are merely misunderstood. It’s my job, well, now it’s our job, to find these creatures, study them, and learn everything we can about them. If we’re more informed, then we maybe we can save some, and the people in the wizarding world won’t be as quick to exterminate innocent animals.”

“I like that idea. Have you already started writing?”

He shook his head, pressing his lips together. “No, no, not yet. But I have many notes. I would really like us to explore all of the world before compiling the book. That comes at the end, after I’ve seen everything I can.”

“Sounds like quite the adventure. I’m glad you have this opportunity, Newt,” I state happily, reaching across the car and squeezing his hand quickly.

“As am I. It will help to have you here, too.”

The journey went rather peacefully. Newt informed me that he would like me to take notes on our discoveries and that we may come across creatures that may need to be rescued. Those who we rescued may need more help than others. It would partly be my responsibility to clean, feed, and care for them.

Newt’s informant ended up being correct. We did find mooncalves.

“Go ahead and approach them,” Newt encouraged as we stood several feet away, watching the small herd huddle in an open field.

I spun to face him, bewilderment on my face. “You want me to walk up to them? I thought I was only here to dictate notes and only assist when needed!” Panic began to settle over my body. Loving animals and interacting with them in the wild were two different things.

“Rosaline, you’ll be perfectly fine,” he assured. “Mooncalves are very docile. I really need you to be comfortable with animals. Many times they may end up being your responsibility so I’d like you to gain their trust early on.”

I nodded in understanding. That was fair. I wasn’t sure why I assumed I wouldn’t ever need to interact with them this way.

Tentatively, I stepped forward, my hand up and outstretched as I moved closer to the herd. At first, they didn’t notice me, but when I closed half the distance between us, they glanced up, startled and started to back away. I immediately withdrew my hand and took a step back so they would know I wasn’t trying to hurt them.

I looked back to Newt who was observing diligently. He bobbed his head a few times for encouragement. Taking a breath, I tried again, crouching ever so slightly, moving closer again, but again the herd backed away. I screwed my mouth to the side and remained planted, hoping they would come to me.

But they merely stood there, watching me. It was a stalemate. I wasn’t moving closer and neither were they. We sat watching each other for thirty seconds or so before Newt approached me from behind, a satchel on his side and he pulled out something.

“Here, try this.” He poured the food in my hand and then placed his hand under mine, crouching even lower to the ground to where we were walking along in a crouch. The mooncalves must’ve gotten a whiff of whatever was in my hands because they slowly stepped towards us. “There we go. That’s it. See, these are babies… I wonder where their mother is…”

Then suddenly, they were right before us, eating out of my hand as Newt stayed beside me, assuring me that it was okay.

“See? They’re perfectly safe. They’re kind creatures. You stay here and feed them, I’ll look for the mother.”

In the end, their mother was nowhere to be found, so Newt brought them along with us. We cared for them and studied them. Soon they were old enough and strong enough to be released back into the wild.

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

Our next time catching a creature, I merely watched. The creature was known to be more tempestuous than others, so Newt felt it was best he tried to call it over. And he was quite right. Watching him work was a treat. He not only knew exactly what to do, he also enjoyed it. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

Back at the ministry, I worked with people who were good at their job day in and day out, it was nothing new. But with Newt, he got nothing but pure joy from it and displayed nothing but absolute compassion for these creatures. This wasn’t work for him, it was so much more. It was what he loved doing, he just happened to get paid for it. And paid for it, he should be, because he was the most dedicated person for the job.

He was absolutely brilliant. His knowledge of creatures was boundless and he taught me everything he knew. When he taught, it didn’t even feel like I was forced to sit and listen to something I didn’t want to know. He made it incredibly interesting. I’d been taught by some world renowned masters in wizardry, and their lessons paled in comparison to his. I looked forward to waking up and getting out in the field every day.

We fell into a pattern. We set out for a new location, and he spent most of the journey explaining everything about the creature to me. What they ate, if they were typically skittish, if they were harmful or poisonous or venomous in any way. I kept detailed notes and reviewed them at night when he’d fallen asleep.

Before either of us really knew it, I was becoming a natural. By my third trip, we were in Venice, Italy where we ran into a small cluster of bowtruckles. Sweet, little creatures, and I took to them instantly. Of course, creatures like these aren’t threatening or hard in the slightest, but I was falling into an easy regiment of helping these animals.

In fact, Newt and I took turns all the time feeding all of the creatures in his suitcase, and often took turns in nature approaching them.

Watching Newt work had to be the most enchanting thing I’d ever witnessed. He made a complete ass of himself, but it was for the greater good. Maybe he did roll around to get Graphorns to trust him, or he made himself look and sound like a bird so that a Fwooper would come near him, or he would jump into freezing waters to take notes or rescue an animal tangled in seaweed. He truly was magical, and not in the sense of being a wizard. There was this purity, this innocence about him that I’d never seen in anyone before.

I believe it was when we got Frank that I really understood just how deep his love for creatures ran. We were looking for something entirely different, when we ran into some shady people who said they had a Thunderbird. Newt, being the genius he is, knew that Thunderbirds were native to the United States, Arizona mainly…

“I’ll give you one-hundred galleons for this bird,” Newt offered frantically to a group of five wizards as we sat in a sand filled shack outside of Egypt.

“This bird is very rare, very rare indeed… One-hundred is a joke,” the man leading the negotiation stated.

“Three-hundred,” he proposed.

I watched intensely. The other four wizards seemed… on edge. I had a strong feeling no matter how much gold we gave these cretins, they weren’t handing this bird over, ever. Maybe it was my time as a Hit Witch, but I could smell something dirty going on.

“Eight, and we may have a deal, and I may let you walk out of here alive,” the man stated darkly, his eyes only on Newt.

“Newt,” I calmly said from behind him, “get the bird.”

He started to object. “I--”

“Get…the bird,” I repeated, staring the traffickers down.

“You don’t touch that bird!” the man shouted, jumping to his feet as the four wizards behind him drew their wands. “Expelliarmus!” he yelled, pointing at my wand, already drawn, but I was waiting for the attack, deflecting it easily.

“Stupefy!” I retaliated to two men in the back, throwing a Petrificus Totalus spell on the other two. Lastly, pointing my wand at the man who tried the expelliarmus curse on us. “Forget us, forget that we ever came, and I’ll let you live a meaningless existence.”

“Why don’t you just obliviate me?” he challenged, his body shaking with anger. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“No, because if I hear that you’re still trafficking, then I want you to remember my face. Because if you see it again, you will know your life is about to become a living hell. Do I make myself clear?”

He gulped and nodded, fear in his eyes.

“Now, my friend is going to take this Thunderbird, and you’re going to stay right where you are, unless you want to spend the next hour under crucio.”

His eyes watched as Newt unchained the creature, before coaxing him into his suitcase.

“So lovely doing business with you,” I said mockingly before I grabbed Newt’s arm and apparated away. We ended up on top of one of the pyramids of Giza.

Newt sat his suitcase down and looked at me for a moment before wrapping me in an embrace.

“How… That was very impressive, Rosaline.”

I tucked my wand back into my sleeve. “Well I’m nothing if not a good bodyguard.”

“I can handle myself.”

I nodded. “I know you can. But you needed to focus on freeing that poor creature. Leave the head-cracking to me.” I winked.

“That was incredible. Why did you do that? Why didn’t you just let me pay them?”

“You shouldn’t have to pay for an animal that’s illegally being sold. That poor bird doesn’t deserve that. Animal cruelty really irritates me. If crucio weren’t illegal, I’d not bat an eye at using it on miserable souls like him.”

“That’s oddly comforting,” he said with a smile. “Well, shall we get some dinner?”

“Yes,” I responded, grinning, holding out my arm for him to take it.

After that, it seemed as though being around each other was as easy as breathing. Before that, there was almost this invisible force keeping us divided. Nora practically treated Newt like a little brother. The two of them always working, joking, teasing each other. But I felt as though with him, for the first few months of working together, we were disconnected. A boss - employee relationship, or barely- more-than-acquaintances relationship.

But that… the moment we rescued Frank together… I knew we were a great team, and Newt seemed to finally trust that I really was in this for the long haul. It didn’t take long at all to see why Nora had become very close to him.

From there, our work together didn’t feel anything like work.

How could it when we saw the sun set in Paris together, watching it, eating, making sure Pickett, the most dependent bowtruckle got some food too. Or how could I possibly feel as though it was any sort of work that went into observing mermaids in the Black Sea? Wicked creatures, they were, but they had their purpose. For six months, we traveled all over Asia, Europe, and Africa. Each stop as stunning as the last, each new creature just as interesting as the first.

Frank had a special place in my heart, and Newt said he would make plans to go to America to get him to his natural habitat.

For now though, we had to return to Newt’s home, and setup a habitat for every one of the creatures to live in, while we studied them for a bit. Some of them had been wounded, some of them had been abandoned. These were the ones we would heal, rehabilitate, and send back out. In the meantime, study and record every detail we could on them.

Six months in, Newt felt the need to suddenly ask me something that I wasn’t entirely prepared for.

While we stood in his basement, he cleared his throat and gathered my attention. “Um, Rosaline… I must ask you something,” he began.

“Hmm?” I hummed, turning towards him, a book in hand.

“This job is far beneath you... It's laughable... So why do you work here? The pay is poor, and the hours are unpredictable… Your life is your job. You haven’t seen your own flat in over six months…”

I closed my book and peered at him, softly responding, “No job is beneath me if I'm helping a living thing, Newt.” My eyes were tender on his adorable face.

He bobbed his head slightly to the side with a peculiar grin. “Yes, but you're one of the most powerful witches, both politically and in magical prowess... So why give all that up to help me feed and find some creatures?"

“I told you before, I had a change of heart. This experience has been… beyond anything I ever dreamed of, and I have you to thank for that. Doing what we do, watching you do what you do, is the most rewarding job I’ve ever had. Chasing down criminals it’s… it’s all very black and white in the Ministry, do you know what I mean?” I questioned, rhetorically. He nodded, slightly pressing his lips together. “The guilty are guilty, and that’s that. It got hard to stomach watching small infractions get the worst sentences. I wanted something where I bring joy to someone or something’s life.”

“Sounds very noble,” he remarked.

I laughed and shook my head. “There’s nothing noble about me, I promise you that. And besides,” I said, lifting my delicate, slender fingers to rest against his cheek, “Contrary to popular belief I haven’t given up anything. I’ve gained something far greater.”

Newt smiled and nodded before blushing deeply. I dropped my hand from his face.

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

“Rosaline,” Newt gasped from his desk. I was sitting nearby organizing a feeding regiment and making a list for Diagon Alley shopping.

“Yes?” I asked, looking up, worried he was upset with me.

“Your notes are exquisite,” he complimented. “Thorough, accurate, this is the best I think I’ve seen.”

I beamed at him. “Really?”

“Yes. This will be very helpful in the book.”

“Oh, good, I’m so glad I can be of some use to you.”

He softly laughed. “You’re more than useful. This is like gold to me. Thank you for being diligent.”

I bobbed my head. “Well, that’s my job. I’m happy to do it for you.”

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

It was the middle of the night when Newt appeared in the floo of my bedroom.

“Rosaline, I really need your help,” he stated as soon as I picked up the call.

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

I dressed within thirty seconds and apparated to Newt’s home, calling out for him. He shouted up from the basement. I dashed down there, careful not to slip on the stairs. “What’s going on?” I inquired, calm but ready for whatever emergency had arisen.

“The Graphorn has gone into labor,” he announced evenly, kneeling beside the pregnant beast as the father stood by, worried.

“Okay, what do you need me to do?” I asked, instantly all business.

“Towels, lots of them, a bowl of warm water, and uh, baby oil.”

Without a second thought, I ran up the stairs to grab the items as quickly as possible, and raced back down, working to not spill the water.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes. Now, graphorns struggle to birth on their own so I may need your help.”

“Just tell me what you need done,” I assured.

In that instant, the mother graphorn roared, assumably out of pain from the labor and the father began to dig his hoof-like foot in the ground.

“Uh, you may have to birth it. The father needs to be held back. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with her and he may charge us if one of us doesn’t keep him back.”

“Why don’t you birth and I hold him back?”

“You’re a woman, your pheromones will calm her more than mine will,” Newt explained quickly before pulling out his wand, ready to either calm the beast or keep him at bay.

“Alright,” I uneasily said as I knelt beside her, stroking her, trying to get her to remain calm and trust me. “So, when do I start? I mean, how do I know she’s ready?”

“She’ll most likely--” a sudden, loud roar took over the area, forcing Newt and I to cover our ears “--do that.”

The father got even more anxious, snorting, or what I assumed was the equivalent of a snort.

“Okay, get behind her, she should be rather dilated, just reach in, feel for feet and pull.”

“You make this sound incredibly easy.”

“It is incredibly easy.... If you pay absolutely no mind to what you’re doing,” he noted, his back to me as he stood before the creature.

I took a deep breath, keeping my hand on the creature so she knew where I was, where I was moving to, and what I was going to do. “Alright, girl, now this may be uncomfortable, but we have to do this to get your baby out,” I stated, talking to her.

“When you’re ready, spread the baby oil on your arms and… dive in,” Newt tried, sounding uneasy.

I nodded. This was absolutely mental, but this was my job, and this creature needed help. I needed to overcome my squeamishness to help her. I quickly lathered my arms making sure I was coated up to the elbow and then slowly put one arm in, squeezing my eyes shut as I did so, ignoring the heat and sensation wrapping around my arm.

“You will probably need both hands,” he urged, looking back at me.

I merely nodded and dug the other arm in.

“Newt, I don’t feel any-- oh my gosh, I think that’s it. I think I feel the legs. Two fat, little limbs?” I wondered, peering over her body, hoping to hell she didn’t kick me.

“Sounds right. Make sure you get a good hold on them, and tug, slowly, we don’t want her to tear inside.”

Again, I nodded before making sure my fingers were wrapped around the baby’s legs tightly. “I think I have it!” Slowly, surely, I started pulling, the little legs coming with me. It seemed to be agonizingly slow, but before long, a little head appeared. “Newt! Newt! What do I do?” I questioned hurriedly.

“Go ahead and pull! He needs oxygen and to walk around.”

At his command, I tugged, and the baby graphorn was pulled from his mother, half onto my lap, soaking me in blood and amniotic fluid. Newt left the father who seemed calmer now, now that his mate and baby were okay. He rushed to my side, helping to get the baby up.

“Help me check for breathing,” he instructed as he leaned down, listening for a heartbeat. “I have a heartbeat.”

Holding my hand in front of his mouth, I confirmed, “He’s breathing.”

“Good. Get the towels and warm water, help me wash him, please, quickly.”

I grabbed them, only a few feet away, and we set to work wiping the excess fluid off of him. Once all the mess was cleared away from his eyes, face, mouth, and feet, we stood up and stepped back, letting the bonding process start. The baby took a few shaky steps before stumbling right into his mother, earning a small response before she turned and finally nuzzled him.

Overjoyed, I turned to Newt and wrapped my arms around him, smiling and laughing from pure joy. Something unlike me to do. Surprise overtook Newt before he finally returned the gesture and I let him go, staring back at the new family.

“You did amazing. Good job.”

“Thank you,” I stated, nodding.

I was still watching the family of graphorns when I sensed his eyes on my profile.

“Is everything alright?”

He nodded, making me turn to him.

“So, why are you staring?” I wondered, bemused.

“You’re just… different. That’s all.”

“Different from what? Different from school?”

He shook his head. “No, no. Not that. You aren’t the cold, hypocritical bureaucrat I took you for.”

I threw my head back, laughing at his boldly honest statement. Another one of his amazing qualities was that he didn’t cloud everything to be nice or polite, but he wasn’t rude either. He was just honest, no matter the cost. So when he complimented someone, everyone knew he meant it. “Cold bureaucrat, eh?” I smiled, nodding. “And when did you come to this conclusion? I rather thought we were good friends at Hogwarts.”

“We were friends but that was before you had the Ministry and a political campaign.”

“So you do think I changed.”

“I suppose I thought you fell in line with what your career demanded of you.”

“So I wasn’t cold at Hogwarts?” I questioned.

“Not in the same sense. Your distance came from the fact that you couldn’t favor anyone and I think you felt more comfortable with the faculty, than the students. But as an adult… well for one, you and I hardly ever saw each other after graduation, even though Nora came around a lot.”

This information somehow stung. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I did let my career consume my life, didn’t I? But you have too. The only difference is you’re actually making a difference, helping something…” I gazed at the graphorns as I spoke. “I think it’s easier to let my work take precedence, easier than to allow myself a potential heartbreak.”

“So you’d rather live in fear of a heartbreak you might never have, than to pursue one?”

I turned to face him. “Newt, one way or another, my heart will break, if I allow people outside my family to be close to me. Whether I become a widow, leave a husband a widower, or any myriad of other reasons, relationships can go wrong. I simply don’t see a point of tracking that down for myself.” It was true. It was why I was so standoffish with people. I liked people. I always wanted to fall in love, be loved for who I was, but the truth of the matter was, heartbreak was inevitable. I dove head first into studies as a child because I loved it, and I suppose I unconsciously did the same as an adult, for fear that someone could never love me for me. Who could love a cold, orphaned girl?

“Is that really such a healthy way to live? Never letting anyone in? Keeping everyone at arm’s length?”

“It’s protected me this long,” I murmured.

“I think I understand where you’re coming from. For me, as…. socially inept as I can sometimes be, it’s much easier to interact with animals, than it is to try to communicate with humans.”

A soft laugh trilled from me. “I understand. Perhaps we will figure out humans together,” I offered with a side glance and coy smile, to which he nodded and grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#the softest fire #next scamander x oc #newt scamander #newt scamander fic

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huntress1024 · 4 years

Text

Crashing the Masquerade: (Tyril x MC)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2k

Summary: This is my first ever fanfic, and it’s just how I imagined the Blades gang getting ready for the masquerade! I love the dynamic of their group!! 😊 lemme know if you want to be tagged!

Taglist: @queerbrujas

Nia chatters excitedly as Adrina braids her hair, “Just imagine! The music, the lights, the magic!” She bounces up and down at the vanity and Adrina almost pokes her with a pearl hair pin as a result.

Imtura, already in her elegant forest green and gold ensemble, scowls from the window seat. “You do realize we’re on a mission tonight, right Nia? We can’t exactly dance the night away while simultaneously waiting for a murderer to strike.”

I expect Nia to blush in her typical fashion, but I am absolutely surprised when she turns in her seat to grin at Imtura. “You look too lovely to be so cross tonight, Immy. Has it crossed your mind that we can do both?”

Our orc companion gapes, before quickly recovering and muttering under her breath, “I am going to kill Mal.” She aggressively tugs at the dress’s waistline for the third time in five minutes.

I laugh and motion for her to stand and turn around. “You have to admit, it’s a cute nickname. And Mal says it with love.” My long, nimble fingers make quick work of the gold lacings at her lower back, loosening them ever so slightly. “Better?”

She breathes a huge sigh of relief. “Much.” With a wicked glint in her eyes, she gives me a pat on the back that leaves me winded from her orc strength. “Thanks, Zammy.”

Nia clamps a hand over her mouth, but a giggle escapes anyway. I roll my eyes at the joke. “That will never catch on.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s rather catchy.” Mal waltzes in the room unannounced, Threep perched comfortably on his shoulder.

He wears a dusty charcoal jacket with coattails, gold plating running along the shoulders, arms, and belt area. A marble mask covers half of his face, adorned with a gold wing. The look is distinctly Mal, bold and daring, but refined and noble as well. He winks at me, catching my eye. “Well? Do I pass for a snooty noble?”

I laugh, nodding appreciatively at his look. “I don’t think snooty is in your genes, but yes, you look great. Threep, did you help him with this?”

The nesper, smug as ever, flaps his wings in a haughty manner as he gives Mal a once-over. “Indeed. Perhaps you will learn to respect my wisdom, Valori.”

Mal scoffs, dropping Threep in Imtura’s arms. “That’ll be the day. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m gonna go check on elf boy.”

Usually I would laugh at the joke, but instead my heart clenches, thinking of the current state Tyril must be in. “Has anyone been able to talk to him yet?” Mal, Nia, Imtura, and Threep sadly shake their heads, and I sigh in disappointment. On our party’s trek back from the catacombs, I had tried to come up with something to say, but what could possibly have been said to erase the agony he was feeling? I opted for silence instead, staying by his side the whole time. He had brushed his fingers against mine before he headed to his quarters to prepare for the masquerade, and I have not seen or heard from him since.

Mal gives me a dry smile, trying to cheer me up. “I’ll just tease him about whatever the hell he’s wearing. His pompous, stick-in-the-mud attitude that we all know, and love will come back, trust me.” He snatches an apple from the bowl on the vanity before leaving the room. I turn away from Threep’s praise of Imtura’s dress and her mumbled retorts to join Nia and Adrina at the vanity as the Lady of House Starfury recounts stories from previous masquerades. “Last year, the gorgeous Lord of House Moonfall asked me to dance. Three times.”

Nia gasps, delighted. “Really? What was he like?”

Adrina chuckles, smiling at the faraway memory. “Oh, we hardly talked. I was so nervous to be in his presence that I couldn’t seem to get two words out. And he was such an excellent dancer, I did not want to say anything that would ruin the moment. I would have danced with him all night if I could, but Tyril scolded me, telling me it was ‘improper’ to not switch partners after an extended period of time.”

“Well, hopefully he’ll be singing a different tune after tonight,” I say, smirking. “I don’t intend to let go of him.”

Adrina tips her head back, cackling. “Oh, that will be a sight to see. Tyril is horribly proper when it comes to public appearances, but if anyone can help him loosen up, it’s you Zamira.” She places the final pin in Nia’s fiery braid, then offers her a hand to help her rise from the chair. Nia squeals at the sight of herself, twirling and letting the voluminous skirt fly around her. “I look like a princessss!!” She exclaims, dancing a little jig that has Adrina and me laughing.

“You look stunning, Nia.” The dress features various shades of blue, from sheer mint long sleeves to a cerulean corset, and indigo and navy skirts that give a starry twinkle when she moves. Embroidered flowers and vines grow along the dress, and her blue and gold mask compliments her lovely golden-brown skin. “Lords won’t be able to take their eyes off of you!”

She blushes delicately, giving me a bashful smile. “I do not know about that, but I’m flattered all the same.” Her meek mood dissipates as she shoots me a mischievous grin that is surprisingly more Mal Valori than Nia Ellarious. Perhaps he is finally corrupting her, I muse before Nia interrupts my thoughts. “Besides, you and I both know there is one lord who will be positively indisposed tonight when he sees a certain lady.”

Now I’m the one who is blushing, but I refuse to let a bloody priestess know she got the better of me. I feel my face trying to suppress the pleased beam that threatens to take over, but it’s no use as I reply, “Hmm. I don’t know who you’re referring to, but I’ll take the compliment nonetheless.”

“No one will be ogling you tonight if you go in that horrid potato sack of a dress,” Threep says matter-of-factly, sniffing the intimidating golden horns from the shoulders of Imtura’s dress. “Just out of curiosity, are these tipped with poison? It would make for an excellent weapon against Kaya tonight.”

Imtura gapes, outraged. “That was an option? Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“Can we come back to the ‘potato sack’ comment?” I snap, glaring at Threep. “Tell me, Oh Wise One, whatever shall I wear to satisfy you?”

Completely oblivious to the sarcasm, he straightens his posture in Imtura’s arms, studies me with that wide and unblinking stare of his, and definitively replies, “Butterflies.”

Okay, I was not expecting that. “Um, is that supposed to be a color?” I ask lamely.

“No, you simpleton. Butterflies signify transformation, renewal, light. For you, Zamira, I find it a very fitting concept.” Adrina immediately leaves the room, shooting me an excited smile over her shoulder while doing so.

“It’s true!” Nia chimes in encouragingly, taking my rough hands into her soft ones. “You’ve come such a long way from the girl I met in Riverbend who just wanted to escape and go on an adventure.”

I blush at her words and give her a playful push. “You’ve come a long way too, Priestess. I wouldn’t even know how to use my Light if it weren’t for you. Scholar Vash would be proud.” Her eyes brim with tears at my words, and I give her a hug, brief but strong. A light breeze brushes my skin, and I turn to see Adrina proudly holding a dress to me, and my heart stops at the sight. “Oh, Adrina…you shouldn’t have.”

She shakes her head, pushing the dress towards me. “Nonsense. You have done so much for my brother in these past few months, and I cannot properly express my gratitude for it, but this will have to do for now.”

If not for the excitement already bubbling inside of me, the hopeful spark in her eyes would have done me in. I gently take the dress from her hands, nodding in thanks, and duck behind the changing screen. The dress is easy to put on, and I am pleasantly surprised by how light and airy it feels against my skin. I step out shyly from behind the screen, and Nia, Adrina, Imtura, even Threep gasp at the sight of me.

The dress is composed of a faint sky-blue tulle fabric, the color strongest at the bodice and slowly fading to a white with subtle traces of lavender and pink when the light catches it so. It is sleeveless, but on each shoulder a flower in the very same shade as the lavender accents pin tulle identical to the color of the dress so that it flows behind me like a cape. True to Threep’s word, lavender and cerulean butterflies grace the waistline and front of the dress. I feel ethereal in this dress with the colors of a dawn sky, a delightful contrast to my dark skin, and I grin at Adrina, hoping it is enough to convey how much I love it. It works, for she smiles back and makes quick work of my white hair to pin it into a regal low bun, and adds the finishing touch to the ensemble: a lace silver mask inset with crystals that spans across my face and ends just at my nose.

Imtura breaks the silence first, lips curling in mischief. “I’m no fashion expert, but ladies…I’d say we’re ready to piss off some pretentious elves!” She lets out a cheer, passing Threep to Adrina before charging from the room, not even checking to see if Nia and I follow before she leaps onto the crumbling banister and speeds downward to the once grand foyer. I give Nia a shrug before linking my arm with hers, ad we say a quick farewell to Adrina and Threep before descending the staircase to join Imtura and, not originally noticing him from his veiled position in the shadows until we hear the unmistakable scolding voice belonging to no other, Tyril.

“While I am aware of your opinion towards my kind, I implore you to behave in a manner tonight that will not add to their suspicion of us. We will need as few eyes on us as possible if we are going to succeed in obtaining the Scepter.”

“You mean fewer eyes than the ones openly judging you for showing your face around here and bringing the riff raff into Undermount’s pearly gates? Gee, Tyril, you always ask so little of us, somewhat of a challenge would be appreciated,” Imtura snaps, words dripping in sarcasm from her fangs.

Tyril sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing, “Please. Just try. After tonight, you can drop kick as many of my people as you would like, but tonight, do try to be civil.”

“I think you mean our people,” I say teasingly, trying to lighten the mood once Nia and I have reached the bottom step. Tyril, completely unaware of our descent during his tense exchange with Imtura, snaps to attention and turns to greet us, lips pressed in a tense line before they part in a mesmerized “Oh” at the sight of me. Normally I would glow with pride under his stare, but I’m too busy trying to keep my own mouth from dropping in kind as I take in his appearance.

The outfit bears similarities in style to his everyday armor on our journey, but the colors are pure Starfury. He poses a striking figure in the royal blue and silver armor that extends from his chest to his abdomen, a magnificent steel belt with a royal blue gemstone in the center to accent it all. His shoulders and forearms are adorned in imposing armor the color of an angry sea, and a stormy grey cape clasped by a brooch across his chest. His mask is pure silver encrusted with sapphires and crystals, only accentuating his piercing blue eyes even more. Lord Starfury indeed. It wasn’t hard to imagine him hosting parties and being a prominent political figure in the Undermount hierarchy, not in this outfit where he was the embodiment of a lightning storm.

In a surprise reversal of roles, I am the one at a loss for words, and he is reveling in the idea. My blood rushes through my body as he bows before me, taking my hand and kissing it with such reverence and admiration before meeting my eyes and pulling his lips away, murmuring “My lady” against my skin in a manner that has me blushing furiously. I move to stand beside him, intertwining my fingers with his, grateful for his presence and leadership, despite everything he must be feeling after the catacombs. I squeeze his hand, hoping to express that and more to him, and when he squeezes back, I know he understands.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Mal calls as he saunters down the staircase, smirking at the sight of us all waiting for him.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the dramatic entrance type,” Imtura crows, sticking a foot out in an attempt to trip him as he steps down from the last one, which he deftly hops over.

“What can I say? I’m an insufferable ass.” He offers his left arm for Nia, and his right one for Imtura. “Hope you ladies can tolerate me as escort for tonight.”

Nia curls her fingers around his arm, giggling. “Of course, Mal the Magnificent.”

The rogue turns to me and Tyril with a triumphant glint in his eyes. “See? It was only a matter of time before it caught on!”

In typical Tyril fashion, my elven escort gives an annoyed humph. “I’d sooner be corrupted by the Shadow Court than call you that.”

“Ah. I see even a party can’t loosen up Tyril the Tyrant.”

Even hidden by the mask, I can see Tyril’s sculpted eyebrows rising in horror as he splutters, “Wha—How dare yo—”

Nia, ever the peacekeeper, gracefully interjects “Oh, look, there’s the carriage!” And with that, our party of five sets off into the night, ready to crash a ball.

#blades of light and shadow #blades of light and shadow fanfic #tyril starfury #tyril x mc #mal volari #nia ellarious #imtura tal kaelen #choices fanfic #playchoices

37 notes · View notes

izzyfandoms · 4 years

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Chosen - Chapter One

(This is a Gender-Swapped Sanders Sides high school au)

SUMMARY: Logan Berry, Dee Ceite, Patricia Foster, Virginia Picani and Regina and Rena Prince are all 16-year-old high school students. They live relatively normal lives, with ordinary lessons and ordinary crushes and ordinary families, until one day a monster shows up and attacks them after class, and everything suddenly changes.

SHIPS: Moxiety, Logince, Dukeceit

WARNINGS: Minor violence, minor sexual implications (Remus), Remus being Remus, swearing, sympathetic Deceit, sympathetic Remus

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game

Masterpost

NEXT CHAPTER

“Does this lipstick match my eyeshadow?” Regina spun around in her chair, away from the mirror, to pout her lips at her twin sister, Rena, who was standing on her bed, lacing up her boots.

“Who cares if they match?” Rena jumped off the bed, running her fingers through her unbrushed hair and bouncing over to Regina’s side of the room. “What matters is whether or not the lipstick tastes good.”

“It’s not flavoured.”

Rena laughed, picking up the tube of lipstick and flicking off the lid. “Everything has a flavour if you’re not a coward,” She exclaimed, and, with that, she took a bite of lipstick, removing almost half of it, chewing on it thoughtfully as her sister screamed at her.

“Rena!” Regina screeched, snatching it back and holding it protectively to her chest. “That was brand new!”

Rena grinned, unremorseful, showing off two rows of lipstick-stained teeth. Regina sighed, putting the cap back on and putting it back in the drawer of her desk, pushing it shut.

She looked her sister up and down, one eyebrow raised. “Are you really wearing that to school?”

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

Regina crossed her arms. “It’s identical to mine! The only differences are the colours and the fact that I wear it so much better than you!”

It was true, Rena was wearing a green, black and silver short-sleeved dress that was identical in every way except colour to Regina’s red, white and gold one.

Rena blew a raspberry, marching over to their shared closet and pulling out a denim jacket. It was stained with colours that would never wash out, and was one of the ugliest jackets either of them had ever seen, but that was why it was her favourite.

She pulled it on and grinned again, an unchewed piece of lipstick falling from her lips and landing on the carpet. Rena crushed it underfoot. “See, now we look different! Plus, my boots are so much cooler than yours. Hey, what if I pulled out someone’s intestines and wore them like a scarf, would that suit me?”

Regina ignored that last part, but still wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Rena, your boots don’t even match! One’s green and one’s pink, they don’t go together at all.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and spun around, picking her phone up from the dresser. “Did I absorb all the fashion sense in the womb, you… early 2000s reject.”

“Is that the best you got, you wrinkled duck’s penis?”

“Okay, that one was weird, even for you.”

Rena pouted exaggeratedly, slouching. “Uh, everyone knows a duck’s penis looks super weird, it’s like, common knowledge or something.”

“It is most certainly not common knowledge, you’re just a weirdo.” Regina then began to scroll through her phone, eyes lighting up slightly.

Rena straightened up, moving to see what her sister was looking at. It was exactly what she’d expected it to be – a picture of a school schedule, one that most certainly wasn’t hers.

“Ugh,” Rena groaned. “You’re looking at Logan’s schedule again. Isn’t that a bit stalkery? You complain when I talk about all my future crimes, and yet you do this? Hypocrite. I hate you.”

Regina glanced up. “Okay, first of all: you, like, go into such graphic detail about how you’ll murder people and eat their hearts, it’s disgusting. And, second of all: you cannot talk. You literally ate a photo of Dee, like, yesterday, and it definitely wasn’t the first time you’ve done that. You shouldn’t eat paper, you Queen of (eating) Hearts”

Rena blew another raspberry, wrapping her fingers around Regina’s wrist and beginning to drag her sister towards the bedroom door, picking up her school bag on the way. It was neon green and horrifically ugly, as expected. There were dozens of ripped stickers stuck to the straps.

“C’mon, Gina, we’re gonna be late for school. You can think about Logan and have some alone time later.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “Have some-” Her face twisted in disgust when she realised what Rena was referring to. “Rena, what? No, I’m not- that’s gross! I don’t wanna talk about that, you’ve got to stop bringing it up!” She yanked her hand out of her sister’s grip, but Rena just shrugged.

“It’s a natural human thing, nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I recently-”

“Nope! No, no, nope. I refuse to listen to this.” Regina picked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, before placing her fingers in her ears and screwing her eyes shut. “La, La, La. I can’t hear you!”

Rena hummed in thought, before cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting. “Hey, what if you and Logan fucked!”

Regina screeched in offended horror, eyes opening to glare at Rena, just as their dad, Philip, walked in. There was only a slight look of disappointment on his face.

“Girls, please,” He sighed. “My little Duchess, my precious Princess, what did we talk about?”

“No inappropriate language in the house.” Rena droned, pouting. “But, dad, I was just-”

He held up a finger in front of her mouth. “Now, now, no arguments. You’re going to be late for school if we don’t leave in a few minutes. Your lunches are in the fridge and there’s toast on the counter, you can eat it in the car.”

Rena sighed – though she was mostly annoyed at the thought of school, not their father’s interruption – as Regina smirked victoriously.

“Come on, oh, evil twin of mine, I wanna make it in time to meet Pat before school.”

***

A few hours had passed since morning, and the twins were in their final period – Mr Sanders’ chemistry class. They were sharing a desk at the back of the classroom, and were both paying more attention to scribbling their crushes’ names in their respective notebooks than to the lesson itself, as usual.

“Regina Prince, Rena Prince,” Mr Sanders called, and the girls looked up in unison. “Logan Berry and Dee Ceite, can the four of you please stay behind after class? I have some things I need to talk to you about.”

Dee and Logan were sat at the front of the room: the two girls having been actually paying attention to the lesson. They glanced back at the twins at the announcement, looking them over and the sisters blushed lightly as they made momentary eye contact.

Dee was very traditionally beautiful, with vitiligo covering the left side of her face, heterochromia, long black hair and an elegance about her that Rena found entrancing. She’d been in the same class as the twins since elementary school, and Rena’s crush had existed for just as long, never fading. Logan had perfectly neat hair that went just past chin-length, square glasses and an intelligence that surpassed that of almost everyone else in the school. Regina was almost certainly in love with her.

Rena leant over to whisper in her sister’s ear.

“Dee looks like such a snack today. I’d let her slit my throat with that eyeliner. I hope she slits my throat with that eyeliner.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Could you be any weirder?” Rena opened her mouth, but Regina interrupted her before she could speak. “Okay, no, it’s you. Of course, you can be weirder.”

The student sitting closest to them gave the twins a weird look, pulling up the hood of his hoodie, before turning back to his work. In Rena’s opinion, he should have been used to this by now, as he’d been sitting near them all year.

Mr Sanders cleared his throat, and the sisters glanced back at him. He raised an eyebrow, before turning back to the power-point.

“What sounds better?” Regina whispered to her sister. “Regina Berry or Logan Prince?”

Rena hummed in thought, picking at her teeth and flicking a crumb of lipstick to the ground. “Regina Berry,” She decided. “I don’t want people to know we’re related.”

Regina nodded in agreement. “Smart, I don’t want to be associated with you either.”

After a few more words exchanged, they went back to scribbling in their notebooks. Regina had finally decided to make some notes on the lesson they were supposed to be paying attention to, but Rena had instead elected to work on the next chapter of her disgustingly graphic Toy Story 3 fanfiction. It was horrendous, and insanely popular online.

The lesson ended shortly afterwards, and the twins packed up their things, though they stayed in the classroom as their teacher had instructed.

Regina sat on the edge of her desk, crossing her legs and smoothing out the skirt of her dress. She and Rena had chosen to sit by the window, so she often stared out at the seemingly endless forest at the edge of the school grounds. The thick tree branches created a dense canopy of leaves that her eyes couldn’t breach, and she often found herself wondering what lay beneath them. It was unspoken rule across town that nobody entered the forest – people went missing there, on practically a monthly basis – but she and Rena had often stood at its edges, wondering what adventures lay beyond.

She shifted closer to the window. It had been raining earlier, so there was condensation creeping at the corners. A smile played at the corners of her lips as she pressed her finger to the glass and doodled a heart.

“What do you think Mr Sanders wants?”

Regina jolted in surprise, spinning around and coming face to face with Logan. She was stood beside a grinning Rena, who was making obscene gestures with her fingers that Dee had absolutely noticed by now; she was covering her mouth with a gloved hand as she chuckled. Fortunately, Logan was far too oblivious to notice or understand, saving Regina her last shred of decency. Mr Sanders was nowhere to be seen.

“No clue!” Rena answered for her, hair bouncing with her constant movement. “What do you think, Dee? Do you think he plans to kill us?”

Dee shrugged. “I doubt he plans to murder us, but we don’t exactly have much in common.”

“Yeah,” Regina agreed, looking around again, brow creased. “Where did Mr Sanders go, anyway? I didn’t see him leave.”

“He said he’d be back in a few minutes.” Logan adjusted her glasses. “He also said there’d be two more students joining us, though he didn’t specify who.”

“Wonder if we did anything wrong?” Rena piped up, moving to sit on a desk, swinging her legs. “I mean, yesterday I switched all the science textbooks with the language textbooks and all the English textbooks with the math ones, but I don’t think that’s it.”

Logan gave her a disbelieving look. “Why?”

“I’m a being of chaos.”

Dee looked like she was trying not to smile, and there was a definite fondness in her eyes as she stared at Rena. She looked like she was about to speak up, when the classroom door opened, and all four girls immediately turned in that direction.

Two girls their age walked in: Patricia Foster and Virginia Picani, better known to their friends as Pat and Virge. They’d been dating since middle school, and, if asked, Regina would definitely call them her OTP; she’d helped them get together after all.

Pat was short and liked to wear her hair in pigtails. Her wrists were always covered in hair-ties, and she mostly wore t-shirts and skirts with a pastel blue colour scheme. Her girlfriend, Virge, was her complete opposite – tall and lanky with short purple hair and a black and purple colour scheme. The pair were holding hands when they walked in, and Pat squealed when she spotted the four crowded around Regina and Rena’s desk.

“Regina!” Pat exclaimed. “Rena! Logan! Dee! My four favourite people!” She paused, before giving her girlfriend a smile. “Apart from you, of course, angel. Oh, and apart from my moms, too! But, other than that you’re my favourite.”

Virge gave a small smile back, squeezing Pat’s hand.

“Patricia, Virge.” Logan pushed her glasses further up her nose. “I assume you’re also here for Mr Sanders? He mentioned there were two more people coming.”

“Yup!” Patricia exclaimed, half-dragging Virge over to the group. “I dunno why we’re here, though.”

“Neither do we,” Dee said. “But he said he’d be back soon. I wonder if we’re in trouble.”

Pat’s expression dropped, her eyes widening. “We’re in trouble?” She squeaked. “I don’t wanna be in trouble! What-”

“I doubt we’re in trouble, Pat.” Virge interrupted, hesitating for a second before pressing a reassuring kiss to the back of her girlfriend’s hand. “You haven’t done anything wrong; all the teachers love you.”

“Aww!” Regina squealed, grinning widely. “You guys are, like, couple goals.”

She tried not to glance at Logan, she really did, but she failed, of course, and the two made eye contact, before looking away in unison. Her plight was obviously noticeable, as Patricia giggled and Dee snorted. Rena made another obscene gesture that everyone politely ignored, though Pat glanced away uncomfortably.

About a minute passed, and the classroom door swung open again, Mr Sanders finally stepping back inside. There was a large ink stain on his shirt that hadn’t been there before, and he was carrying himself differently. It was… uncomfortable, to say the least.

He smiled – flat and lifeless – as he looked them over, stepping closer.

“Girls, it’s good to see you again.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “It’s only been a few minutes, Sir.”

“Perhaps.”

There was a whole minute of silence following that, and even Rena was fidgeting uncomfortably by the end of it.

“You know what,” Mr Sanders broke the silence, stretching and cracking his back. “I’ve never been very good at this part – I’m not much of an actor – so let’s just get this over with.” And, with that, he unhinged his jaw, and three inky black tentacles shot out from the back of his throat, each coated with spikes.

Regina yanked Logan out of their way just in time, as did Virge with Pat. Dee managed to dodge the third on her own, as Rena was too busy staring at their teacher with curious horror and possibly even minor jealousy to notice.

Dee grabbed the back of Rena’s jacket, dragging her away from the monster and scrambling closer to the back of the room with the rest of the girls. Their teacher was stood between them and the door, they were cornered.

“What the fuck are you?” Rena asked in slight awe. Dee sighed, moving to grab the shorter girl’s wrist, ready to drag her out of danger again if necessary.

Mr Sanders chuckled darkly, the appendages retreating back down his throat. An ink-like substance dripped from his eyes, ears, mouth and nose, his hair was also coated with it, having been splattered by the ink-covered tentacles.

“Does it matter?” He said smoothly. “You’re going to die anyway.”

The inky black liquid moved to coat his left arm, turning it into a much larger and much more menacing appendage with a giant claw at the end. It then jolted forward in a burst of speed, stretching inhumanly, snatching up Regina and tugging her towards him. She screamed, naturally, and even the monster winced at the ear-splitting sound.

“There’s no point in struggling.” He held her in place. “There’s no one close enough to hear you.”

His jaw unhinged again, but the black liquid formed hundreds of razor-sharp teeth instead this time, and he used his human arm – which was still abnormally strong – to move her head to the side, baring her neck.

She continued screaming and wriggling, and multiple black limbs had to burst from his chest to keep the other girls from trying to help her. The appendages were sticky like slime, and held the girls to the wall with no room for movement

“You’ll make a delicious meal.” He cackled deviously, moving slowly to savour it, his teeth just inches from her throat.

“No! No, please-” Regina begged, before being suddenly interrupted by a figure bursting through the window and landing at her feet.

It was a second storey window, making it slightly more impressive.

The figure stood up straight, revealing herself to be a woman with a messy ponytail, leather jacket, sunglasses and two large daggers, one in each hand. She used them to quickly slice off the appendages protruding from his chest, freeing the other girls and causing their teacher to writhe, scream and drop Regina.

Logan and Rena grabbed her arms immediately, tugging her back to the slightly safer area.

“Remy Starlight.” The monster hissed, in a voice that most certainly wasn’t their teacher’s. “We meet again.”

She sighed loudly, irritated, dropping one of the daggers and pulling a large needle full of dark red liquid – blood, perhaps – from her pocket.

“Unfortunately.”

Then, before anyone, even the monster, could react, she plunged the needle into his neck, injecting all of its contents with one swift move, before yanking it out and stuffing it back into one of the pockets of her jeans, looking only mildly inconvenienced.

The monster screamed in intense pain, falling to his knees, and, a few moments later, gallons of inky black liquid gushed from their teacher’s face – a horrifying sight, honestly, some of it even splashed on the terrified teenagers. It didn’t take long for it to finally finish leaving his body, and Mr Sanders collapsed to the ground, barely conscious. Remy hardly even reacted though, slicing her palm with the dagger she still held, and letting a few drops of blood hit the bubbling pool of ink. It hissed for a few moments, before dissolving entirely, and there were a few moments of silence before she turned to the teenagers, wiping a drop of inky blood from her face with her thumb and giving all six of them a simultaneous gay crisis.

“Are you girls okay?” She asked, picking up the dropped dagger and sheathing both of them, placing a hand on her hip. “None of you were bit, right? ‘Cos that would be, like, super bad.”

Logan was the first to speak up.

“Uh… no? I don’t believe so.”

Remy nodded slowly, humming in thought, before turning to the man on the floor, watching as he began to regain consciousness.

“Jeez, Tommy, I leave you alone for less than a day and you get possessed? That’s not very ‘chosen one’ of you.”

Thomas coughed, stumbling as she helped him up. “I’m not the chosen one, remember? That’s… that’s kinda the point.” His voice was rough, and traces of the inky liquid dripped from the corners of his mouth.

He looked up at his six stunned students, giving them a rather sheepish look.

“I’m sorry for that, girls. That’s not exactly how I wanted to introduce you to this.”

122 notes · View notes

bcbdrums · 4 years

Text

The Cocoro of Rococo

My answer to Drakgo prompt #3. I cheated a little on the prompt. Oh well!

Title is from a quote from a novel by Noval Takemoto.

This fic is rated M! Mature content alert!!!

FFn link --> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13654523/1/The-Cocoro-of-Rococo

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

"At last, Shego!"

The green-skinned villainess looked up from her magazine with a grimace. She'd been hoping this one would blow up in his face before the "at last" rant.

"My modifications to the trans-dimensional vortex inducer are complete! We can now travel into a cable TV program and steal the fictional technology and bring it back into the real world!" Drakken cried, raising his fists triumphantly.

Shego closed her magazine with a sigh and uncrossed her legs as she tossed it aside. She recognized his single-minded determination as well as she recognized her own disdain for plans that relied on experimental technology. But there would be no dissuading him.

"And you can take objects out of a TV show, how?" she asked as she approached him where he was grinning over the cables connecting his device.

"With this!" Drakken said, holding up a separate small device that looked to Shego's eye, like an old dustbuster. "My new matter re-organizer will enable us to bring back whatever we want! And I have my sights set on the technology from Space Passage. Weapons...travel...medicine...revolutionized!"

"Uh-huh... And how do you know it won't come back as stage props?"

Drakken's fierce grin was unshakeable, and he only tutted at her as they both moved to stand in front of the larger device. "Oh ye of little faith! This plan is fool-proof!"

Shego gave him a look. For the first time his expression faltered, but only slightly.

"Well...what's wrong with the plan?" he asked seriously, staring at her.

"Other than it being untested and you don't know if your new device will work? What about last time when we just bounced around to different shows?"

"I have solved that problem as well!" Drakken said, his grin returning in full. He picked up the TV remote and pointed it at the television brought to the lab, turning it on. "I discovered that the problem before was simply that there wasn't any program running when we went into the TV. Now, as long as we choose our program beforehand, we'll stay in one show!"

Shego couldn't help but smirk at his enthusiasm as he flipped the channels until finding Space Passage. The plan was untried and absurd to the highest degree. Removing all the water from the Great Lakes was a better idea in her opinion, simply because there was less personal risk. But after four years, she knew there was no changing his mind...

"All right, Jack Paar," Shego said, sidling up to him and setting her hand on his shoulder as he stared at the flashing images on the screen. He glanced at her with a raised brow, the reference going over his head. She only grinned. "So what are we stealing first? We can't come back with everything on the first try. And won't the characters fight back?"

"They won't need to," a familiar voice from somewhere above spoke. Both Drakken and Shego whirled around to see Kim Possible crouched in an upper window of the lair. "Because you're not activating that device."

"Kim Possible!?" Drakken gasped.

Kim shot her grappler into the opposite wall where it anchored, and in a flash she was zip-lining down the cable straight toward them, followed by her side-kick-turned-boyfriend and his pet rodent on their own zip-lines.

"Are you really surprised?" Shego asked, giving Drakken a sideways glance as she ignited her hands and began firing at the intruders.

Kim leapt off the zip-line and headed straight toward Shego, leg cocked and ready to kick. The villainess's resulting distraction meant she only heard Drakken's annoyed grunt as Ron Stoppable crashed into him, sending the two of them sprawling.

"Aren't you supposed to be away at college?" Shego said through a grunt as she shook off the pain from the adult teen's attack.

"Not when Drakken is stealing the pan-dimensional vortex inducer. For the third time."

Shego kicked out fiercely before lunging forward with her glowing hands, swinging punches that caused the red-haired heroine to hop back and away.

"Can't you just get on with your own life and stop messing with ours?" Shego responded with a grunt when Kim was far enough away that she could take a breath.

"When the two of you are still plotting world domination? As if!" Kim retorted, lunging forward and throwing a double kick combo that Shego had to back-handspring to avoid.

"Who says we're trying to take over the world?" Shego grunted as she fired a blast of distraction before leaping forward with another kick.

Kim grabbed Shego's ankle and yanked in an uncharacteristic act of violence. The green woman gasped and fell forward, almost crashing into the teen before hitting her back hard in the chest with glowing hands as she fell, causing the red-head to let go.

Both women stumbled for a moment as they regained their balance, turning with looks of menace. But their combat was halted by a frantic shout from Ron.

"No, no, no, Kim help!" he wailed.

Shego looked at where Drakken and Ron, in a tangle of limbs, had bumped into the device Drakken had built to connect the trans-dimensional vortex inducer to the television. The device was active and the beam had begun to surround the pair.

The naked mole-rat was at their feet, hopping and squealing in anxiety. Shego gasped as the creature hopped directly onto the fallen TV remote and watched as the channel changed...and Drakken's and Ron's forms wobbled and then were sucked into the portal that appeared in front of the screen, soon followed by the mole-rat that had unwittingly changed their plans.

Shego snarled and ran past Kim, grabbing Drakken's matter re-organizer and jumping directly into the portal. If the teen followed or not, she didn't care. And as she felt herself begin the tingling transformation into whatever form of matter they were inside the TV, she hoped that Drakken's plan also included a way back out of the world of cable...

Drakken felt a bump as his rear impacted something hard, and then he opened his eyes. He was sitting on a polished floor of some sort of stone tiling. He blinked and lifted his eyes to the rest of his surroundings. He was in a broad hallway, and both walls where white and adorned in intricate filigree and what appeared to be murals painted directly onto the wall. Every five feet or so was a small statue on a pedestal, and as he continued his survey he found the ceiling was decorated with even more filigree and intricate moulding. Paintings covered the entire ceiling, and a distance down the hall hung a candelabra chandelier that provided the only dim lighting.

Drakken pushed himself off the ground and then gasped as he took in his own clothing. He wore a heavy dark blue coat that was embroidered all the way down the front and the hem. It was so long it was practically a cape, and it had massive, broad sleeves that folded over up to his elbows, also with the ornate, gold embroidery. Beneath the coat was a waistcoat of the same blue, but a lighter material, and a black shirt with some sort of ruffly yet silken black cravat at his throat.

His pants were the same rich dark blue, but they were extremely tight, such to the point that he was glad the waistcoat fell down far below his belt. The pants also stopped at the knee, where black stockings were pinned up beneath them and he wore black heeled shoes that were clearly from a bygone era. The entire ensemble was from a bygone era.

His hair, thankfully, was largely unchanged. Though when he rain his hand back over it the pieces he usually let stick up freely in the front had been slicked down. He hoped it wouldn't be too hard to clean when they got back.

"Shego?" he called loudly. His voice echoed down the hall with its rich, tiled floor until it evaporated into silence. He sighed and began walking, to his right, because it happened to be the direction he was mostly facing.

"This isn't Space Passage..."

Shego grumbled to herself as she picked her way down the stone hall. She had kicked off her pink heeled shoes after the first five minutes of trying to navigate the maze, so the echo of their clopping was gone. Now the only sound was the rustling of a skirt so massive she was sure she must be wearing two or three dresses at once.

The gown was dark green, the fabric heavy, thick, and shiny, and it fell in more tiered layers than she cared to count. It was a full skirt with some sort of support structure beneath it, but that was little help in allowing her to travel easily for the bulk of the gown. Each tier of the skirt was lined with large, pink roses made of another fabric and sewn on, complete with vines and leaves connecting them. Up the front of the bodice was a pink lacing that was almost hidden for the massive ruffles that fell from the large pink bow at the center of her cleavage. The tight green sleeves that fell to her elbow were likewise adorned with massive pink bows and lace that fell to her forearms, tickling her bare skin. The neckline of the gown was far lower than anything she had ever worn, and it was also broad and ever so slightly off the shoulder. It was also lined in the soft, pink roses.

Her hair, thankfully, seemed to have avoided a full transformation into whatever historical program the rodent had unwittingly sent them to. The strands framing her face were pulled back with a pink ribbon, tied in a large bow high at the back of her head. Her hair had been curled into large ringlets, but was so heavy that it couldn't maintain its shape and was already cascading down her back in twisted black waves. Within the waves were woven more pink ribbons, with real roses affixed to them that perfumed the air around her head with a sweet smell that was mildly distracting. Shego was glad that keeping her hair back was at least one thing she didn't have to worry about as she tried to navigate the confusing program.

As she continued down the broad hallway, she tripped on one of her skirts and nearly fell. She snarled and ignited her hands with the intent to just burn the heavy layers away, but stopped as the soft echo of footfalls began to approach. Shego held her glowing hands up and away from her skirts and froze. If the approaching person was Kim Possible or the side-kick...she'd show them exactly what she thought of their interference. And she'd need a good shot, due to the restricting clothing.

Just because Drakken had outsourced the pan-dimensional vortex inducer and they were going to use it steal fictional future technology of world-altering importance...didn't mean they were using it for world domination. In fact, the plan was to patent and sell all the technology and retire in luxury. It was a different way of ruling the world...but really, rule it they would. Legally. They were even planning to return the outsourced tech. That device would mean nothing, after all, once their future tech was out there.

As luck would have it, it wasn't red or blond hair that rounded the corner, but black. Drakken startled slightly at the sight of her, but then sighed in relief. He opened his mouth to speak, but then his breath caught. Shego raised an eyebrow as he stared at her, slack-jawed.

"What?" she asked as she let her glow go out, slowly dropping her hands to rest over her skirts and shifting her weight to one foot.

"You look...you look..." Drakken stammered.

Shego glanced down at her dress again, nervously pulling a lock of hair complete with woven roses over her shoulder. All she had really noticed before was the inconvenience, but, the design was nice enough for whatever historical period they were stuck in. And the dark green and pink did look nice against her skin.

She looked up at Drakken and really looked at his attire for the first time. His coat, while not tailored at the waist, was so long that it fairly flowed like a cape from his broad shoulders where it was perfectly cut. Her eyes moved from the hem of the coat up his legs, where the pants were so tight they may as well have been painted on. Her brow furrowed in annoyance when her gaze reached the hem of the waistcoat, which fell almost to the middle of his thighs.

She looked up at his face again, which was coloring dark with a blush. He lifted a hand and tugged at his collar and cleared his throat. Shego suddenly found her heart racing, and her hands began anxiously fiddling with the ends of her hair.

Drakken looked around suddenly, his head turning in every direction, until he spotted a door in the wall just behind and across from him. It was easy to miss, as it was decorated with the same elegance and intricacy as the rest of the walls. He crossed to it, pushed the door in and stuck his head inside, and then looked back out.

"Come on," he said, extending a hand to her.

Shego blinked and nervously stepped forward. Why was she nervous? He was grinning with anxious excitement when she set her hand in his, and she peered around him into the room and observed the centuries-old furniture.

"It's just an old bedroom— Whoa!" she said as Drakken pulled her quickly into the room, closing the door behind them.

Kim held her pink and yellow Rococo skirts high as she traipsed through the halls, looking for any sign of Ron or Drakken and Shego. Her dress had been unfortunately damaged in her fight with the castle guards upon her arrival in what was obviously the movie The Swordsman Three, and she was wondering why she hadn't yet jumped to a new channel. Since she hadn't, the likelihood was that the others were trapped in the same movie, but she had yet to find them.

Just then, a familiar voice sounded from behind a wall somewhere to her left. But the voice was uncharacteristically giggling. Kim frowned and followed the sound until she reached a door. She was about to kick it in and continue the fight that Drakken's device had interrupted, when she heard said man whine.

"Shegooo," the mad scientist said, sounding annoyed and impatient to Kim's ear. And Shego's giggling continued from within the room.

Kim weighed her options for a moment, until finally she scoffed at herself and cautiously turned the doorknob, making no sound as she pushed the door in ever-so slightly and peered into the candlelit room.

Shego was standing at the foot of a four-poster canopy bed in an elaborate green and pink Rococo gown and holding a pink fan in her hand, fanning her face with it as she giggled at something on the other side of the room. Kim watched as she cleared her throat and tried to calm down from whatever had amused her.

"Fine, fine, I'm okay," she said through her giggling.

"Nrgh... Shego, if you don't—" Drakken said from somewhere in the room Kim couldn't see.

"No, I've got it. Gimme a sec."

Kim watched then as Shego schooled her features with effort, until gone was the flushed expression of laughter. Instead her eyes became dark, almost fearful, but danced with excitement. She straightened up and stuck out her chest a bit as she brought the fan lower, drawing attention to her very exposed bosom.

"Oh, but my lord," Shego said in a surprisingly convincing tone of worry, though she also didn't sound entirely opposed to whatever question she was responding to. "Such things are forbidden!"

Drakken's voice came from somewhere out of sight, dark and commanding. "I am a very powerful man. I can get you anything you desire. As long as...my desires are also fulfilled."

Shego closed the fan and dropped it behind her on the bed. The corner of her mouth quirked upward, but she visibly bit the inside of her cheek to stop it. "And if...my desire is half your wealth?"

Kim's heart was pounding and she was about to close the door when Drakken stepped into view. His grin was wicked and his posture confident as he slowly approached Shego.

"That could be arranged. But it would depend on...how well you perform for me in...various tasks."

Shego's chest heaved as he got closer. "And...which task shall I perform first?"

"Unlace your bodice."

Kim closed the door as silently as she could and then ran back down the hall. She tripped over her skirt and fell just before reaching the corner, and once on the ground she simply gathered up her dress and leaned back against the wall, trying to calm her shaking.

That...was not what she had thought Drakken and Shego were going to use the pan-dimensional vortex inducer for.

"I tell ya, buddy," Ron said to Rufus, perched on his shoulder, "I have never had more love for boxer shorts than I do today."

The naked mole-rat concurred with a nod as Ron walked the maze of halls in his red and black musketeer's attire, a sword at his side that he had to keep one hand on to keep the scabbard from dragging the floor. When they rounded the corner Ron stopped short as he saw Kim sitting at the opposite end of the hallway, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees with her rather tattered skirts surrounding her. She had her head leaned back against the wall and looked very upset.

"Kim!" Ron cried as he ran toward her.

"Shh!" Kim hissed urgently, struggling to her feet and waving him to stop with her hands.

Ron stopped short as he assessed her and tried to make sense of her words. "Are you hurt? Where are Drakken and Shego?"

"No, I'm fine. They're in there," Kim said, pointing to the door Ron had stopped next to. "But— Ron, no!"

Ron was already turning the knob and pushed the door in without a thought. His eyes widened as Rufus let out an alarmed squeal from his shoulder.

A large bed. And on it, dark green skirts and pink stocking-clad knees surrounding a pale blue butt that was thrusting up and down, with tight, dark blue pants pulled down to mid-thigh.

"Ohhh hohohoho no, Kim!" Ron shouted.

He caught a glimpse of green breasts, a terrified green face, and a blue face that seemed to be all mouth as it screamed something at him. He closed his eyes as he turned away rapidly.

"Kim! My eyes, I can't see!" Ron cried, running toward her with his hands in the air as he flailed in panic, eyes tightly closed.

"Ron! I told you not to open the door!"

Green glowing blasts came at them in rapid succession through the door, intermixed with feral feminine shrieks and incoherent masculine shouting that may or may not have contained real words. Ron felt Kim grab his hand as they ran down the hallway, around the corner, and didn't stop until Kim tripped over her skirts and they were forced to pause.

"Kim! Kim! I saw...I saw—"

"I...don't really want to hear it Ron," Kim said. She was painfully sympathetic but also very afraid of what Ron might say.

Ron dropped his head onto Kim's shoulder while Rufus sat almost camouflaged on Kim's pink skirt, scrubbing at his eyes.

"Guess they weren't plotting world domination this time after all," Kim finally sighed.

They sat for a long moment catching their breath, occasionally looking at each other and grimacing. But Ron suddenly remembered something.

"KP... How are we gonna get back? Wade's on that family vacation."

Kim's eyes widened. She thought for a moment and finally frowned in agony.

"I guess...there's only one thing we can do."

A long while later, Drakken unlocked the bedroom door and poked his face cautiously through the small crack he'd made. He peered to the left and right down the empty halls as he tied his hair back with a dark blue ribbon.

"Is the coast clear?" Shego asked, still attempting to tie up her bodice.

Drakken was about to answer when he saw a small piece of paper folded on the ground right in front of the door. He frowned and picked it up.

"What's that?" Shego asked.

Drakken unfolded the paper and read the note aloud.

"We're sorry we walked in on you. We promise never to speak of this again, but we need your help to get home. We're exploring the castle. Come find us when you're done."

"When we're done?" Shego snarled, hurling her pink ribbon down in frustration.

Drakken turned back to look at her, and the furrow in his brow suddenly faded into something thoughtful and a bit devious.

"What?" Shego asked, leaning back on her hands with a sigh.

"They said, 'when we're done'..." he answered, waving the note in the air.

"Yeah, so?"

Drakken's cheeks colored and he cleared his throat, his gaze falling pointedly to her half-covered chest.

Shego's jaw worked silently in shock for a moment, but then she smirked. "It would serve them right, having to wait longer."

Drakken grinned and tossed the note to the ground, closing and locking the door.

"So what does my lord wish on this fine evening?" Shego asked.

#drakgo #drakken and shego #drakken x shego #dragko #drakken #shego #kim possible #ron stoppable #rufus

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likesomekindofcheese · 4 years

Text

Songbird of Jamestown- Chapter Four (Samuel Castell x fem! Reader)

Word Count: 10 K. As the Germans and Austrians say...das ist thick. You may need a snack or water.

Paring: Samuel Castell x fem! Reader

Summary: It is 1619-1620, you have arrived on a boat to the English colony of Jamestown as the company’s plans to send maids to make wives. You hope for a new life and perhaps marriage despite your friend's struggles. Then you cross paths with the colony recorder, he’s kind, shares your interests, intelligent, handsome...and engaged.

Taglist: @blamerogertaylor , @yourlocalmusicalprostitute, @bluesfortheredj (sempai), and @theworksgaga @theoneandonlyeclecticepileptic @rubystarflight @theoneandonlyeclecticepilepic @queenlover05 @themficsilike @joemazzhello

Warnings: A little swearing, references to abuse and prostitution, but none, only drama and angst and a few fluffy moments.

“Who knows, not England once was like, a wilderness and savage place. Until government and use of men that government that wildness did deface? And so Virginia may, in time, be made like England now. Where long loved peace and plenty both, sits smiling on her brow”- Anon, London’s Lottery, 1612

Speaking to strangers was sometimes a circle of hell to you. The sight of the governor’s wife on the streets of the town stuck you with a slight terror knowing your intention.

Although it was an overcast afternoon, it was balmy. There was silent sunlight that made you squint. You took note she was heading home and followed her at a polite distance. She chatted with almost everyone jovially as you waited in the back. From her hair, put up and decorated with small pearls to her dark blue dress with a rather large skirt, she appeared regal.

Finally, she reached her home. A whole garden filled with vegetables lined the side, but the green did not make the house look any friendlier. It loomed over you and its door was like a beast’s mouth.

Mercy said she needed work. But what would she think of you begging her for money? Your mouth went dry and your brain urged you to flee.

But as you drew your sights lower, you saw her eyes kept going down. She was holding the hand of her little daughter, with curly brown hair and full, rosy cheeks. The girl was skipping across the dirt, half-tugging her mother, babbling away about her new baby brother. The Lady looked down on her and even swung her arms, much to the girl’s squeals.

Someone like that would not curse you away.

Taking a deep breath, you started walking before your thoughts would stop you.

“Lady Yeardley, may I request your presence briefly?” you asked.

She nodded politely and sent the tiny girl back home. Breathing in, your hands pressed but fiddling with each other, you spoke how you heard she had the need and you were experienced. You made your offer as a maidservant briefly.

“I cannot hire you,” the Lady Yeardley said.

“Oh…I’m ver-very sorry…” you whimpered; you look down on the ground to your shoes. “Mercy said you were, uh, were available and I’m…I’m running out of food. And money. I-I have to work.”

“It is not that I doubt your abilities, not at all. You’re experienced, even. You would make a lovely maid. There are only two reasons. One, we were all told not to treat the new women here like servants, and second…”

Breathing in, her brown bun dotted with little pearls seemed to shake. Then she stepped a little closer to you. You stepped forward. Her voice was lower.

“I saw you walking the other day in the company of Master Castell unaccompanied. Are you employed by him?” she asked.

Though the way she pronounced her words seemed sharp, her brown eyes still looked soft.

“No, I…I am not” you answered.

“And you know he is to be married soon?”

“I do.”

“Then were your intentions honorable?”

Behind you, you jumped as you heard a few goats being led off through the streets, bleating. A farmer whistled and swatted a long stick to keep them in line.

“If not, you do understand that adultery on this colony is punished by hanging” Lady Yeardley warned

Legs shaking, you couldn’t grasp at what to say other than a polite sputter of “Yes, Lady Yeardley.”

Death for a few flowers?

“Dear maiden, don’t be afraid. I mean no harm. I do not mean to frighten you. Only to protect you. I remember you on the boat. I’ve even heard your voice as you do your chores. Your presence is a good one here if you ask me. So, you need to know of any possible danger. Any frivolity here can be fatal in the wrong hands. So, tell me, in all honesty before someone else does, where were you going and what happened?” she interrogated.

You held your hands, clasping them together to squeeze them for some comfort.

“Your secret will be safe with me, I won’t report you” she assured, walking forward and opening her hands for you to take.

Looking her in the eye, you grasped your palms to hers and began “Lady Yeardley, that day I walked with S-“

You also bit back the thought of his first name, Samuel. That name you would silently whisper to yourself at night before you went to sleep. But you shook your head and corrected yourself.

“With Master Castell, yes, we were walking, but nothing dishonorable had happened. I swear to you, he was…” you continued.

You felt short of breath. Lies were impossible for you. And remembering Henry’s threats, illegal here. The Lady leaned to you and nodded patiently.

Taking a deep breath in, you began to recount that idyllic, almost secret, yet innocent hour.

Or that was about to come out of your mouth when Jocelyn swung by, practically butting in her hatted head like a horned goat butting a bale of hay.

“Why, Miss Y/L/N, I need to speak with you at once. Mistress, whatever are you speaking of with her?” she queried. Her voice was dripping as smooth as honey.

“Mistress Woodbyrg, you know that this girl was seen in public walking with your fiancée unaccompanied and has confessed to it?” Lady Yeardley asked.

You felt your teeth grit. How on earth would Jocelyn react to this? Would they find Samuel and then ask him what happened? Would you be sent to the stocks? Jailed? Worse?

“Why yes. I do know!” she said.

You felt your stomach dropped at how cheery she sounded.

Hanging it was.

“As a surprise wedding present, he decided to gift me with Miss Y/L/N to be my maid until we’re married!” she informed. A bright smile appeared on her so large, it could touch her earrings.

She told a bloody lie to the governor’s wife! She could get hanged in an instant if it’s proven!

“What about Mercy?” you blurted.

You remember seeing the little servant girl scurrying behind Jocelyn all the time, hopping across the dry sections of the mud like a rabbit or hanging on to Jocelyn’s or Samuels cloak to prevent dirt, though her own was caked at the seams. Though lately there was a slight red mark on Mercy’s cheek.

“Oh, she’s going to mainly work in Castell’s house to lighten her load. Another wedding gift,” Jocelyn coolly answered.

“But she’s asking me to be my maid!” Lady Yeardley responded, looking between you two.

Her brows furrowed in confusion and her nose went up. Yet you noticed how Jocelyn’s shoulders relaxed and her calm smile was still.

“Well, you know Miss Y/L/N is a silly fool and forgets so much, is it not? She even forgot her interview!” she chirruped.

She walked over to you and laced one white sleeved arm around yours, her pastel pink sleeve felt like ice compared to the hands of the governor’s wife.

“He only wanted to be sure it was a surprise. But I just figured it out, dear man!”

There was a stiffness in her eyes that dared your refusal by the pain of death. What if this was a trap?

But what choice did you have? If you said no, then it meant denying this was the reason you were in public with Samuel and there was only one other reason that Lady Yeardley would decide it was. A reason that would cost you dearly to confess in public with the woman he was promised to. Lady Yeardley might be able to keep a secret safe, but you weren’t sure if Jocelyn could.

“I…well…yes, I had forgotten. I’m your maid now. Do forgive me, Lady Yeardley, I am a foolish girl. I only wanted to be sure of my options” you agreed.

“I promise you, we’ll be like sisters” Jocelyn assured, looking at you with a wrinkled nose.

“Very good! Best of luck with your future here, Miss Y/L/N. I give you my blessing,” Lady Yeardley praised, oblivious to how you were feeling the color drain from your face.

Suddenly from the house, an infant began wailing.

“Excuse me,” she acknowledged before turning the door shut.

Jocelyn half-dragged your arm, to point to where she was staying until marriage (“The Pierces, good friends of Master Castell”), she then detailed each minute of her routine at a rapid pace. From which berry she preferred to eat to what songs she would prefer you to sing if she wanted to hear them to how her pillow should be fluffed before she laid down to sleep.

Head spinning, you counted each task on your finger of what was expected. Secretly, you longed for paper, ink, and quill just to draw out each chore.

Even more, a knowledge of how to write each chore and request. Not silly drawings. Real words in real sentences, like the very rich and educated people in London.

Glancing back at Jocelyn discussing matters of payment in her pastel pink gown and mint green cape, you bet a family that could dress their daughter like that could teach her to write.

You snapped back at the sound of Jocelyn’s smooth, low voice repeating the time you were to be there.

“Don’t be late. And…Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes?”

“There’s dirt on your face.” She reprimanded with a smirk.

It was a quiet supper later. Though you gave your reports of being a maid, Alice only smiled. She barely touched her bread. Then she excused herself and sat on your shared bed. Quiet tears were falling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, it’s just…I was remembering Henry and…I just…I can still feel him on me, no matter what I do.”

“I understand, Alice” you soothed.

There was a loud knock on the door.

Jumping, You and Alice looked at each other with large, worried eyes. Her breaths were suddenly shorter, and her hands were shaking. Neither of you budged. You tried to look over where on earth you could hide Alice at a moment’s notice.

“Alice? Y/N?” an Irish tinted voice lilted. “Ya should bloody know me!”

You both Released your held breath. Walking over, you opened the door to see Verity’s slightly dirty, but stunning face.

“Verity! Oh, Verity! How good to see you!” Alice chimed, immediately going to embrace her.

Verity accepted the hug and squeezed her arm. A bit of cool night air rushed into your house.

“Verity, shouldn’t you be at the tavern?” you ask.

“I needed to leave fer a bit! ‘Sides, Y/N, I hadn’a seen ya fer a few days” she greeted.

She swaggered in, taking in the flowers and even picking up and sniffing a few. Her pale skin was glowing in the orange candlelight and her magnificent mane of copper hair seemed to glow too. Verity always seemed as bold, untamed, and free as her hair.

But her smile looked strained.

“Come, sit! It seems we haven’t talked in a year! I know you’re married to the tavern keeper now… How is your husband?” you asked, motioning her to sit on a chair at the table.

Verity and Alice looked at each other wide-eyed.

Recalling that day you left the ship, you recalled Verity’s husband did not collect her and how hurried and confused her brow grew as she stepped into town to find him. She seemed to shrink amid the relieved faces of happy women glad to find land and in some cases, spouses.

Verity walked over and plopped herself heavily onto the chair with a groan.

“Me husband? He’s piss drunk right now, what ‘e is. No diff’rent than any other night” she complained.

Getting up at once to the nearest clean plate, you offered her Alice’s bread, some goat milk, and some berries. Verity chewed on the food in silence. Then she began gulping down the milk so much that a bit fell onto her bodice and she wiped the remnants with her hand.

“Ye got anythin’ stronger?” she asked, looking at the white milky bits on her arm.

“No, not at all. There was a little ale I bought but…but it just vanished. Must’ve lost it somewhere” You explained.

Glancing at where the food and church rations were kept against the other wall in cabinets and a pot over a small hearth. Verity leaned over and shot up her eyebrows in surprise.

“It…doesn’a look much.”

Blinking away tears she popped another berry into her mouth as if it could give her the peace of mind a drink might.

“D’you know ‘e tried to whore me off me first week ‘ere, Y/N?” she confessed.

“No!” you gasped.

“’e’s a bloody scoundrel. ‘E even cheated so it wouldn’a happen. But still…And I…I thought maybe it could work, but I’m…I’m jus’ worried. What will ‘appen to me? E’ll jus’ drink and gamble and waste ‘is life away. How’m I gonna live?”

She grabbed a piece of bread, ripped it with ferocity, and then bit into it hard.

“Alice, did you know?” you whisper.

As she nodded, your blood went cold.

You felt your jaw clench at the thought. Nearly prostituted by her husband on a bet. A husband who couldn’t keep his head straight without getting drunk. Cheating? Gambling? This wasn’t what Verity deserved.

And you didn’t even need to recall Alice’s situation. At least while she was free, she could stay here, and it was illegal for Henry to enter. But not for long. Once she was married, she may as well be a sheep to his slaughter.

What could you do for Verity?

There was one thing…but it wasn’t much.

Without speaking, you left the table and kept your distance, listening as the two began to speak worriedly about how little their lives seemed to compare to the promises of the Virginia Company.

“A free land? Bah! Not worth it with men the likes of these! And Y/N’s free, but the company’s gonna insist she marry soon to pay everythin’ off! 150 dammed pounds of tobacco is too bloody much!” Verity ranted.

She turned over her shoulder to look at you and pointed, her brows lowered in worry.

“The time’s gonna come fer yer freedom and maidenhead whether ya ready fer it or not!”

She finished the berries by cupping them into her hand and pouring them into her mouth. You cringed at the thought of giving your freedom and maidenhead to someone like Henry Sharrow.

Looking over to your bed, you snuck your hand to the place under your mattress to your little leather pouch. Verity tilted her head.

Pulling the strings apart, you counted fifteen coins. You plucked out five.

“Verity, here, have some of this,” you said.

You press a few coins into her hand and cover her fingers over her palm with yours.

“But…That’s really her husbands!” Alice warned.

“He doesn’t have to know” you explain. “Verity, you can get yourself something to help you out, in any way. Food. Clothes. Shelter even. Anything to make your life bearable.”

Verity shrugged with a foxlike grin as she took off her shoe and hid the coins.

“I barely spoke with ye and ye already givin’ me yer earned coin!” she scoffed. “I’m just a low thief, I’m not worthy.”

“You’re smarter and braver than most ladies I know! You’re more than worthy! And you need this more than me. I’m working now, I’ll earn more.” you insisted.

Alice walked in, her eyes growing big.

“Y/N, are you sure about this? We’re already running out. And your eggs- this morning I’ve been counting and…we’ve only two eggs- someone’s been taking things from us!” she fretted.

She pointed to where the egg basket was kept and showed that indeed there were only two small eggs.

You shook away the thought of giving the money back and brushed Alice off.

“No, Verity, you deserve it. I don’t have much, but I could give you all I have if I could. Just know if you need help, come to me immediately and I will try to help. I have a house and money that’s my own. Alice has the Sharrows. But what do you have?”

Verity smiles brightly. No hint of slight sadness this time. She walks up to you and pats your back proudly.

“I ‘eard about what you said to Henry. Wish I could’a been there to see it meself. ‘E deserves worse, the bastard. Yer a kind woman to do that, Y/N,” she said.

“You met the blacksmith here? He said kindness kills people.” You recalled, thinking back to that morning not long ago.

Glancing at the window, you noticed a new set of primroses were there. The blacksmith sure was insistent!

“But ye did save me, and I could’ve killed me ‘usband. So that’s a life saved!” she joked before she said her goodbyes, opened the door and left.

After she closed the door, you sat back down, your pouch in your hands, and sighed. It felt dangerously lighter.

“I’m so nervous I wonder if I could sleep,” You confess.

“Oh, Y/N, you have no reason to be. I’ve been with Jocelyn on that ship, remember? She has her kind moments, you’ll see.” She said, placing a light hand on your shoulder.

Heavy rainfall lulled you both to heavy sleep.

The sky was blush pink, refreshed from the rain, as you dashed in that morning to the house. It was hard enough ducking the mud and animal dung on the streets while still tying your apron behind you. Recognizing the house where Jocelyn was staying twenty paces away, you froze.

The ground in front of it was covered in mud. A large pig laid down cooling himself in it. There was a butcher nearby salting his wares on an open table. They were bloody. And some blood seeped to the mud.

Seeing no dry place to hop across, you sucked in a breath and hurriedly stepped through the mud right to the front door and knocked.

The housewife answered. She was pale, very tall, green-eyed with a ginger bun, and was bedecked with dark red finery and lacy white gloves. You backed away a little.

“Oh, hello. Mister Pierce is away. Who...who are you?” the woman asked, frowning.

“I’m the new maid for Jocelyn, Mercy has been given a break” you explained shyly/

She stepped aside, gesturing you to walk in.

Looking around, it was an open room and very wooden. Wood floors. Wood walls. Sunlight flooded in as the only light. A desk stood in the middle of it and across from the entrance. It held two large, brass candlesticks and was littered with paper and ink. There were a few chairs and stools. Two windows were placed high up on opposite walls, but they were grimy. Candles were attached high up on wicks, unlit. As plain as your shelter.

“Excuse me, mistress…”

“Pierce. Mistress Pierce.” The lady answered, with a polite curtsy.

Curtsying back, you babbled “I’m Y/N Y/LN, and my mistress says she always needs me to greet her and then to eat in the morning.”

“Well, the kitchen’s there” Mistress Pierce pointed out to the left.

You scurried into a small kitchen separated only by a long, white curtain nailed from the ceiling. In the middle was a table with a basket where six eggs waiting to be cracked for breakfast. Sunlight drifted in, still gentle from the morning. But that and the fireplace made it stuffy. The whole place smelled of the oatmeal that was bubbling over the fire nearby.

“Where is she sleeping?” you ask.

Mistress Pierce points to some stairs nearby and ducking your head as thanks, you rushed up. And knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Creaking quietly, your eyes scatter, finding the bed to your immediate right. You then stepped forward and curtsied.

It was a dark room. The window on the wall to your right had its shutters closed. It was all completely wooden from the walls to the beams and brown. There was even a table with a red cloth and a large chest on top. There were even a few places on the wall where there were candles. Two more desks you noticed were on either side of the bed.

Jocelyn was in her nightgown, her blond hair dripping in ringlets over her shoulders on her large, dark wooden bed with the biggest green, velvet, canopy curtains you have ever seen. Her lap and legs were covered by a large, pink blanket and white sheets. She crossed her long, white sleeves.

“I’ve been awake for an hour, where is my breakfast?” she demanded.

“It is…uhm…coming right up.”

Stepping downstairs, you tried to concentrate on what berries she liked to eat in the morning as to not mix them up. Returning with a bowl of oatmeal and some blueberries in a cup, you walked up holding the plate, trying to smile lightly.

But the stubborn frown on Jocelyn’s graceful face remained.

“You’re too slow…” she cursed.

Frowns were growing on your face as well. Folding your hands and looking down, you decided it was better to bring up what she would ask about now rather than later.

“Mistress Woodbyrg…I assure you, as you know, I did walk with Master Castell. And I am aware you are engaged to him. But I swear to you, he was chaperoning me so I could gather a few flowers just outside the fort for Alice Kett. It was his idea, not mine. He kept his distance as I picked and made sure I returned safely. He was only worried about me going out alone. He is a gentleman, as you know. Nothing improper happened. And…you can even ask him if you would like. He will give you the same answer” you confessed slowly.

Your heart raced as you looked up into Jocelyn’s stare.

She shrugged and nodded.

“Fine by me. I want this cleaned up. Now. I despise this room” she snapped.

Rushing down, ignoring how your legs were sore already, you grabbed a broom and some water and a cloth. Then you hurried back and at once got to work.

You began to sweep out dirt on the floor in silence. Sometimes Jocelyn looked down at the food before her, and sometimes at you. Placing the broom against the wall, you stood on your tiptoes to reach to open the shutters and let in light. It had a view of the dirtiest, brownest part of the colony.

“I…can gather flowers for you…

Jocelyn’s eyes stabbed into you.

“… with Alice. As a gift of thanks for your generous em-employment…would m-make the p-place brighter,” you added with a panic.

“Hopefully the flowers won’t be as ugly as you are, Miss Y/L/N. And next time, wipe your skirt and shoes before you come in,” she said.

I could take that mud and throw it at you right now.

But you threw the thought away. If one was locked in the lion’s den, then it was better not to provoke the lions and wait for an angel to shut their mouths.

She set aside her dishes on the desk at her right and wiped the crumbs and a few stray berries off the blankets.

“Sweep them,” she told you right as you dipped the cloth into the water.

Nodding, you gathered your broom and swept them off, you had barely put them away when you heard Jocelyn say something.

“Y/N…there is a dress over there in that chest that needs mending. The floors can wait.” She declared, pointing to a huge chest on the wall across from her bed.

You got up and walked over, seeing how it was filled with little bronze knobs scattered all over for decoration. Opening it, you saw a stunningly beautiful gown. Far prettier than anything you owned. It was golden with a bejeweled bodice and lace all around the collar of the neck. Checking it, there were only a few minor tears. It seemed to beam more with the drifting light.

Maybe it cost as much as half of your belongings. Looking up, Jocelyn tossed her curls from her shoulders and looked right into your eyes.

You placed it carefully in your arms, took the closest chair, took out the needle and thread you kept in your apron pocket and began to mend the tears in the skirt.

Recalling Alice’s words, you mumbled out “It will look beautiful on-”

“Better than it would on you. That will be my wedding dress.” Jocelyn interrupted with a smile.

Feeling fire in your eyes, a couple of tears betrayed you. You didn’t even dare to look up to see if Jocelyn would react to your reaction. You just breathed slowly and kept mending.

Perhaps this was a trap indeed. Was she dangling the fine things she had in front of you? Or even her marriage? If she tempted or tricked you to steal It and you somehow managed, like everyone thought maids did, it would be seconds away from the stocks.

At least one good thing will come from this marriage, I won’t have to work for you any longer…

“Do you know why my wedding was delayed?” Jocelyn queried, walking over to the window with a pink blanket draped over her shoulders.

“No,” you answer.

You turn the dress over, looking for any other tears.

“There was a sudden business venture he had to take up! He had to reassess the records for errors and adjust his work for the new influx of women and land! He has to work even at night!” She huffed.

You heard as the butcher outside began to slice something wet and thick open.

“This is the whole reason I am here! But, if I must wait, I will wait.” she sighed.

Keeping quiet, you inspect the dress once more before folding it delicately and placing it back into the chest.

“Make the bed for me, I need it neat. I don’t want it to be as rumpled as your dress” she barked.

I’m supposed to scrub the floors next, you little…

You focus your best on the action of turning it over, folding and unfolding the sheets, and every physical sensation. Just to get out of your thoughts.

Scrubbing the floors had to wait. She insisted you style her hair next, giving you exact instructions and attacking you with glares and a chide if you got a certain curl twisted wrong. After pulling her cream stays and tying them, dressing her in her pastel petticoats and skirts, and adding a blue hat with a small feather, she gave a curt nod.

Jocelyn insisted you walk with her to church, carrying her cloak up and back. Despite the minister’s droning, you felt curious and even surprised eyes look at how close you had to sit next to her. You even noted Samuel’s eyes looking at you and blinking rapidly. Your white coif seemed very humble next to Jocelyn’s feathered hat atop her head.

You both headed back to the house, her cloak raised as high as you could carry while your skirt got more mud.

Jocelyn blabbered a list of chores that made your head spin. The floor was not mentioned.

And then you ran to complete each one. Every press of water, every sweep, and every work of needle or knead of bread. By the time of the sunset, you had presented her with dinner in the kitchen. She sat down to eat, and you finally dragged your feet upstairs, and got the cloth in the water bucket to scrub the floors.

You first heard the loud growling of your stomach as you scrubbed fervently. Turning around, you heard a bit of wood creaking under someone’s feet.

“I’m not hungry. Undress me.”

You took off her hat and cloak and placed them back in their chests. Then you unlaced her stays and removed each skirt, petticoat, shoe (which, to your silent frustration, was muddy), and stocking, then you draped a clean smock over her head.

Jocelyn smirked at the sound of your stomach as she pushed her arms through the sleeves.

“Do you see the end of the desk to the left? There’s some food, water, and your money in the pouch.” You are dismissed for today,” she said.

Looking at the end of that desk, there was a white and blue jug of water, oatmeal in a bag, two apples, and two gold coins in a small pouch.

It was the water jug that sored the muscles of your arms where it lay, but you walked hurriedly at night. You were nervous if any local men would feel bolder at night. You set your eyes straight on the path to where home was, not daring to wander elsewhere.

Except you smelt tobacco and impulsively looked to your left.

But you did pass Samuel briefly, smoking a pipe next to Yeardley outside in the evening air, he gave you the kindest smile you had seen all day and bowed gallantly. You curtsied back, barely bending your knees, and then quickened your pace away.

Ugly…dirty…slow…

Alice woke up in the middle of the night to your sobs, as quiet as you tried to make them. But they came out before you could limit their strength, as well as the whimpers from your mouth. You had curled in a fetal position away from where she was lying next to you.

His image, Jocelyn’s words, and your reality were too clear.

“Y/N, what’s the matter?” she asked.

You didn’t turn to face her. Too many nights you were the one hearing her cry and trying to comfort her. You were the one awoken from her screams of a nightmare about Henry and had to shake her awake.

“I can’t tell you it’s…it’s ugly and dangerous, I…I think I’m committing a crime. But I…I can’t tell you!” you stammer through your hot tears.

And you knew if Jocelyn and Alice were on good terms, it was another ally for your friend, no matter what they did to you. Another person who could help Alice with her approaching marriage.

“Don’t be silly, you can tell me!” Alice vowed; she laid a warm hand on your shoulder.

“It involves someone you know. Someone you like.”

“Who is it?”

Turning around to face her drooping eyebrows and half-open lids, you shook your head.

“Let’s wait a month, and then I’ll tell you,” you promise.

She soothed your hair until your tears ended and you could sleep.

But by the time you woke up, Alice was gone.

She didn’t return the next day either.

Waking up by the third day your arms ached to even put your shoes on your feet. Glancing over at the egg basket, you counted one egg. Yesterday morning there were four thanks to your payment and you ate none.

Sighing at the thought of another exhausting day, you grabbed a bite of bread and an apple to eat on your walk and opened the door to go out.

Alice was immediately in front of you, her hair was out loose and blown from wind, her face was flushed.

“Oh, Y/N! Y/N! Have you heard? The whole town is talking! Henry’s dead!”

Head spinning, you took a few steps back and caught yourself.

“No…this is a joke!” you denied, shaking your head.

“It’s not! Henry’s dead!” Alice replied, her eyes widening and smile growing.

Glancing around, it seemed no one who was about town seemed to care much of what you both were speaking. Still, it was better to be careful.

“When…when did you learn this?” you ask.

“This morning, I rushed from the Sharrow’s to tell you…and…” she kept rambling, you could tell she was keeping from bursting into bits from her excitement.

“How did he die?” you hiss, interrupting.

“There was a fire on the boat he was sleeping on” she explained, getting the drift and leaning her head closer.

“It was so full of tobacco and gunpowder it caught fire. He didn’t jump out and swim. And it was a nasty fire, nothing remained!”

Almost not believing it, you just took her hand. In Alice’s eyes, there was a hint of wicked glee in their shine. But then it slowly faded, and her frown returned. Her eyes went to the ground, down below where the monster now seemed to be.

“I’m glad he’s dead” she spat.

You squeezed her hand.

“Me too. Alice, I need to go. Soon. Jocelyn hates it when I’m late,” You explained.

“Wait, I need your key for a bit.” Alice insisted.

“What for?”

You clenched your teeth in fear of what venom Jocelyn would release for another morning lacking punctuality by her terms.

“I’m taking my things. I’m going to live with the Sharrows.” She explained.

“What! Why?”

“Y/N, I…I owe them a debt. They are the reason I’m here. They have a farm and new land and need my help. And they’re…other than Henry, they’re my family now. They’re all the kindest people you’ve ever met. You’ve protected me from Henry best you could when they couldn’t but now that he’s dead…I’m free. I don’t need to hide. I can go out and do as I please now.”

She leaned over and her voice dropped to a half-whisper.

“I can even be with Silas, too. I think I may even love him.”

Handing her a spare key, you give her a quick hug before you hurry out to town.

“I’ll miss you, Alice. If you ever need help, if you have nightmares or anything about…you know what, run to me. Or Verity.” You wish as you release her.

Before you run, you see Alice embracing the key to her breast and waving at you.

Rushing inside, you give your curtsy, then scramble to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

You noticed the egg basket on the table. There were three more eggs than there was yesterday.

Swallowing your anger and breathing in deep with that thought, you worked up a little smile and walked up with the bowl of oatmeal to greet your mistress.

Jocelyn however, noted your entrance and breakfast with a scowl and a bit of “pig” as you gave her the oatmeal.

“I’m tired of oatmeal. Y/N, I need you to start gathering eggs for tomorrows breakfast, so it won’t be late again, and be sure to sweep up any dust in this room, I want it spotless! And oh, the laundry!” she listed.

She flounced over to a large woven basket where it was filled with her lovely dresses.

“You need to do laundry every day now. First off, go to the river and wash them. Every. Last. inch.”

“I…I will.” You answered.

“If I find a speck of dirt you will have to wash it again. Go to the river. I accept river water for washing, not the dirty well water. It’s illegal, anyhow. If I see any dirt, or see you washing it with well water, I’ll send you to the stocks, don’t think I won’t” she threatened.

Blinking away, you felt your arms groan from how heavy the basket was.

“Go, you idiot!”

Hurrying out, balancing with both arms and pushing the basket on your hip, you made your way to the river from a dirt path on the east of the fort. It was not a long distance. You could see that the wooden walls were only half a mile behind you.

Hearing the bubbling water and a few feminine giggles, you saw the river with several other women also washing. It was a clear, grassy area near the water and there were large trees and bushes around you. It seemed the land right before the river dipped into a small hill that would plummet some unlucky person. You sat by a secure area where you could easily reach in with your hands, pulled out the brush and soap, gathered the first green skirt you saw, and got to work.

Scrubbing and washing every elaborate layer of clothes ached your eyes and made your hands rough and red. Checking the large skirts for anything flawed felt like you were cleaning the sail of a ship. There were so many clothes, the basket tipped over and let them tumble out every time you set it up.

Some ladies turned up their heads and noticed how large your load looked compared to theirs. Some gave you worried looks before turning their heads down. You were so focused, it seemed none would converse with you. When you did notice someone next to you, you felt your pulse quicken and your mouth dry again from nerves of what to say. Once you did think of some topic, your silent “companion” had left.

Most women had left when you only scrubbed down four items, mentally marking what needed to be hanged. Sighing, dreading the thought of Jocelyn’s sour face and next insulting nickname, you turned to your pile to take the fifth item, setting up the fallen basket.

There was a lump moving around under a white petticoat. Jumping, you hesitantly opened it. A little brown face full of fur popped out from beneath. You cried with surprise, backing off.

But the animal that crawled out of the clothes and on top of the basket. It sniffed and kneaded the fabric. It looked like a weasel. It had a huge, soft black nose with whiskers and two black eyes amid a white face lining against its brown fur. Grooming its face with its paws, it then settled its soft, webbed feet over the silks and began to wiggle itself out of the basket.

It turned out to be longer and plumper than any weasel you have ever seen! Was it even a weasel? Who knew what the creatures of Virginia ate or could do? Even a small snake killed Eurydice.

The plump weasel made its way to the edge of the basket, letting it fall with the finery tumbling out. You waited for the creature to strike, backing away slowly as one did with bears.

But it stood around, sniffing the clothes and chittering. If it did eat humans, it seemed relatively uninterested in you. While plump, it was still small next to you.

Suddenly there were some footsteps behind you. They seemed heavy and short, perhaps that of a bear or maybe even some wicked rascal. Your skin crawled at the sound.

It was getting closer.

There was a large stick close by your feet. Calmly as manageable, you picked it up and swung it around from behind you.

Thwap!

“Stay back from me!” you yelled. Then you reached down, grabbed the dirt, and tossed it with all your strength.

Samuel flinched, though he was ten paces away as your stick swatted the air in his direction and ducked in time for the dirt to fly flat to the ground before it could hit him.

“Y/N! Y/N! I yield!” he cried, hands up in defeat.

“Master Cas…Samuel! What on earth is going on? You scared me!” you apologized, dropping your stick to the ground at once.

“I wanted to go on a ride in my boat to think and then I saw you…what are you doing here?”

“I was doing laundry and…this…this thing! It popped in the clothes pile!” you explained, pointing at the weasel.

It walked around, sniffing the more of the clothes that toppled out with it.

“Why is it I always catch you when you’re working on clothes?” he joked lightly.

“…You’re right!”

Giving in to the indulgence of laughter, you felt a smile grow on you for the first time in days.

“It doesn’t look dangerous! But…is it dangerous?” you asked.

You walked behind Samuel, using him as a shield.

He laughed a little.

“Y/N, that’s an otter! And I promise you, it’s not dangerous at all. It has more reason to fear you instead…” he explained.

It waddled closer to the river and stared up at you. You now noticed the gentleness of its black eyes, the softness of its fur, and how fast it was breathing in its big, black nose.

“Oh, I am so sorry dear fellow. You…surprised me…I didn’t mean to scare you” you cooed out, charmed instantly by its innocent face.

The otter looked at you, eyes shining, and then hopped into the river. You watched as it swirled and turned, showing the white mark on its belly. It floated peacefully away before dipping down and heading off.

“You strike well, at least! But is anyone here?” He looked out, eyes glistening a bit, but lids half-lowered.

“No, it seems every woman has done her laundry and left.” You sighed, looking after the clothes and putting them back into the basket.

“I’m a maid for-I’m a maid now. Just for a little while. I have so much to do and I wasn’t given a list to remember them all,” you said.

“Y/N, you could make a list.”

Turning a bit red, you looked down in shame.

“I can read, as you know, just not…write. Most of the women here can’t either. I just have to count on my fingers,” You confessed.

It felt horrid to explain this to a man who probably not only already knew this, but whose own purpose in the whole of the colony was to write.

“Well, you can always learn, if you’d like.” He offered; he even crouched a little to meet your eyes.

“Really? How?”

“You can try copying words from books but…where is the stick, ah! There!”

He stopped low, letting his long arms reach for the stick by your feet. You retreated your feet, suddenly aware of how close he was.

“If you have time, let’s start with the alphabet.” he began.

He showed you how to trace letters in the dirt, which you copied with another stick. His own were curved and clean, yours had shaken as you traced it. You kept repeating the shape and sound.

“X…Y…and Z?” you asked, checking his for where the lines pointed.

“Yes, that is how you do it!” he praised, observing the letters.

“Will you be here tomorrow at this time?” he asked.

That was the light of your servitude. Washing and the break from washing. When there were other women around, they made little bits of chatter with him or you. It was company enough to ensure it was not dishonorable or unaccompanied.

“Well, Master Castell, what is the matter ‘ere?” Verity asked the next day, leaning a small basket on her hip.

“Nothing, Miss Y/L/N is learning how to write a little,” he answered with a bright smile that matched yours.

“See Verity!” you cheered, “I can write all except for Q!” as you took your stick and drew smaller versions of the alphabet.

Verity leaned down, then looked at you both, and gave a half-grin.

It was a whole week of meeting amid heavy washing with a few minutes with Samuel to learn to write. On the fourth day, he began showing up with a quill, ink, paper, pen, and books.

“Miss Y/L/N, now you start writing words. Here is the word ‘you’” he began, holding a piece of paper against a book before you and writing the word on it slowly.

“And here is the word ‘me’…can you try that? We’ll start with simple words” he explained, passing the quill to your hand.

“y…o…u… and me looks simple, m…e…” you mumbled as you carefully copied his writing.

Then you double-checked each word and looked up to him, and he nodded his approval.

He showed you how simple words formed, even with the silent letters. By the sixth day, he showed you how to write simple sentences. He showed you how books often had corners or blank pages in the back to scribble on. Then in the evening, amidst eating whatever you had earned, you traced the letters and words you remembered and in your book on your finger.

On your books, you could write on them to practice miming the movements. It felt comforting without Alice’s presence in the evening.

On the sixth day, you were using a collection of plays and copying down larger, flowery words. You pointed and asked how to write the words “murdered”, “remembrance,” “madness,” “beauty,” “vision”, and “avenge.” It all seemed fantastical compared to the practical sight before you of half of the townswomen washing. Once you had pointed to the word “nymph,” you suddenly recalled something.

“I just remembered. I have your copy of The Faerie Queene, would you like it back?” you ask.

“I’ve no use for it but…yes, I do. Do…do you need your copy of The Metamorphoses?” he added.

He reached a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

“I’ve no dire need for it yet, so you may return it when you’re ready,” you said.

He was quiet for a moment. You looked down at the yellow paper and began to write the word “nymph.” Then he shot up his answer once you had written the stem of “h.”

“It’ll be ready in about…about five days. It’s a long book, and I’ve been busy, so forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Samuel.”

By the seventh day, you were using his copy of Paradise Lost in the back to practice writing the word “garden.” Both of you were sitting on the ground as you used his pen to put the last curve on the “n.” Once you looked up with an accomplished smile, you saw Samuel’s face had gotten dark and his brows were furrowed.

A cool breeze drifted by. Looking around, you and he noticed how there was no one else around. His posture stooped.

“I…I have told no one else than Jocelyn of this but...I have been asked to be a spy.” He confided.

“A spy!” you whispered; the thrill of a new skill forgotten.

“The governor asked me. I had to agree. Then Farlow, my employer, began to ask questions. He said that he wanted me to spy for him on the governor!”

“Goodness, you’re about to be everyone’s spy.”

Your hand curled over the paper, watching as the letters of “garden” were drying.

“I panicked. Then I said I refused to be a spy to Farlow. He then said I had to be his spy, or he would send me back to England.”

You felt a gasp escape you.

“Could he do that?”

“He could. I didn’t know what to do, so I asked Jocelyn for guidance…”

“What did she say?” you ask.

A little gust forces a cloud out of the way. It makes the sun spread its rays on the water, glittering as fine as any sapphire.

“Her idea was to give Farlow a fake tip, ruining his reputation.�� He reported flatly.

“Even if it is Farlow, isn’t that a little cruel?”

Setting the book and paper aside, you looked right at him. You noticed how your breath was lighter seeing his angular, striking face.

“I refused. Y/N, I couldn’t do it. But she says I must do it. She says I must spy on both for the other! You see…somehow…she has her heart set on…”

He paused a little. He then released a held breath through his nose and whispered into your ear, careful of any possible listeners even in the bushes.

“On making me governor of Virginia…”

Your blood ran a little cold.

“How would that work? I mean, how does one become the governor of Virginia?” you asked with that same quietness.

Any hunger from your job was replaced with nerves of how close you noticed he was moving to you. You caught yourself leaning away but made yourself meet him a little closer. Bidding your legs to be still and not run off, you planted your weight firm on the earth and took note of each word.

“The governor is usually elected or chosen by the king. Or the last governor dies or retires.”

“Do you want to be the governor?” you asked.

He hesitantly nodded.

“Sometimes. The idea of it. I thought if I got people to love me. If I could help others and this colony…then I could be voted in. That’s how everything’s decided now. People here have the chance here to have a voice, and I could help them all. But then I see the reality. Spying? Lying? Ruining reputations? Y/N, is the title worth such deeds?”

The trees rustled.

“I have even seen people die here to get power. And not just from being executed.” He adds on.

He turned, looking at the water. Then he huffed in frustration. You took your arms and hugged your stomach. A bit of sunshine fell on your back, warming you.

“Then you don’t have to do it. Tell them all no.” You offered.

His head bolted around, and his jaw was a little slack.

“But…I…” he began to stutter a little.

“Well, what do you want, Samuel? Other than being the governor?” you questioned.

“I…I just want a simple life in this colony. A home, Safety. I…I want to be a father someday. A good one. I want to live here. Where it’s beautiful and I have a purpose and everything’s new.” he said.

He shrugged once he noticed your small smile.

“Well, I can’t have children. Jocelyn doesn’t want any. Or at least for now” he corrected himself.

Thinking over this, you folded your hands in your lap. The redness from all the work was starting to show and you could feel how rough they had gotten. It was nothing like the large, white, smooth hands he had.

“Then, at least, you should go to Jocelyn and tell her that it’s not safe to play this game and to let it go. And you can tell Farlow you would rather be back in England then spy if you’re feeling brave. He may have been just scaring you into it,” you suggested.

He looked right at you and then you looked down into your lap, your cheeks were hot.

“Samuel I…I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t budge into your business.” You apologized.

Backing away a little, you noticed how close you were leaning to him, nearly to his face. It may have miscommunicated something.

“Don’t worry yourself, I gave you my business!” he said.

“You will respect her wishes about children, right?”

“Why of course!”

“If you respect her wishes, why shouldn’t she respect your wish for a simple life? A marriage is supposed to have compromises, even a friendship needs compromises.”

“Well…it’s a little silly- we aren’t even married yet! Are you sure?”

A cloud moved over the sun.

“Absolutely. Then say you will not be a spy, you won’t ruin anyone’s reputation, and that you will not become governor of Virginia by those actions. It will be hard but…something can be figured out…you can find a way to compromise. You should tell her it’s not safe. People have died. You don’t have to do anything that threatens your life…” you reasoned.

He nodded and his face grew lighter. It was as if the sun out on the water was now shining from inside of him.

“I’ll tell her when I see her later today. Thank you, so much, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome.”

Your hands twitched a little and your mouth went dry. Then he turned to look at the white, blue, and yellow gowns toppled over near the basket.

He got up from sitting and then turned to see you from below. He noticed your blue skirt still blooming around you.

“May I help you up?” he offered.

You gave a little nod with your eyes wide.

He reached out his hands and, though pulling back a little at first, you reached for them with a light grip. You noticed the stains of ink on his knuckles and fingernails. But they were warm, smooth. They were soft, too, almost like gloves rather than skin except for the very fingertips. Strength pulsed beneath that softness from what you could feel. Feeling the tightening of his arms to help pull you up, you were lifted to standing.

He held your own hands still for only a few seconds. You could feel his pulse.

There were birdsong and a flutter of wings from the tree above you. A cloud moved away, and it became sunny again and the river gurgled in approval.

Once he released a little bit, you willed yourself to pull your hands away, retreating demurely to your stomach while he lowered his. Yet inside you were buzzing slightly from that small sample of his skin.

“Do you need me to escort you home, Y/N?” he asked politely.

The tight lips of the local women haunted the back of your mind again from the flower picking day. And Lady Yeardley’s warning.

“Sadly, no. Besides, I don’t want to keep your lady waiting for her clothes…”

“Oh, I forgot. Y/N…I apologize for any inconvenience.” He said with something that could only be described as sadness before he walked back to the colony.

The next afternoon, Jocelyn said all her clothes were clean. There would be no laundry to do today.

Instead, she had given you a list of shopping that needed to be done as she spent her hours in the Boarding House and that could not be managed at once! As you walked out, reading the foodstuffs, you took note of how pressed and small her handwriting looked. Something she must have practiced as a child.

But as soon as you entered the heart of town, bustling with dogs trotting by and men and women scuttling around, some smoke from a near fire for cooking cleared up with wind. You saw Alice amid it. She wore a blue dress with a pink shawl draped over her shoulders, holding a basket.

She noticed you and walked over. Her large eyes looked blank.

“I…I can’t marry Silas” she confided in you.

“What!? Why?”

“They’re in debt because of Henry paying for me and…he can’t, he can’t afford me. At least not now. We have to pay them back” she mourned. There was a crack in her voice.

A hundred and fifty bushels of tobacco to purchase a wife was not cheap. And the Sharrow’s were not rich.

“Alice, follow me” you implore.

She nodded as you went back to your house and gestured her to follow you inside. You slipped your hand beneath your bed to pull out your pouch. It now felt a little heavier.

“Alice, here, take this.” You order, handing the pouch to her.

“What? No, I couldn’t!” Alice begged.

“Don’t take all of it, just some of it!”

Alice chewed on her lip as she opened the mouth of the pouch and glanced in. She immediately closed it and handed it back to you.

“Y/N, it’s your money!”

“And it’s your future! And I want you to be happy- you can save it up and pay for the debt and marry who you want! I’ve seen you suffer enough here. More than anyone on earth deserves. But this! This is what you deserve!” you insist.

You open the pouch and pour out all the gold coins you had saved and earned.

Hesitating, she finally takes half of what you have.

“You will come to me every day when you can…” you direct sternly.

“Y/N…”

“And I’m going to give you half of what I earned. And don’t you dare refuse it. I’ll find the Sharrows farm and throw it in the window if I must!”

“You’re already giving some to Verity” Alice reminded you.

She even looked back at the door, in case Verity’s small, curly-headed figure would magically appear through.

“Someone among us has to stay a spinster. If no one even in Jamestown wants to marry me, I may as well make your lives here bearable.”

“Oh, Y/N, that’s not true! Someone will come along…”

Feeling your feet curl under your shoes, a forbidden thought of Samuel’s smiling face and his blue eyes flashed by.

You shook your head.

“I…I don’t…It doesn’t even matter. Just take it and save it.” You finish.

Tears welled up on Alice’s face.

“Y/N, I don’t know how I could bear it here without you. When you’re ready, tell me about what’s troubling you. I want to help you too.” she said.

“Please wait, then I’ll tell everything” you begged before walking back to town to shop.

And at once you both left, laboring even when evening came.

Downstairs, Jocelyn entered her thankfully temporary home. Master and Mistress Pierce were sitting by the fireplace, chatting.

Eyes away.

Walking over to where your water jug was, her eyes narrowed on it. Tonight, it would be half of your total payment. She bent over so her cloak would hide her hands, lest her hosts turn around.

From her reticule she retrieved the bottle she swiped from the doctors. She poured some into the jug and buried it back in her reticule Taking a deep breath, she set the jug her right hand with a pouch with your payment in her left.

Looking out upstairs into the window, you noticed the sun had dipped down and a dark blue blanketed the small roofs of the colony. Finishing a last good scrub of that always dirty floor, you noticed as Jocelyn walked upstairs and opened the door. She was decked in a light green cloak, complimenting her pink dress and green hat. She looked like a pastry amidst this brown. Shiny pearls bedecked her bodice and ears.

“Have you supped, Mistress Woodbyrg?” you asked.

You stood up on your knees, placing the washcloth in both of your hands.

“Yes, with Governor Yeardley. He’s about to be the groomsman…It will be the most beautiful wedding. There will be more flowers than one could count!” she answered.

Her eyes scanned over the floor and you almost flinched, feeling some insult threaten to bubble. But none came. Her eyes returned to you, shining.

“I’m happy for you, Jocelyn. It will be lovely” you complimented graciously.

Though envy bubbled in your head at the image, it was safer to offer the olive branch. You still always remembered Alice’s words. She has her kind moments, you’ll see. It’s what Alice would have wanted you to do. Or what she would have done.

“Y/N, I have your pay here, it’s a little smaller than normal.”

She handed over the water jug in one hand and a pouch of gold in her other hand.

No more morsels to steal from my roof, then? You thought bitterly.

Muttering a tired thanks, you pocketed the payment in your apron and took the water jug.

“Do you need accompaniment?” she asked softly.

A little taken aback, you looked up. Her face appeared warm. Despite whom it was, it seemed better than just heading back at night alone.

“Why, yes. I, uh, I would” you answered.

“Mercy’s afraid of the dark, it makes her tremble…does it do to you?”

“A little.”

You lit a lamp downstairs, handed it to Jocelyn to hold, and both of you headed outside. The sun was in the last stage of setting and a deeper blue blanketed all over the town. Once your house was in sight, it was getting darker and the blue over the town was fading to black.

When you reached your home, you heard Jocelyn clear her throat and turned around.

“May I come in? I…I need a bit of water. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“Why, of course,” you said.

Balancing the heavy jug currently in your grip, you dug in your pocket for your keys and opened the door.

Once you had settled the jug down on the table and scurried to light candles in the hut, you could feel Jocelyn’s eyes pouring over the lack of any grandeur of your small house. But once your last candle was lit, her eyes shone.

She stepped around, staring. Not in apathy. But from how her head gently perched and her lips parted, it seemed to be curiosity. She gently touched the petals of a wilted wildflower and eyed an unclean dish. She peeped over to the corner window and noticed a slab of pink sticking out.

“Oh, those primroses! They keep appearing each morning! It’s James, I bet. He probably doesn’t know Alice is on that farm yet set on marrying Silas, poor man! He’s in love and won’t confess it” you jested.

You leaned out and admired how the flowers glowed against the reflected candlelight and soft starlight above.

“Aren’t they lovely?” you said happily.

After a slight pause, she turned her head to meet yours, a little smile placed on her ivory face.

“Very” Jocelyn replied. Her voice sounded a little hoarse.

You brought out what was Alice’s cup and poured a generous amount of water in. After you handed it, Jocelyn nodded in thanks and drank, her eyes down. Then you poured in only a little. You didn’t want to appear greedy in front of her. Even if she was starting to soften to you.

You took a sip.

“It’s sweet.”

“The water from east of the river is very sweet. Thought you would like it.” Jocelyn commented.

She was smiling larger now, her lips were soft and shining.

“Do you need anything else? You’re a guest” you asked.

“No, I…I need to go home.”

“Alone? And not without me undressing you?”

“I’m too tired. And I’m a fast walker. No need to fret. I have this lamp.”

“Oh, well, good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Jocelyn finished as she shut the door behind her.

You turned over to get your dinner and practice your writing. But as you reached on the table for one of your books, a sudden sensation hit you. You were dizzy, nauseous and your legs were shaking. Blinking quickly, seconds passed, and it wouldn’t go away. When you tried to pick up the book, it shook in your hands and tumbled down on the floor.

It was getting stronger. Your legs were failing you and you grabbed onto the table for support, pulling up.

A memory of what was said on the ship hit you. What Jocelyn did. And how.

You pulled yourself on the table, as if climbing, and grabbed the spare cup Jocelyn was given.

There was only a small lip mark on the edge of the cup. The water was intact. You clutched your throat and shook harder than you could control.

Breathing hard, you rushed to race out the door. Screams flew out of you.

“Help me! Someone, please! Anyone! Help Me!” you bellowed with all of your strength.

It wasn’t much. Only two steps outside and your legs gave out and everything went black.

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Man and Wife Pt.05

The Two Lives

04/14/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 11,536

*Masterpost in Notes Warnings: angst, smut, language, jealousy, love triangles

A/N: I’m not going to make this long. I hope you enjoy this one. Things kinda blow up. Also, this story is becoming much longer than I anticipated. Damn. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“You want some help?” Henry sidles up beside you, staring down at the box of manuscripts. There has to be at least thirty to forty stories, all of them riding on the hope that you might like one of them and then the process will commence.

Only one of the authors in this box will be picked for next year’s Spring publishing cycle and though normally this weight would be heavy on your shoulders, a different sort of worry weighs you down.

In this moment, standing in the small two-story office in town in front of your very plain wooden desk, the only thing you can think about is whether Bucky has gone back to the apartment yet.

Had he shown up and seen you gone? Would he have waited for you? Is he still waiting if he’d decided to? It’s a Saturday but you’d come in knowing that Henry would be here. He’s always here, working too hard.

You’d asked him once if he didn’t have a girlfriend or wife at home angry at him for coming into work on a day he could be spending with her, but he’d assured you that he was very single.

Although you and Henry have been coworkers—technically he's your boss—for a long time, the two of you have always avoided conversations about each other's love lives. For good reason.

However, today…today, you can't seem to control your mouth.

“If you were married…would you be here? At work?” You wonder, staring at the loaded box with dazed eyes.

“Me?” Henry reaches up and scratches the coarse hair on his scruffy chin. He shoves his left hand into the pocket of his gray slacks, the sleeves of his white button up rolled up around his muscular forearms, the dark blue vest stretched taut with very little wiggle room along his sculpted body. “Well, first off, it would take an amazing woman to get me to walk down the aisle.”

He lets that sit in the air between you. You’re not sure why, as out of it as you are. When you don’t respond to the comment, he turns around to semi-sit and lean against the edge of your desk. He reaches out towards you and wraps his hand around your wrist to get your attention.

“Y/N? Did something happen at home?” Of course, Henry knows all about Bucky. The fact that you have a husband is no secret.

Your phone flashes—almost as if on cue—with a new text alert and the picture of you kissing Bucky’s cheek is nice and visible for a second across the shattered glass.

Proof of your marriage is not only on your phone’s lock screen, but there’s a framed picture of you and Bucky at your wedding on your desk, and you’d also sent in a change of name email to Sana—who by herself represents the entirety of the HR department—so that everyone would know to call you Mrs. Barnes if they were going to refer to you by name. Your desk plaque was changed too and the Y/N Barnes, etched in steel, glints up at you as the sun from the open window hits it.

Of course, calling you Mrs. Barnes doesn't apply to Henry. He’s your boss. He can call you whatever he wants, within reason.

You look at him, away from the box and force a small smile. It's tight, disingenuous, and it makes the worried pucker between Henry's eyes more pronounced.

“When you get married, don’t leave your wife alone often. It’s important to make her feel like she matters.” You nod, agreeing with yourself.

“Did Bucky leave again?” Henry asks.

You give him a real smile this time, and shake your head. “I don’t know. He usually wakes me up when he has to go for a few days. I think he just went to work out with Steve. He wouldn’t leave on mission without telling me.”

Of this you are certain.

You reach for the box’s lid, pulling your arm out of Henry’s gentle grip and slide it onto the box.

You look up at Henry and see his eyes flit to your left hand. Your smile vanishes and with a small ache in your chest you pull that left hand up towards your chest where you place it and then cover it with your right hand.

“He still hasn’t bought your wedding bands?” Henry wonders.

“He’s been so busy.” The wedding had been so hastily planned that wedding rings, which should have been your first priority when planning, had slipped your mind.

You should have just gone out and bought the rings yourself but you've been wanting to go with Bucky to choose them.

“Too busy to go out and get your rings?”

“Henry, he was gone for a week. He just got back and-”

“And he’s already left you alone to go work out with his friends? People he just spent seven days with?”

Henry criticizing Bucky is pissing you off. You know that he’s right because you’ve been telling yourself these exact things since you and Bucky had that first discussion about calling when he got home so you wouldn’t worry.

“They’re more than just friends, Henry. They’re like brothers.” You protest, defending Bucky fiercely.

Silence fills the large space, but Henry doesn’t stop staring at you.

“No.” He says.

You’re so confused by the word that you look up to find his dark eyes. “What?”

“If I were married…No. I wouldn’t be here. I’d be taking my wife to the beach since this is probably the last we’ll see of some good warm sun. Cold front’s supposed to roll in the next couple days.”

Oh, that’s what he’s talking about. You'd already forgotten you asked him that. You shouldn't have asked him that question.

“The beach sounds nice.” You reply, suddenly distracted.

You smile, picturing Bucky and yourself having a picnic on the beach, the loud soothing roar of the ever crashing waves lulling you into a nap as you sit with your head on Bucky's stomach. He’s stroking your hair and you’re in heaven. He’s laying back, his metal hand under his head as he stares up at the sky and you stare out towards the ocean.

Your smile slowly shifts into a sad frown because while the daydream is nice, it fades and you’re pulled back to reality.

“So…let’s go? Right now.” Henry offers and he sounds serious, almost wistful.

You look up at him and can see the hope in his eyes.

So much has changed for you in so little time. As he searches your eyes, his brow still puckered and his gaze intense, you flash back to the day after your wedding when you’d come back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~

You'd left work a single woman. Having chosen to take two weeks paid time off for a long overdue staycation. When you returned, you were Mrs. Y/N Barnes.

The first thing you do when you sit down at your desk is power on your computer, sign in to your work email, and quickly shoot Sana a letter explaining how you are now a married woman and will be going by Y/N Barnes from now on.

As expected, because Sana tells Kim everything and Kim tells everyone everything, the word of your marriage spreads quickly.

Happy flutters fill your tummy all day as you receive well wishes and congratulations from your coworkers. Almost all of them seem genuinely happy for you.

Only Lyla, a fellow editor, seems almost smug and sarcastic in her congratulations. She walks up to your desk and drops a large marked up manuscript so that it falls with a loud heavy thud.

You jump, wrapped up in your own work, and when she speaks she speaks loudly. Everyone in the large room will be able to hear her.

How does she do that? How does she speak loud enough for everyone to hear but not make it a shout? Weirdo.

Maybe it's only weird because you can be so soft spoken? You should learn to project.

“So, I hear you got married? Congratulations, Y/N. I’m surprised you found someone who-" Suddenly Lyla stops in the middle of her insult as she spots the photo on your desk.

A beautiful silver frame, a picture of you and Bucky looking at the camera within. Bucky looks dapper in his black formal wear, his hair pulled back into a loose bun but carefully styled. His blue eyes are so bright that they aren’t steel blue but aquamarine, small flecks of green towards the center. Made more prominent thanks to the flash of the camera. His full beard, excited pearly white smile, and nervously flushed cheeks complete the breathtaking beauty that is James Buchanan Barnes.

You aren’t so bad either in your white, shiny satin dress, the lace on the bodice handmade according to Tony. However, Lyla doesn’t have eyes for you. She's looking at the handsome man beside you.

She grabs the frame and holds it closer to get a better look. She's going to smudge it!

“This is him? This is your husband?” You can see the disbelief in her eyes as she can’t fathom how anyone who looks like Bucky could want you.

You reach out and take the frame back, yanking it rudely out of her hands. You don’t care for the judgment and sheer shock on her face.

Bucky loves you! Although, you’re still kind of confused as to why.

“Yes.�� You snap.

“How? Isn't he an Avenger? I’ve seen him before. On the news.”

“Can I help you with anything, Lyla? I really need to get back to work.”

Lyla opens her mouth to retort but just as she places her perfectly manicured left hand on your desk and leans in close enough to spit vile venom at you, Henry moves into his doorway. A large imposing figure with a scowl that contorts his usually bright expression.

“Y/N? In my office.”

You turn your chair, swiveling to look at Henry while Lyla shoots up, standing straight and at attention. She fiddles with her dark hair nervously and adjusts her pants.

“Lyla, don't you have work to do?” He's curt and hard with his words, focusing most of his scowl on Lyla but at the last second, as he turns to disappear back into his office, he turns it on you.

“Y-Yes, Henry. Sorry.” Lyla sputters, her disappointment is clear in the careful downturn of her lips.

You’re not sure what look she gives you as she turns to head back to her desk because you’re staring at the now empty doorway to Henry's office.

Had you fucked up already? You just got back. You hadn’t done much work yet. What could you have possibly ruined that he's mad at you? Damn. So much for a good first day back.

Afraid you’ve ruined something for a client you get to your feet.

With a shaking hand you carefully put the picture of you and Bucky back in its spot. You run your finger along the curve of his jaw as you sigh, terrified of a reprimand, and silently plead with him for courage.

You grab your little brown leather book, a journal where you keep notes during meetings, and proceed into Henry's office holding the journal against the black fabric of your pencil skirt on your lap.

Henry's office is sparsely decorated. There’s a large ficus by the window where the sun streams in, a picture frame of his favorite book, American Gods on the wall behind his desk, and two large red leather arm chairs in front of his modern maple wood desk provide one of the only splashes of color in the office.

Aside from those small touches, there's a computer on his desk. The wall beside his window is covered in filing cabinets, and there's a set of weights and a weight bench behind you.

You swallow hard, watching as Henry keeps his back to you, both hands in his pockets. He stares at the framed poster.

“Shut the door, please.”

Shit. You definitely fucked something up.

You do as he says.

“Have a seat.”

You do, choosing the red chair on the right as you worry your lower lip. You don’t dare look away from Henry. There’s a slump of disappointment in his shoulders and as he moves around his desk, his eyes dart to your hands. You’re still clutching your journal to your lap but now sitting, you realize how nervous it makes you look to hold it so tightly.

Trying to relax, you release a breath you weren't aware you’d been holding.

“You’re not in trouble.” Henry assures you and you wonder how he knows that's what you’re thinking.

He stops at the exact center of his desk then seems to change his mind about something. He turns towards the other red chair to your left and angles it to face you. He sits on the edge, then reaches out and takes hold of the arms of your own chair and turns it until you’re facing him too.

It surprises you but you keep your mouth shut and observe.

Henry is leaning forward, his shoulders still hunched so that he's right at eye level. He's still scowling but there's something else to his expression. Something like sadness.

There’s a question in his eyes but you can’t read what it is. In your alert curiosity, you sit up straighter.

“If I’m not in trouble then why the intrigue?” Four years of working with Henry come crashing down. Four years of late nights. Four years of laughter and long conversations about books and movies and anything and everything.

You smile, still nervous but relaxed.

“You’re kinda scaring me.”

“Is it true?” He asks, his hands still resting on the top edge of your seat's arms.

“What?” You ask, your smile vanishing in your befuddlement.

His eyes flit to your left hand on your lap then back up to your eyes and the same moment he speaks, you understand what he's asking.

“Are you really married? Did-did you get married while you were on vacation?”

He's breathless and your heart is hammering in your chest. Your mind isn’t sure why but your body is already panicking, clammy hands, shortness of breath, and a turmoil of tumbles in your stomach.

“Um…yeah.” You say, unsure.

Henry's hands grip the arms of your seat more tightly as he drops his head and looks down at his feet.

“Sorry I didn’t invite you. It was all short notice.” You laugh once. “It all happened so quickly I-"

“No.” He groans.

“Henry?”

“No. No. This-this can’t be happening. You weren’t even dating anyone before you left!” He looks back at you and you’re startled by the intensity of his eyes. You know that look because over the last two weeks, you’ve seen Bucky give you that look.

Fuck. You weren’t expecting this. Not after four years. Why now? Four years! Shit, Henry!

“You can’t be married yet, Y/N. I haven't even had a chance to-to tell you yet.” His voice is strained, pained, but there are no tears in his voice. It's more of a lamentation than a sobbing.

It still hurts to hear. Henry's your friend. Why does he choose to do this now when he had so much time before?

You don’t ask what he wants to tell you. You know very well what he's referring to so you turn your eyes down to his knees to hopefully deter what's coming.

“Y/N?” He's leaning down more, trying to catch your eyes to read you, to see you.

“Henry, please don’t do this.”

“I love you. I-I have for a long time. You can’t be married before I’ve even had the chance to try.”

You look up to meet his gaze, feeling upset now that he's said the words. Those words. Those three stupid words that mean everything when Bucky says them and now mean pain when Henry does.

There’s a small hint of pining in your chest as you consider Henry's confession.

Once upon a time, during your second year working here, Henry had caught your eye. You'd been like all the other girls in the office. Completely smitten by the six foot-one tall man, his dark skin supple against his tight muscles, his laugh easy and free.

In some ways, if you think about it, Bucky reminds you of Henry. Bucky's more serious but when it's just the two of you, he's like Henry. He makes you laugh and he's free with his smiles.

His beautiful smiles, only meant for you.

At the time, when Henry had been all you wanted, he'd been dating a beautiful model.

A literal model. He'd met her at a photoshoot for one of the raunchy romance books the company had published. What chance had you had against a perfect body and an endearingly demanding personality?

When she'd cheated on him and they'd broken up, you comforted him, as any good friend would. Secretly hoping that maybe now that he was single he might see you.

He never did. Or if what he says now is true and he has loved you for a long time, he let you torture yourself. He said nothing then so he shouldn’t get to do this.

No. He doesn’t get to do this to you now that you’re happy.

“Henry, I don’t want to hear that right now.” You assure him. “Why would you do this right now?”

“Y/N…?”

“No, Henry.”

“Please?” He reaches out and places his hand over yours.

“No!” You reply loudly, yanking your hand away from him and getting to your feet. “How dare you do this to me now.”

You drop your voice so that the gossips that linger by doors to listen can’t hear you.

“After all this time? Years! I have known you for years and not once have you even indicated that you wanted to see me outside of work.

“Bucky knew me for only two hours and he asked me to marry him." Okay, that sounded more romantic in your head. “You’ve known me for four years and you have said nothing!”

Henry stands, hands clenched into tight fists.

“What did you just say? Two hours?! You married someone who asked you to marry him after two hours?!”

“Yes!” You turn your chin up defiantly because although your voice is full of strength and passion, it’s still on the softer side. You don’t raise your voice often if ever. “Bucky is my husband now. And I’m happy. I’m so fucking happy and I will not let you ruin it for me. I love him-"

“Love him? How can you love him? You barely know him!”

“Keep your voice down.” You growl quietly, looking towards the door.

“You know me and I know you. I know how we work, Y/N. Us. We'd be great together! I know everything about you. Does Bucky know about how you say you don't have a favorite ice cream flavor but you always seem to go back to vanilla?”

You turn away from him, reaching up to press your hand to your mouth as you try to contain the sorrow and anger all at once.

“Stop.” You whisper. You had yearned for this man. You'd imagined what it would be like to kiss him, to have him hold you, to have him get down on one knee and ask you to marry him. It hurts.

“Does he know how you like your coffee? Your favorite pizza toppings? How old you were when you lost your parents and your grandpa?”

You shake your head, your anger growing. “Stop, Henry.”

“What about when you lost your virginity? Does he know you held out for so long?”

Fuck! “That's enough, Henry. Stop it!”

You turn to look at him, fuming because the ache in your chest has no right to be there. You'd given up this hope. The stern quality of your voice prompts Henry to listen and he stops talking, his mouth open as he breathes hard with emotion.

“You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to throw our friendship in my face and use it as justification for you thinking I shouldn’t have married Bucky. I love him.”

Henry begins to open his mouth to argue.

“I said, I love him, Henry. And nothing you say is going to change that. I…”

You see the sorrow in his eyes and guilt begins to gnaw at your chest.

“I'm sorry that this hurts you but you never said anything. If you really loved me, anywhere close to how I love Bucky then you would not have been able to stand being quiet.”

“I was waiting for the right time.” Henry explains, sadly.

“And when would that be? After I got back from vacation? Six months after that? Next summer? Fall? Winter? I waited for two years. You never said or did anything. How long was I supposed to wait for you to finally notice me? I liked you so much but I knew that you could never-”

Henry's eyes flash with hope. “You like me?”

“Liked. Two years ago after you and Iko broke up. Past tense, Henry. I liked you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He takes a step towards you and you take a step back, on the defensive.

“Why didn't you?! Why am I the one that has to put myself out there to be broken and trampled on? Why do I need to take that first step? You should have said something. You.” You shake your head, recalling your anger. “Look, I…I don’t want to fight. What's done is done and I’m happy. I love my husband and I’m sorry that hurts you and that you don’t understand that I feel closer to Bucky after knowing him only two weeks than I have to anyone else I’ve ever met—save for Casey. And if you’re my friend, then you’ll tell me congratulations and never bring this up again.”

Cruel? You feel like it a little. Henry is trying so desperately to understand what went wrong for him.

He's quiet for so long, staring at your face as you fix him with a determined gaze.

“Henry?”

He seems to snap out of his daze but his sorrow doesn’t relent.

After a moment of consideration and knowing you need to get out of this office, you offer him your left hand. “Congratulate me, Henry, and wish me good luck.”

He looks down at your hand and then takes it. He turns it over so that he can look at the back of it, searching.

“No ring?”

You yank your hand away angrily. “Ugh, I’m going back home for a few days. Paid. I don’t think my vacation was long enough.”

You march around him and the chairs, then move back towards the door. A few more days away from the office will be perfect. After today's shocking confessions, you need distance.

“Y/N?” You stop and look back at him, feeling worse. “Congratulations.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Henry,” You chastise him, and he caves immediately, relaxing his shoulders and turning that pleading gaze normal again.

As you shift uncomfortably, he sighs. “Sorry.”

You don’t want to deal with this on top of how shitty you’re already feeling at how Bucky left you alone again.

“I should go.” You make to lift the box but it's heavy and although you lift it well enough, you’re struggling.

Henry hurries forward, placing his hands on the handles of the cardboard box over yours.

“I’ll help you carry it home.”

“No, I’m alright. It's only two blocks.” A short walk and you’re home. A short walk and you’re at work.

It was one of the reasons Bucky chose this neighborhood. For you.

“It's heavy. Let me help.”

“No, I said I’ve got it.” You insist, trying to pull the box out of his grip. His hands are really hot over yours.

“Y/N,” The firm way he says your name halts your resistance. “I know you’re refusing to let it show how upset you are, for his benefit. I can see you're hurt. I don’t know what he did but, I can’t let you walk home alone while you have that look on your face.”

Startled by your inability to hide how you feel, you drop your hands and he easily takes up the weight.

“Besides, this box is heavy. Are you gonna let me feel like a douche? Or can I walk you home?”

You worry your bottom lip, hating the temptation of having him help you. You don’t see anything in the escort but Henry? He might think it means more than one friend helping another.

“I don’t know…”

He tilts his head, frowning at you as if to say, Come on. Stop being stubborn. You give in.

“Okay.” You still feel weird about it, but Henry walks you home, holding your box casually.

He walks you into your building. Up the stairs. And all the way to your door. You stop there, staring at the wood, wondering if Bucky is inside.

What are you gonna say? You really don’t want to fight but this isn’t okay. You can’t keep letting him think that leaving you alone as he has is alright. Because it isn’t. And it’s piling up into a mountainous problem. What if one of these days it gets so big that you can’t get over it?

“Y/N?” Henry gently urges.

You swallow hard then fish out your keys and unlock the door. He’s still not home. It wouldn’t have been locked if he were home. He never locks the door.

Your heart drops as you open the door into the empty apartment. Moving inside you move past the kitchen, into the large open room that makes up your living room and your dining room. You gesture Henry towards the large table with six chairs behind the sofa.

“Just drop it there.”

“Wow.” Henry moves in admiring the architecture of your home. “This place is nice.”

It really is beautiful. Art Deco curves and angles, swift sharp edges and then softly curved accents. The furniture is equally beautiful, and the only modern touches came from the items that you bought. The yellow throw pillows on the couch, the blue dishes sitting dirty in the sink.

Shit…you need to wash those. Bucky hates that.

As you’re caught up staring at the dirty dishes, you reach up and scratch the back of your neck.

“Thanks.” You say absentmindedly.

Suddenly, your attention is pulled to Henry, his large imposing form beside you. He’s not looking at the dirty dishes though. You find him looking at the large wedding photo of you and Bucky hung on the other side of the dining table.

“You looked beautiful, Y/N.” He says softly.

You don’t like the way his compliment makes your stomach shift.

There are more photos of you and Bucky on the end tables by the couch, on the empty shelves of the bookcase by the TV, there’s even one of you two cooking in the kitchen.

There is your life laid bare for Henry to see. You could show him your bedroom. There’s more in there. And then maybe if he saw the bed where Bucky fucks you, he might finally abandon his apparent love for you. You don’t need the reminder of it every time you go to work.

“You looked happy in those pictures.” Henry gestures only at the one in the kitchen sitting between two cabinets underneath the smoke detector and over the coffee maker.

Looked happy. You caught that.

“I am happy.” You insist.

“Right.”

“You should go.” You tell him and move towards the front door to open it up for him again.

He follows and stops just outside the doorway as you occupy the space in front of him, arms wrapped over your chest as you lean against the jamb.

Henry turns, shoving his hands into his pockets where he must be clenching them because you can see the strain of his veins on his forearms as he looks at you.

“I don’t know what’s upset you. And I know you won’t tell me. I…I took that away from you. Our friendship.” Henry sighs.

“Henry…please don’t.” You beg, you don’t want these words in your head when things are already so difficult.

“I need to say this.” He moves towards you, reaching to take hold of your arms just above the elbow. “I’m here, Y/N. I know that it might not be what it was but if you need to talk, or vent, or just not talk and spend a few hours doing something to get your mind off of whatever it is that’s bothering you—I’m here. I will always be here for you. As your friend…or…whatever you might need?”

The hopeful tone in his voice as he finishes what had begun as a comforting notion of having someone less aggressive than Casey to talk to, drives all the pleasantness of his words away.

You pull your arms away and he drops his hold on you.

“Thanks.” You tell him. “But I’m fine.”

Henry watches you for so long, you begin to feel exposed. He can see through you and you don’t like that or the ache that renews in your chest.

You’re slightly startled when you feel a warm flutter on your cheek as he presses a soft kiss to your skin. You freeze.

“I mean it. I’m here.” He pulls back and leaves.

You don’t watch him go. You stare at the spot he’d just been in, confusion washing over you in waves as you go back inside and shut the door. As if you’re on autopilot you wander into the kitchen, pull on your apron—a gag gift from Steve that looks like his Captain America uniform—and settle in front of the sink to wash the dishes.

You’re only at it for a few minutes. Enough time to get three plates washed, before the front door opens and shuts.

Your hands freeze for a moment, but you go back to washing when you feel eyes on you. You scrub hard. Too hard. You don’t care. You’re not really seeing the dishes. You’re gauging the room. You’re listening for his feet. You’re waiting for his words. Instead you smell soft soap and blue water musk as a warmth curls around your back.

He’s so fucking silent sometimes!

Shining metal reaches out and shuts off the sink leaving your hands soapy and wet. The hand retreats to the edge of the sink and holds the counter firmly.

“Where’d you go?” He asks and you see red. You’re so angry at him!

“Where did you?!” Not a shout. Never a shout. You don’t scream often. But your soft voice is stern. Hurt.

A heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I…I’m an idiot.”

“You keep telling me that, Bucky but it doesn’t seem to change anything.” You turn to look at him, but he doesn’t adjust his distance. He keeps you there in the tight circle of his arms as you meet his eyes.

There’s guilt in his expression. Good. At least he really means it.

“Why did you leave this morning?”

“I didn’t think.”

“I waited for you last night, Bucky. I-I cancelled plans with Casey and Jess because I wanted to see you. Because I was worried about you. And then I wake up this morning and you’re gone?” Now that you’ve let it all tumble out, it’s flowing quickly.

You’re not afraid of him getting angry because you’re so upset that you don’t care.

“I wasn’t thinking.” He admits, dropping his eyes to your neck and away from the hurt in your eyes. “I-I don’t even know what else to say. I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t you want to spend time with me?” You ask him, more hurt than anything else now.

“Of course! Of course, I do, Y/N. How could you think that I don’t-?”

“Because you’re never here!” Okay, this time you’re loud. You push him away and move towards the cabinets with the picture of you and Bucky cooking. You glare at the picture for a second then turn to look at him again, accusation and uncertainty flooding towards him. “You leave and you come back, and you don’t come home. I know that your job is demanding. I get that. That’s what you do, and I don’t want you to stop doing it because it’s who you are but when you’re not working at least for one day after you get back why can’t you just stay here? With me? I wake up and you’re gone. Sometimes I go to bed and you’re still not home. We go out and then we come back home, you leave again. You say that you want to be with me but everything that you do tells me that you don’t.”

He’s silent, staring at you with a wrinkled brow, that adorable pucker between his eyes not so adorable as you rage at him because of how you’ve been feeling. You need him to understand. Can you just say it? Maybe you should just say it?

“Sometimes…” You hesitate. You shake your head and convince yourself to not say it.

“What?” Bucky asks, closing the space between you again, and wraps his arms around your waist.

“No.” You pull away, but he tightens his hold and he keeps you facing him.

“Tell me. Please?”

“I-”

He pulls you closer and his body reminds you of what you’ve been missing and unfortunately what you’ve also been suspecting.

“Sometimes I think that maybe all I am to you is a guaranteed lay.” Your voice is almost dead as you say the words aloud. You never wanted to speak these words out and much less to Bucky himself. What if he confirms them? “You go away, and you come home, and you sleep with me and then you leave. Maybe I’m stupid for thinking it could be anything more than that since that’s how we started? Right? Sex in public before you even knew my name.

“That must be all I am. Spread legs whenever you need them and complacent silence when you leave?”

“No.” Bucky growls, suddenly pulling you into a crushing embrace. He reaches up and holds your head tenderly with his right hand while his left pulls you tight against his chest. “No, never think that, Y/N.”

The quiet that fills the apartment is deafening and you don’t wrap your arms around him. He holds you tighter, maybe feeling the distance you’re feeling because he’s almost desperate in how he clings to you.

“You’re more than a lay. Shit, Y/N, you’re all I think about when I’m gone.” He assures you and pulls back to cradle your face in his hands.

You look for the lie in his eyes but don’t find one. It brings you back to the pain you’ve been feeling, shoving the numbness away.

“Then, why?” You reach up and grab hold of his wrists as he holds your face. “Why do you always leave me? We could have done so much today. We could have gone to the park. Or the movies? Or the beach?”

A slight sting of guilt cuts you as you remember Henry’s offer but that memory sprinkles through your mind and vanishes quickly because Bucky is here, right in front of you, desperately clinging to what he thinks is a wife slipping through his fingers.

“I-I don’t know.” Bucky admits. “Yesterday I just…I-”

“You forgot about me?”

“No!” He says loud, deep booming voice starling you into jumping slightly. “I did not forget you, Y/N, I just forgot to look at the time. And last night you were so upset with me that when I woke up, I thought maybe you might not want to see me?”

“I always want to see you, Bucky. I don’t see you enough. Even when I’m angry at you I need to see you.” You sigh, frustrated with him. “Don’t you understand that when you aren’t with me all I can do is worry about you? I miss you. I want to be with you. You’re all I think about and for you to just leave me by myself especially when you’re here and you can choose to be with me but you don’t-?”

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say except that I’m so, so sorry. I’m not setting out to make you feel like you’re not important. You are so important to me. Ask Steve! I’m day dreaming about being back here with you-”

“But you keep leaving!”

“I know!”

Now you’re both shouting.

You push his hands away and move around him, but he catches your wrist and pulls you back into the circle of his arms. You try to push him away, but he doesn’t let you go.

“My job-” He begins quietly.

“It’s not your job I’m talking about, Bucky.” You pull away from him and he lets you this time because you’re still shouting. “I already told you that I know your work is going to take you away from me. I’m not complaining about your work, I’m trying to understand why it is that when you aren’t on mission, you don’t seem to include me in your life? Maybe we did this too soon?”

“Did what?” He asks, anger flashing in his steel blue eyes turning them into ice.

“This. Us. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten married so quickly?”

“How can you say that?” Bucky growls moving towards you, his hands cradling your face once more so that you can’t look away from him as he looks into your eyes, searching for the regret of marrying him.

He doesn’t find it. He won’t. No matter how much he searches because you will never regret telling him, ‘I do.’

“You don’t know how to fit me into your life, Bucky. And I can’t keep waiting for you in this apartment until you’re ready to see me. I feel like you don’t want me in your life, and you take absolutely no interest in mine. Is this what a marriage is supposed to be?”

Bucky sees that you’re right. He’s created this line in his life and kept you on one side of it and his Avenging and his friends on the other. Why did he do that? Why hasn’t he tried to take you and mingle you with the other half of his life? He’d been doing it a bit before the wedding but after the wedding it all just fell into two parts.

You were here, his perfect, beautiful, wife. You gave him a home and a family of the like he’d never expected to have. He loves you and he loves that you gave this life to him but how does he pair it with the one he leads at the compound?

He can’t see you around Sam’s snarky teasing or Steve’s serious focus when it comes to missions. He doesn’t want you to deal with Nat and her harsh observances or Vision’s lack of tact. He doesn’t want you exposed to anything that might hurt you but here he is, hurting you himself.

Then there’s your life. It’s true, Bucky doesn’t know what you do when he’s not home. He’s never thought about it because who cares? As long as you’re with him when he’s here, what does it matter what you do?

At least, it didn’t matter before today. Then he saw just how dangerous not only leaving you alone is but also how unexpectedly dumb he is to the possibilities of what your life might offer away from him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Who the fuck-?

Bucky slides back behind the wall into the doorway of the stairwell and hides, grabbing the knob to stop the door from shutting loudly. He peeks out and stares down the hall at a tall black man. He’s built like a house and he’s good looking. What the hell is he doing coming out of Bucky’s house?!

Then you appear in the doorway and Bucky’s mouth falls open because you know this guy. It’s so clear in the way you look at him that you know him. You’re also defensive, with your arms crossed tight across your chest. Did this guy hurt you? Bucky’ll kill him!

Instead he watches as the man turns to you with softness in his eyes. Fondness. What the hell is going on here?

“I don’t know what’s upset you. And I know you won’t tell me. I…I took that away from you. Our friendship.” Friendship? You’ve never told Bucky you have a friend who looks like that. What the hell?

“Henry…please don’t.” That tone…why are you so upset? Bucky doesn’t like that tone. It reminds him of…

“I need to say this.” The black man moves towards you, reaching to take hold of your arms just above the elbow. Bucky grits his teeth, squeezing his jaw so tight that his teeth creak and groan as he fights the urge to rush over to you and cut the man’s arms at the wrist so that he can never touch you again.

“I’m here, Y/N. I know that it might not be what it was but if you need to talk, or vent, or just not talk and spend a few hours doing something to get your mind off of whatever it is that’s bothering you—I’m here.”

Like fuck he is! Bucky thinks. What the hell would you two do for a few hours that would silence your mind?

Sex of course pops into Bucky’s head and he grabs the handle so tight with his left hand that it curves to the shape of his fingers.

“I will always be here for you. As your friend…or…whatever you might need?”

Bucky sees red and this time he takes a step out towards the hallway, intent on killing this guy because there was no question in what he meant. He’s offering you sex. Definitely. And from the hopeful tone he uses, love? Does that guy love you? Why? Who the hell is he? Why do you know him so well? Since when did you have a friend who looks like that?!

“Thanks.” Your voice stops Bucky and he quickly hides again. “But I’m fine.”

Bucky can hear it in just your voice that you aren’t okay. What has he done? Why would he leave you alone after what happened last night? He’s an idiot. He deserves to have you stolen from him for the way he’s been treating you.

The man—Henry?—seems to see this too because he just stares at you as you continue to look more and more uncomfortable.

Then he kisses your cheek and Bucky just about blacks out. Several scenarios play out in Bucky’s head. He could follow the man and pull him into an alleyway and strangle him to death. But that would be too quick.

Better to kidnap him, take him into that abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. Then he can starve him and cut at him for several hours. Maybe even days? Then he’ll sew his lips shut and slice them off just when he thinks that it can’t get any worse.

The violence of the images that flash through Bucky’s mind pull him from the haze. He hasn’t felt this way since his brainwashing, and he’s startled by the intensity of the emotions that brought it forth.

There is no doubt in Bucky’s mind—and there never has been but it’s so certain in him now—that he loves you more than even he might understand.

“I mean it. I’m here.” Bucky thanks God that this Henry leaves.

When you shut the door and go back inside, Bucky moves out and walks down the hall towards home.

As he passes him, he sees that Henry recognizes him, probably from the pictures in the apartment, and as much as Bucky wants to reach out and squeeze this Henry guy’s windpipe to crush it, he walks past him with his chest puffed and his eyes glaring death. It’s only when he knows that he’s gone that he shrinks and stares at the doorway for a few minutes hoping that he hasn’t done any kind of irreversible damage to your marriage.

~~~~~~~~~~

Unable to help himself any longer and since you’re the one that brought it up, he asks.

“Who was that guy I saw leaving?” He’s as gentle as he can be in his question. He doesn’t want you to see or hear the anger he felt when that idiot kissed you.

Your face loses all color and you look away from him to the curve of his neck.

“Henry. My boss.”

“That’s your boss?” Bucky demands, surprised and now cursing himself for never showing an interest in your work before today. He’s an idiot not only because now he knows there’s this dude, so clearly wanting you every day that he can’t be around, reminding you that if Bucky’s not there, then this guy surely is, but also because it took this kind of jealousy to make Bucky realize how little he knows about your life.

He understands what you’re saying now. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The two of you should be living a life together. Not apart. How has he not seen this until now? Stupid hot Henry guy making Bucky all jealous.

It’s quiet between the two of you for several minutes. Bucky drops his hands, trailing them down the sides of your neck, along your shoulders, and then finally stops them on the sides of your arms. He squeezes them, relishing in the softness of your body.

So much of his life has been hard, cold, rough, sharp, and painful. You give him everything opposite; soft, warm, smooth, gentle, and love. So much love. Bucky needs to make this up to you, and he knows what the first step must be.

Bucky pulls you closer, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours as your hands trace the shape of his shoulder blades, straining and tense on his gray t-shirt.

“You’re right.” Bucky admits and your breath catches. “You’re so fucking right, and I’ve been so blind. I’m sorry. I haven’t been trying hard enough to build us a life together. I’m sorry I haven’t shown any interest in your work and the things that you do. This isn’t how it should be. You’re…you’re right, Y/N.”

You don’t want to hear that you’re right. That’s not why you’re angry.

“I don’t want to be right, Bucky. I just want you and me to be happy.”

You can see the pain flit through Bucky’s eyes at the implication that the two of you haven’t been happy.

Since that first problem you two faced with him calling you when he got home, small things have cropped up. Nothing serious. Small marks of irritation or annoyance as you two learn to live together. Bucky hates that you leave the dishes unwashed for a while. You hate how he doesn’t pick up his towels after he showers.

He complains about how you leave clean clothes piled on the chair in your bedroom instead of putting it up right away. Bucky doesn’t clean up his hair from the sink after he trims his beard. You don’t pick up your hair from the drain in the shower. Bucky forgets to put the toilet seat back down. You put your feet up on the coffee table. Bucky drinks straight from the carton of milk.

Small things piling up and making life just a little less easy.

But these aren’t the things that have made you unhappy. Though life is more real for the two of you now, the fact that you still feel like you’re living two lives is why you’re unhappy.

“I’ll do better. Next time we have a mission, I want you to come with me to the dinner we have afterwards.” Bucky promises and you feel bad because he’s not the only one that’s been messing up. Sure, he’s the one that’s been leaving you alone, but you should have spoken up much sooner.

“Really?” You ask, surprised and excited suddenly.

“Of course.”

“I’ll try harder too, baby. I’ll do better, too.”

“You’re perfect, Y/N.” Bucky insists, but you’re not.

“We’ve both been messing up. We’ll both do better. I love you. I don’t want to lose you.” You sigh, eager for this fight to be over. It does finally seem like Bucky gets it and that more than anything softens your anger.

“You won’t lose me, kitten. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lean up to kiss him because you need to feel his lips, but he pulls back and your heart clenches painfully.

“Hold that thought.” He smiles down at you and hurries back towards the door. When he comes back, he’s holding a bouquet of y/f/f.

You smile, heart fluttering. You really are too easy to woo. Some reassurance and an offering of flowers and you’re putty in his hands.

“I’d been waiting for a bit and I thought maybe I’d need some backup to apologize so I went out and got you these. Should I have got you a necklace instead?”

You laugh lightly and nod. “They’re beautiful, Bucky. This is perfect.”

When he offers them, you take them, and smell them before leaning back up towards his lips. Bucky pulls back again and this time you frown.

“Bucky…”

“It’s just, what you said-I don’t only want you for sex, Y/N. I need you to know that.”

“Ugh, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you about that. It was a fleeting thought after we had sex and you left the next morning to workout with Sam and Steve. It was a flash of a worry and then it was gone.”

“But it was still there. I love you, so much. Not just your body.”

You reach over and put your flowers on the counter as you move in close to press your body against Bucky’s. He looks down at you, intense and confused.

“But you do love my body, right?” You slide your hands up under his shirt, tracing your hands along the hot skin of his sides.

His eyebrows twitch upwards at your touch.

“Of course, I love your body.” He assures you. “But I love you too.”

“Okay. I get that, but right now, I need you to show me how much you love my body.” You explain. “It’s been a week, Bucky. I’ve missed you so much.”

There’s a groan in your voice as your hands move up along his bare back. They go about hallway up before they drop down to the small of his back and you slip the tips of your fingers down into the waistband of his jeans.

The curve of his bum is sudden and deep. He has a really nice butt. You trace it down, touching him with desire.

“You’re not angry anymore?” He asks, but his hands are already on your waist, slipping the strings of the apron you’re wearing off. He reaches under your puffed sleeve yellow top and traces the skin of your back, all the way up to the center drawing you closer.

You shake your head slow and mid-shake, Bucky dives down to meet your lips.

He swallows your sigh and you inhale his groan. Both of you melting into the other after such an exhausting fight. He pushes you back until you hit the counter and then he reaches down to lift you up by your waist and sit you on the cold tile.

He undoes the buttons of your dark gray; lace tiered shorts and you lift your butt as he tugs them down and off. He tosses them over the counter and into the dining room quickly followed by your underwear. He nudges your legs open and settles between them, with his right hand searching your folds for your nub.

You’re already dripping wet, having missed him in his absence and wanting nothing more than to have him touch you.

You shudder at his prodding and when he slips two fingers into you, you gasp and lean forward towards him. He wraps his left arm around you, catching you in a kiss as he pumps his fingers in and out while his palm presses hard against your nub.

His kiss slowly shifts and somewhere between finger pumps, he deepens it with feeling rather than lust.

You pull back, surprised and breathless by the shift because you can feel it in your chest. You can feel the ache of confusion and he doesn’t let you get far. He pulls his fingers from your core and lifts you from the counter.

He stares into your eyes as he carries you to the bedroom then lowers you onto the bed. You fall with a small bounce, but you watch as Bucky strips himself naked. There are bruises on his torso and you sit up, startled by the wounds you hadn’t found yesterday because you hadn’t been looking for them. You’d been so wrapped up in your feelings of neglect that you hadn’t noticed his hurt.

“Oh, Bucky…” There’s a gash along his left side, a faded pink puckered line. You know it’ll be gone by tomorrow but the thought of the cut that had been there before it sealed. The blood he must have lost and the sharp pain he must have felt?

“I’m okay.” He assures you then as you look up at him, still tracing the scar, he kisses you breathing you in as he opens his mouth to deepen it.

You shut your eyes as he hooks his hands into the bottom of your shirt, and he relieves you of it. Your breasts are freed shortly after and Bucky pushes you back to crawl over you. He reaches down to pull your legs apart, settling between them once more but this time sliding into you without warning.

You go still beneath him, your mouth open in a silent gasp as he stretches you. He watches you, enjoying the expression of surprise, pleasure, relief, and love you’re giving him.

Pushing your hair back, he bites his bottom lip as he begins to pump in and out of you, burying himself as deeply as he can. He blinks slowly, never breaking eye contact.

You see what he’s doing. What he’s saying. As your body jerks upwards, bouncing against the bed, he’s telling you that he loves you.

You don’t know why it happens now, maybe it’s because of the fight? Or the sheer intensity of his gaze? Maybe it’s because he’s still cradling your face, staring at you as if he’s already lost you and he’s just now realizing how much he loves you, but you start to cry.

“Oh, Y/N…” Bucky sighs, leaning down to lay on you completely as he wraps you up in his arms and his lips find yours to kiss you with feeling.

He moves slowly, his hips moving in soft waves as he pushes himself into you. Every time he bottoms out, his pelvis rubs against yours, pressing your button just right to draw a small moan from your lips. He’s like water in his movements, smooth and flowing.

This isn’t the sex that you two have when it’s lust that drives you forward. You had never been able to really tell the difference between making love and having sex. Not until you met Bucky. The first time this had happened after your fight about calling home, it had been similar but nothing like this.

The way he’s holding you against himself, clinging to you as he marks you as his, something’s changed.

He pulls up, tracing kisses along your jaw and neck before stopping beside your ear. “I love you.”

His whisper is warm and smooth. The flutter in your heart and the stretch of his cock war for dominance in importance. Together, they make your body hum.

“Bucky…Bucky…” You moan, sweet whispers as he takes you closer and closer to ecstasy.

His hips begin to move faster, he groans, pushing himself up as he angles himself to pound into you a bit more roughly. Despite the pace, his hands are soft, feather touches against your skin as he traces the shape of your breasts and then your ribs with the tender tips of his fingers.

His touch raises goosebumps and you whimper raising your knees and reaching down to grab handfuls of his bum to press him down harder against you.

“Tell me, baby.” He coaxes your desires forth, wanting to hear how much you want him just as much as you want to feel it. “Say it.”

“Harder, Bucky.” You plead, begging for contact. “I want you in deep.”

Your words make him growl and he leans down on his forearm as his metal hand reaches down to take hold of the right side of your ass. He holds it still as he shoves himself into you, roughly pounding into your nub.

You shut your eyes, your hands wandering up to his lower back as his movements become quick and wild.

“I love you so much.” Bucky gushes. “Come for me, kitten.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his declaration of love or the way he’s talking dirty—well, dirty for you, but your legs suddenly wrap around his waist and you pull him flush against your core as it explodes with fire and sparks.

Your head goes dizzy, whirling the world around you into fog.

Bucky keeps thrusting. Just a few more times before he groans and drops his head to your neck. He bites down, making you purr, as he erupts within you.

Ragged breathing, musty sex, and the fresh scent of soap fill the room. Sweating together, you cling to each other, desperate to hold on to this moment of bliss after the terrible low of your fight in the kitchen.

But reality comes crashing down as you wonder if you both forgot or just you? How could you let all the emotions get in the way of this one thing that you had sworn to keep in mind before you and Bucky had sex each time?

Bucky pulls out of you reluctantly and slides to the edge of the bed. You see him fumble between his legs as he pulls off the condom and tosses it into the wastebasket by his bedside table and a wave of relief washes over you.

For a moment you’d thought both of you had forgotten protection. Relaxed, you sigh. “Bucky?”

You reach for him, your fingers sliding along his lower back. He looks back at you and lays back down, turning to hover half over you and half on the bed. He kisses you lazily, still wrapped in the warm glow of his orgasm like you are.

“Tell me about your day.” Bucky says. “Why did your boss come here?”

You smile because you know he’s doing what he promised. It’s easy to do it right away, just after you had a fight about it. He’s taking interest in your life. Hopefully he’ll continue to do it when things are busier and time has passed.

“He was helping me carry the box on the dining room table home. It was heavy.”

“You should have called me.” Bucky argues lightly.

“I should have.” Yes. You really should have.

“What’s in the box?”

“Manuscripts. People send them in for publishing and I have to pick one to publish for the next Spring release. I’ll choose one in the next few weeks and then we’ll have the author come in to do edits. Then eventually we’ll publish it.” Bucky’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“Don’t agents have to send the manuscripts in? Or can anyone send them in?”

“Normally yeah, it’s agents. But we’re still a growing publisher so we take what we can get. If we ever get really big then maybe we’ll start to do it that way but if I’m honest, I like it this way.”

“Why?”

You shrug. “Because this way, I get to truly know the author. I call them. I talk to them. I set everything up. I get to see why they’re writing. What they want from it. I see the passion for what they do or lack thereof. It’s eye opening. Some people do it for the money which almost always means a shallow story. Some people do it because they really enjoy writing. Fusing words together in unique and beautiful ways. And others…my favorites…are the ones that like to tell stories.

“They’re not weighed down by the idea of perfect grammar or amazing prose.”

“Isn’t that important though?” Bucky wonders, relaxing beside you. You turn to look at him as he settles in, head on his pillow.

“Of course, you want to see that a writer has taken time to go back and fix things. Misspelled words are okay and sentence structure has always been flexible for me so long as it benefits the story, but when I read that first manuscript, I’m looking for a spark. A good story. Something people want to read. I’ve read some stories that are beautifully written that aren’t very interesting. Every once in a while, I find someone who’s good at what makes the writing pretty and also good at telling the story. But it doesn’t happen often.”

“Sounds like you love your job.” Bucky realizes, a small worry in his eyes.

“I really do.”

Speaking of jobs. On your bedside table, where Bucky’s phone is charging, it suddenly begins to ring.

You know that ringtone.

Bucky pushes himself up and rolls over you to reach for his phone. As he stretches towards it, you quickly react, and grab hold of his right wrist.

He looks down at you, slightly startled by your hold.

“Bucky,” You start, chewing your bottom lip. “Don’t answer it.”

Bucky stares at you then looks up towards his phone as it stops ringing and then shuts off. He meets your eyes again and slides his hand down until he can intertwine your hands together. He pulls both of your arms up over your head as he dips down to meet your lips in a clearly lustful kiss.

He reaches over, closer to his side of the bed than yours, and takes another metallic silver package in hand so that he can pound you into the bed once more.

You’d fallen asleep in Bucky’s arms, clinging to his strong torso, nestled in the nook between his metal arm and his side. He’s breathing heavily, fast asleep, and you’re only awake because you swear you just heard knocking.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

There it is again. Your eyes open a bit wider as you look up towards your bedroom door.

No. You think because you know what that is.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Bucky shifts beside you, sitting upright, startled by the knocking. You’re already awake and you sit up with him.

He looks down at you, sleepy but happy to see you there.

Like instinct he leans down to kiss you, forgetting the knocking on the door, as if he needs to make sure you’re really there.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! “Buck!”

You groan and when Bucky pulls back, you whine. “No.”

Bucky sighs, hating to leave the bed but he does get up. He pulls on a pair of sweats then makes for the door. You rush to get to your feet, pulling your gray robe on. You quickly fasten it as you follow him but stop at the mouth of the hallway to glance towards the front door as Bucky pulls it open.

Sure enough, just as you’d first suspected the day after your wedding, if Bucky didn’t answer the phone then Steve would surely come and get him.

Here’s the proof that you were right. There’s Steve, looking serious, in full uniform.

“What is it, Steve?”

“We found him. I think we finally found him, Buck.”

Bucky’s relaxed body quickly shifts into mission mode and though you would normally admire the tight pull of his back muscles, the tension there means he’s already decided.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. We need you.”

“Give me five minutes.” Bucky leaves the door open for Steve to come in as he moves back towards you.

As he passes you, he gives you a quick look of apology as he caresses the right side of your face with his metal hand. You reach up to clutch it there but there is no holding him back when he’s decided to go.

He disappears back into your bedroom and you turn to give Steve a nice hateful glare.

How surprised had your neighbors been to spot Captain America walking up the stairs?

“Sorry, Y/N.” Steve apologizes, and it sounds like he means it.

You continue to frown as you move after Bucky and find him already dressed in his black Avengers garb. The spare that he keeps in the closet in case he should need it. It makes you feel better to see him at least appropriately armored but at the same time, you just want to keep him here with you.

He shoves a few more things into his duffel bag, reaches up to tie his hair up into a loose low bun, then after a minute he reaches into his duffel and pulls out a handgun. He places it on your bedside table.

You know that handgun. It’s the one he cleans on the dining room table. It’s got his name, Barnes, etched into the grip. It’s his favorite handgun.

“You keep that there. Steve is such an idiot, coming here wearing full uniform.” And you’re surprised at how angry Bucky sounds as he says Steve’s name.

“Why is he-?”

“Anyone who saw him walk in here will know that someone important lives here now. And when they see me walk out with him, it won’t be hard to guess who.”

You think back to the first week after you were married. News and internet articles had sprung up with stories about Bucky getting married. Everyone knew that he had a wife though no one knew who it was. They didn’t know where you lived with him, but they knew that somewhere out in the world there was a woman who’d married James Buchanan Barnes. Someone he loved.

Although the public still avoided Bucky, they gave him his space because he was—to some of them—still the Winter Soldier, they feared him. But Captain America? There would be pictures of him surfacing from this building within the hour.

“Why do I need the gun though?” You look at it, uncomfortable and worried about having to use it.

“I’ve been an idiot for not getting you ready for this possibility before. When I get back you and I are going to start training a bit. I’ll show you how to fight and how to shoot.” Bucky closes his duffel bag and throws it over his shoulder.

You’re too busy staring at the gun, suddenly terrified about someone showing up here to pick a fight with Bucky to find you alone.

Bucky’s in front of you, arms wrapped around you as he pulls you close. “You’re safe, here, Y/N. I’ll ask Tony if he can send someone to tighten up the security. Make it harder for someone to break in. The gun is just in case someone happens to get in. You point, hold the gun with both hands, Y/N, and squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it. And don’t you dare close your eyes. You keep them wide open when you fire. Aim and shoot.”

“Bucky…” You’re suddenly scared of being here without him.

“I’m sorry I have to go so soon.” He sighs and pulls you into a mind-numbing kiss. When he pulls back, you’re breathless but your mind is alert and worried.

“Please be safe.” You beg. “I need you to come back to me, Bucky.”

“How can I do anything but come back to you when I’ve got such a beautiful and loving woman waiting for me?”

He hugs you, holding you tenderly to his chest as he tells you without words how much he doesn’t want to go either.

“I love you. And I’m so sorry I’ve been such an ass.”

“I love you.” You whisper back at him.

Bucky pulls away but takes your hand and walks with you into the living room. Steve gets to his feet and moves for the door.

“Sorry this is such a quick visit, Y/N.” Steve says.

“I hate you.” You tell him and Bucky smiles while Steve turns around just outside the door and looks offended.

“What did I do?”

You ignore him as Bucky stops at the door and turns to give you one last kiss. “Lock the door.”

After he and Steve are out of sight you shut the door and do it.

Thanks for reading!

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kamen-rider-zed · 5 years

Text

Artiste et Muse Ch4

Okay confession time: because depression sucks and my job is eating me alive, this is the last complete chapter of this fic. I'll try to have this done by the end of the week, but I can't make any promises. Just know that I appreciate all of the amazing comments, and I've been so glad to get even a bit of my writing mojo back after so long.

AO3

Chloe groaned and forced her eyes to open against the massive migraine sitting on her skull. She reached out and felt the sheets she’d slept in the previous night; somehow, she made it back home. She closed her eyes again and focused through the pain. How did she get here? What did she remember? The wedding album, crying, lots of crying, the cafe down the street, more crying, and Nathanael holding her.

Her eyes snapped open and she flinched against what she assumed was afternoon light slicing into the room through the thin crack in the drapes. Nathanael holding her? Comforting her? Why would he do that? He hated her, right? But then...why? She sat up, pressing a hand to her temple, and noticed her heels sitting next to the bed. He must have guided her back home, into bed, and even taken her shoes off. Her heart thumped harder in her chest but she shook the feeling away. Why was he having this effect on her?

She slipped out of the bed and out into the living room where she found Nathanael with a sketchbook on one knee and the wedding album on the other. He lifted his head when he heard her enter the room, and Chloe could have sworn there was the faintest smile on his face when he saw her.

He cleared his throat and whatever smile there had been disappeared. “You’re awake.”

A rude and snarky retort sat just behind her teeth ready to tear into him, but there it sat. Whether it was the migraine or her new and confusing feelings directed at Nathanael that held it back she couldn’t tell. Instead, she pressed her fingers into her temples and asked, “How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours. It’s just a little after one.” He pointed his pencil towards the kitchen. “There’s some pain pills on the counter if you need them. I would have made some coffee, but…”

“But you don’t know how?” She rounded the island in the kitchen and spotted the tiny red bottle. A quick search through the cabinets and she finally found a water glass.

“I know how to make coffee, but…” He turned his eyes back down to the album. “There’s nothing but whole bean in there.”

“Of course, I refuse to live under the same roof as pre-ground bullshit.” She found the beans and a grinder, paused, then turned back to Nathanael. “Get in here, Red. I may not like you, but everyone deserves to know how to make a decent cup of coffee.”

When she saw Nathanael blush at her invitation, she had to fight against the word ‘adorable’ crossing through her mind. He set the books aside and joined her in the kitchen. She taught him the proper proportions of beans to water, the proper grind settings, then set a kettle on the stove. As they waited for the water to boil, she asked, “What were you doing with the album?”

He was quiet for too long to Chloe’s liking. He finally said, “References. I thought I’d...practice drawing a wedding.”

Chloe moved across the kitchen to stand in front of him and crossed her arms. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that? You have the internet, a window into the next ten years of fashion and design. Getting to see that before literally anyone else? And you choose our...the wedding album?”

Nathanael matched her glare for a few seconds before he rolled his eyes and looked away. “Okay, I got curious too. I didn’t get that good of a look at it this morning, so I started flipping through it and...wanted to draw a few things. There, happy?”

“No. What about that book could have piqued your curiosity?”

A subtle movement dropped her gaze to his hands, where she noticed him twisting his wedding band about his finger. “I guess...it’s like I said to Marinette and the others last night; I want to know how this happened. How did we go from being bitter enemies to…” He lifted his left hand, fingers still playing with the ring.

Chloe stared at his hand for a long while. The Chloe and Nathanael of this world obviously had a strong relationship, but where had it come from? Sure, ten years was a long time, time enough for her to move on from Adrien and possibly to...but that was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. There was no way she’d choose someone else over Adrien...except she had. Or this world’s version of her had. And the Adrien of this world seemed happy with Marinette. Her thoughts flashed back to what Nathanael had said about the Akuma. Fairytale was supposed to make people live their happy endings. Did this mean that her happy ending wasn’t with Adrien?

The low whistle from the kettle broke her out of her thoughts and she finished showing Nathanael how to properly use a coffee press. Chloe found herself inexplicably smiling as he took his first sip of properly pressed coffee and melted into his mug. She raised her own mug to her lips to hide the smile, but had the slightest suspicion she hadn’t been quick enough. The damnedest thing was that she didn’t care. Maybe it was because he’d seen her at quite possibly the lowest she’d ever been in her life, but she wanted him to see her smile.

“Do you want to go through the album together?” Chloe looked to him and raised a brow. “You know, actually take a good look at the photos now that you’re…umm...” He turned away and bit his lip.

“Now that I’m not obsessed over my mother. That’s what you were going to say, right?”

“No!” Chloe stared at him. “Okay, kinda. You know what? This was a bad idea.” He squeezed his way past her and made his way back to the couch. “I should probably just-”

“Sure.”

Nathanael whipped around and gaped. “Wha?”

“Sure, let’s look at the album together. It’s not like I have anything else to do until Ladybug gets us out of here. Besides, if I do get all weepy over my mother, I have…” You, she was going to say, because he had been her sole source of comfort since waking up in this strange world. As much as she hated his guts, having him around, that sense of familiarity, was better than nothing. She bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself exactly who he was, who he worked for, and continued, “I have to get over it eventually.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but soon shrugged and slid over on the couch to make room for her. Okay, not what she expected. She grabbed her coffee and sat down beside him, then turned her attention to the album on his knee.

An outdoor wedding. Flowers everywhere, rows upon rows of chairs set in...Chloe reached over and flipped another page, searching for an identifying landmark. Ah, there. The Jardin du Luxembourg. A nice venue. Several women in yellow sundresses. Marinette, Alya, Kagami, and...Sabrina. Chloe pulled the album into her lap and ran her fingers over Sabrina. When had they made amends? How long after Sabrina walked out on her, tired of Chloe using her superhero status to shove more and more schoolwork onto her? More tears pricked at the corners of Chloe’s eyes, but she wiped them away and turned another page.

She blushed at the picture of Nathanael, wearing black slacks, a purple button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a black kippah. Somehow the purple worked for him, and...was he wearing a bee charm bracelet? He looked...really nice, especially with his hair tied back like thaaaa-no. No, she wasn’t going to think about him like that. Focus on something else, Chloe. He wasn’t wearing a jacket or a tie, so maybe they were going for a more casual wedding? Which didn’t make sense, if one of Paris’ superheroes were getting married, it would be a huge event, right?

On the next page...ah, her dress. A black lacy bodice with a low-scooped neckline, halter straps, and pearl adornments dangling from the front. From the waist down, a pure white sheath skirt with gold embroidered hem and a pale yellow sash tied about her waist, the knot somehow tied in such a way to resemble a flower. Lace fingerless gloves in the same yellow as the sash. A simple diamond and pearl tiara with her veil flowing from the back, her hair tied up with a plain white ribbon, and a bouquet of yellow dahlias. She squinted and looked closer at her necklace. Stones of purple, blue, and green. Paon’s colors. Now that she got a better look at it, it was subdued, but still spoke to her color pallet. Light fabrics to let it breath in the heat of summer. Marinette outdid herself.

“Are you nervous, Nath?” Chloe turned to the laptop at the sound of Nino’s voice. It was a shaky video of Nathanael buttoning up the shirt she had just seen, and another blush crept up on her face.

“Nervous? No. Relieved that we’re finally here? Yeah. Relieved that all of the planning and prep is over.” He chuckled. “Not that Chlo let me do much. She insisted on doing almost everything, including pay for all of this.” He turned to face the camera. “You know, her original budget was over a hundred thousand euros? Do you know how long it took me to talk her down from that? I mean, she justified it as a ‘charitable donation’ to expand the gardens, but that was still a bit much.”

“Well, Queen Bee is the face of the international ‘Save the Bees’ movement,” Nino said from behind the camera.

Nathanael smiled again. “Yeah, she is, however accidental it may be.” He leaned over to grab something off of a nearby table. “I didn’t even really want a wedding if I’m honest, but the moment I mentioned the word ‘elope’ to Chloe, she became a living nightmare until I relented.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you,” Chloe heard from her left. She elbowed Nathanael in the ribs, but kept her eyes on the video.

Nathanael stood back up stuffing whatever he searched for in his pocket. “But I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad she’s…” He turned his gaze to a nearby door and somehow, Chloe knew she was...no. Her alternate self was beyond that door. “If you’d told me ten, fifteen years ago that I’d eventually be married to Chloe Bourgeois, I would have laughed in your face. But I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Not Marinette, not Marc. She…” He chuckled. “She’s come so far since we were in lycee, and I’m so happy…” When he turned back to the camera and smiled, Chloe felt her heart skip a beat. “I’m so happy she’s about to be my wife.”

The screen faded to black, and when color bloomed back in, Chloe stood in the center wearing her wedding dress, her hands fidgeting and her eyes trained on a mirror in front of her.

“Chloe! Stop squirming!” came Marinette’s voice from just off frame.

Chloe looked down and mouthed ‘sorry’, then looked back into the mirror and sighed, her frayed nerves evident in her eyes.

“Don’t know what you’re so nervous about, girl,” Alya said behind the camera. “You’re Le Grand Paris’ chief event coordinator so you obviously know what you’re doing and you’ve triple checked every-damn-thing. This is probably going to be the smoothest wedding ever, granted Mayor Bourgeois doesn’t break down into tears like M. Dupain did.”

“Okay, just because my dad sobbed so loud the priest had to start over three times, that does not mean our wedding didn’t go smoothly.”

“It’s not the ceremony!” Chloe stomped, eliciting another swear from Marinette. Chloe apologized again and wrung her hands together. “I’m...kinda waiting to wake up.” Marinette’s head lifted into frame, a couple of pins hanging from the corner of her mouth and an inquisitive look in her eyes. “I treated Nath like shit for years, treated all of you like shit, and now look at us. Marinette made me a custom dress, Alya and Nino are handling our album, Sabrina agreed to be my maid of honor, and Nath…” She turned her eyes down to her left hand, her engagement ring sparkling in the light. “He proposed. After eight years of probably the rockiest relationship ever, he...chose me. Chose to spend the rest of his life bound to me. Me.

“I feel like this is a dream. I feel like the moment I say ‘I do’, I’ll wake up, I’ll be a teenager again, and Paon and I will be back to kicking each other’s teeth in.” She turned down to Marinette. “Did you ever go through this whole ‘too good to be true’ thing with Adrien?”

The camera lowered to Marinette, who huffed and flashed a wry grin before returning to her work on Chloe’s dress. “When he agreed to date me after two years of stalkery pining, kind of. After I found out he was Chat Noir, definitely. I thought there was no way the guy I loved and the cat who loved me were the same person. Even on our wedding day, I expected it to be some kind of Akuma spell, but here I am, six years deep into marriage with a pair of five-year-olds, and I couldn’t be happier.”

She smiled up at Chloe. “I assure you, this isn’t a dream. You deserve to be happy. After everything you’ve gone through, you deserve this.”

“Especially after all the bullshit you went through with The-Bitch-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Alya!” Marinette scolded, but the smile on her face betrayed her true feelings.

“What?” The camera shook in time with Alya’s laughter. “Chlo put the kibosh on mentioning her name, so how else are you supposed to know who I’m talking about?”

“You’re right.” Marinette and the camera refocused on Chloe. “You’re both right. I deserve this. I’ve changed so much since I was a stupid kid, and Nathanael sees that. He believes I deserve to be happy, and you know what?” She turned back to the camera and the smile on her face was bigger and brighter than Nathanael had ever seen. “I believe it too.”

That particular video file ended and Nathanael turned back to Chloe, who had her eyes down on the album in her lap. She seemed focused on a picture of her dress, which was strange since she described it as ‘lackluster’ earlier. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Chloe ran her fingers over the picture, and when she spoke, she spoke with an odd mix of wonder and sorrow in her voice. “I...she was right. It feels like a dream. This is me. I know this is me but it still feels like I’m looking at someone else’s life.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and all Nathanael could make out was, “I’ve never seen…”

“Never seen what?”

She shook her head and blinked at him, his voice jarring her from her stupor. “N-nothing.” She looked down at the album, stood, and held it out to him. “I’m done for today. You can look through it if you like.” When Nathanael accepted it, she collected their empty coffee mugs and strode into the kitchen, seeming all too eager to put distance between herself and him. Or maybe the album.

Nathanael looked down at the photo Chloe had been looking at. The Chloe in the photo wore the same smile she had in the video. Judging from the background, Nathanael guessed this photo was taken moments after that segment of the video ended, when Marinette had finished her last adjustments on the dress. That smile...he’d never seen Chloe smile that big or that bright. He’d never seen…

He paused and looked back up at Chloe, slowly realizing what she’d whispered.

“I’ve never seen myself that happy before.”

#chlonathweek2k19 #chlonath #chloe bourgeois #nathaniel kurtzberg #buzzkill au #miraculous ladybug #mlfanfiction #mlfic

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