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love-and-monsters · 3 years

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Fake Dating pt. 2

M Faerie X F human reader, 6,405 words

This is a part two to this story. Elwain and his human are safely in the human world, dealing with things far more mundane than an assassination attempt. Both of them are adjusting to the new life and to each other. Very fluffy, with some caretaking. I was in a very romantic mood while writing this and I think you can tell.

Content notes: mentions of parents trying to kill their child, descriptions of minor illness.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. Why do humans like this?”

You repressed a snicker. “You’re watching it.”

Elwain didn’t even look away from the screen to reply. “You put it on.”

“I just turned on the TV. You’re the one who started watching.” Elwain made a noncommittal noise. You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “I can change the channel, if you want. There’s a documentary on that I wanted to-”

“No, this is fine,” Elwain said. He hopped onto the couch next to you and curled up. “Ugh. These people know that expensive doesn’t mean good, right?”

You covered your mouth with a hand. Elwain actually, legitimately enjoying trashy reality shows was by far the best thing you’d learned about his personality since you’d started living together. The worst thing was probably that he’d grown up with servants and had no comprehension of household chores. It had taken a few weeks to get him to put his food back in the refrigerator when he was done with it, and you weren’t sure he was ever going to get the hang of doing dishes. Still. He was getting better.

“You’re still going to need to vacuum later tonight,” you reminded him. Elwain groaned.

“I spent all day at work!” he said. “I should get a day off.”

“You only had a five hour shift today. I worked seven. Plus, I have school. You don’t get breaks on household chores. Doesn’t matter how much you worked, they still have to be done.” Elwain looked away sulkily. That was an expression you were getting uncomfortably familiar with. “And you’re not allowed to do magic for it, either.”

“What? Just because you can’t use magic, there is no reason for me to be forbidden!” Elwain said.

“Yeah, sure. You remember what happened last time you used magic to clean the apartment?” Bright pink spots appeared on Elwain’s cheeks. He glared down at the couch, expression screwed up in irritation.

“I fixed that.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. You fixed the apartment. What you’re never going to fix is my trauma from walking into my apartment and finding everything covered in spiders!”

“I apologized!”

“Look, the next time you decide to enchant a bunch of bugs into doing household chores, just. Don’t.”

Elwain huffed. “They weren’t even venomous to humans! All of you are so easily frightened. They weren’t going to hurt you.”

“I think the heart attack I had upon entering my own apartment could be considered as hurting me,” you muttered. Elwain looked sour, but didn’t respond, apparently returning to his TV show. Elwain’s adjustment to the human world had been… difficult. He had no real understanding of conventional social norms and obviously still expected everyone to treat him like a noble, despite working a minimum wage job at a fast-food restaurant. Not to mention that he seemed to have very loose morals when it came to enchanting mortals. As far as you were aware, he’d never done it to you, but he didn’t seem to have any sort of restraint when it came to anyone else. Before he’d gotten his job in customer service, he’d made all of his money by charming random people off the street into handing over their wallets.

Admittedly, his skills had come in handy. You didn’t feel particularly good about it, but he had charmed the landlord into giving you the apartment for significantly less than the going rate. In your defense, there hadn’t been many options. You couldn’t stay in your parent’s house with a Fae hanging around, and even with both of you working, there was no way to afford an apartment otherwise.

It did not help that Elwain apparently found your moral crisis very funny.

“You all live by such dumb rules all the time. If you really wanted, I could probably charm someone into giving us their house, or just letting us stay there.”

“That feels morally dubious,” you said.

“Ugh. You won’t let me steal anything, you won’t let me charm people into letting us use their things without stealing them, you won’t even let me charm people into handing some things over!” Elwain flopped across the couch. “So now we’re living in a garbage apartment and I have to work at a greasy food place where customers yell all the time and-”

“It’s a nice apartment, especially considering what we’re paying for it,” you interrupted. “And if you use magic too often, people might start figuring out that something weird is going on.”

“I doubt it. Mortals are stupid.” But Elwain didn’t protest, and went to his job as usual, and didn’t steal, which was more respect for your rules than you were worried he’d show. And, really, you were glad you’d instated the ‘no magic’ rule at large, given how unpredictable the results could be.

Elwain sprawled across the couch. He had a tendency to take up ridiculous amounts of space, pushing you to the edges of the couch to avoid contact. Eventually, you got up.

“Where are you going?” Elwain asked as you walked out of the room.

“I’m going to study for a bit before bed,” you called back. “Enjoy your show.”

He stared after you until your door clicked shut. Weird. He’d seemed almost annoyed about you leaving, even though it meant he could watch his shows for longer and you would stop bugging him about vacuuming. Whatever. He’d been acting weird recently, though. Maybe you should talk to him about it. He’d seemed fine for the first month or so after leaving his home and his parents trying to kill him, but maybe he was having some sort of delayed reaction.

You buried yourself in your textbooks for the next few hours, trying to get a solid start on one of your papers. The back of your mind seemed to be focused on the little noises in the apartment, though. Every sound of footsteps or things being moved pulled your attention back to the rest of the house. Eventually, you heard the sound of the vacuum running for a while before Elwain headed into his room.

He never went back into the main area of your apartment and, buried in work, you were soon thoroughly distracted. Gradually, as you worked, your mind grew less and less focused until you were face down in your books, dead asleep.

“Wake up!”

You bolted upright. There was a piece of paper sticking to your cheek from a stream of drool. You hurriedly pulled it off. “What? What’s going on?” You blinked, focusing on Elwain’s fine face in front of you. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Your alarm was going off. I can’t believe you didn’t hear it. It woke me up.” Sure enough, your phone, which was still sitting across the room from you, on its charger, was ringing furiously. You weren’t surprised that you hadn’t noticed it, though. Your head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton.

“Oh. Sorry.” You rose a little unsteadily and turned the alarm off. “Thanks for waking me. Probably would have slept right through it if you hadn’t.”

“Uh huh,” Elwain said. “Did someone curse you?”

You blinked at him. He seemed dead serious. “Uh, no. I doubt it. Unless you know something I don’t.”

“If you’re asking about my parents, I would assume they are no longer concerned about me,” Elwain said. His voice was clipped, like it always was when he talked about his parents. “I don’t think they would bother to curse a mortal. If they had the means to lay a curse on someone, it would be far easier and more effective to just curse me.” He paused. “I was only asking because you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“You do. Why didn’t you sleep in your actual bed last night?” he asked.

“Because I fell asleep at my desk by accident. Are you going to stand here and just insult me or-” You broke off into a round of thick, hacking coughs. Elwain took a step back, alarm crossing his face.

“What is happening to you?” He lifted his arms in front of him, like he was trying to ward off some kind of evil spirit.

“It’s a cough,” you said. “Have you never seen a cough before?”

Elwain lowered his arms, still looking at me like he thought you would start convulsing at any moment. “Fae don’t do that.”

“They don’t cough?” You rubbed at your chest. A significant amount of phlegm had settled there. God, your body really had to pick the worst time to get sick.

“Not like that,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sick,” you told him.

He nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of that. A mortal thing. Your forms are weak, so you occasionally fall ill. It is a sign of your small, failing lifespans.”

You considered correcting him, but decided that you had better ways to spend your morning than trying to explain germ theory to a Faerie. “Yeah. Sure. Well. I’m sick. So that’s why I’m coughing. It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

Elwain narrowed his eyes. “Hmph. Well. I have work. Don’t die while I’m out.”

“I’m not in any danger of dying,” you told him. “Go head to work. Have fun.”

“That’s unlikely,” he muttered, but he left your room without protest. You closed your door after him and set about getting ready for your day.

The cold had settled into your head and chest and you could tell it was going to be bad already, even before it had come on fully. God. You could not afford to get sick.

Elwain was eating breakfast when you shuffled into the kitchen. You’d needed to absolutely cake your face in makeup to look presentable, and you saw his brows rise as he looked at you. Fortunately, the Fae at least knew how to keep their mouths shut. He just looked back at the frozen waffles he was toasting.

You snagged a granola bar and headed for the door. “Have a good day at work!” you called over your shoulder. Elwain grunted in response. The door swung shut behind you.

Work was exhausting, as per usual. It was better than Elwain’s job by a long shot, since you were working in a local candy store run by a sweet older couple, but between keeping an eye on any batches of candy being produced, sorting out customers, and having to deal with the requisite child-throwing-a-fit-for-not-getting-sweets, it was tiring. Trying to look bright and perky while being weighted down with a cold was awful.

As soon as work was off, you had class. Dragging yourself through it was a slow, painful slog. By the end, your head was fuzzy and you felt dead on your feet. Slowly, you hauled yourself on the bus and fell asleep.

Naturally, you missed your stop.

About an hour after you were supposed to be home, you dragged yourself in through the door. Elwain practically slammed into you. His hands clapped on either side of his face and he peered intently at you. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you! I thought you were dead!”

You pushed him off you and bent to one side to cough heavily until you were nearly sagging to the floor. Elwain stared at you. “Sorry,” you rasped when you’d stopped. “I fell asleep. And then my phone was on low battery and I wanted to make sure I had enough battery to use my GPS to get home.”

“You couldn’t have texted me?” Elwain drew himself up, hands on his hips. The entire situation reminded you, ridiculously, of your mom when you came home after a night out. “I was worried! I didn’t know where you were, and mortals are so ridiculously fragile-”

“Aw, you’d have been fine,” you said. “If anything, you’d be able to do more without my stupid mortal morals.”

Elwain’s expression went strange for a moment. “Are you feeling well? You seem… off.”

“I’m not feeling well. I’d like to lie down, actually.” You coughed again. “That okay with you?” Elwain was still frowning, but he stepped aside, allowing you down the hall and into your room.

You went down into your bed face-first. Almost as soon as you hit the pillows, your mind faded into sleep. Sleep came to you in fitful waves. You kept waking, coughing, rolling over and falling asleep again. When your alarm pulled you back to full consciousness, you felt thoroughly awful. The cold had settled firmly into your chest and head, gumming everything up. Your chest rasped every time you breathed in, prompting heavy coughing fits, you shivered even when you were wrapped in blankets, and your head felt full, achy, and cloudy.

The cold had apparently decided to upgrade to a full-blown illness. Slowly, you shoved yourself upright. It was hard to breathe through your nose and your mouth. Your throat stung with every inhale. Every cell of your body just wanted to pop some of the cold medicine that made you sleep and hopefully you’d wake up when it was all over.

Just as you were standing up, someone knocked on your door.

Well, you knew who. There was only one person who it could be. Grimacing, you walked over to the door and pulled it open. “Elwain. What?”

He stared at you. “I was- are you okay?”

“I’m sick. You remember the discussion was had yesterday?” you said. “Anyway. You needed something?”

Elwain looked you over. You hadn’t looking into a mirror, but given his expression, you probably looked terrible. He seemed to think you were five seconds from crumbling into a pile of ash, like a vampire exposed to sunlight. “Do I need to call 911?” he asked.

“Uh, no. It’s a cold. I don’t need an ambulance. I need to sleep for a while. Why are you knocking on my door?” you asked. Elwain’s mouth moved wordlessly. Whatever he had wanted to talk to you about, it seemed to have been completely derailed.

“I… er.” Elwain’s gaze flicked over you again. “Well. I wanted to see how you were doing. You went to bed right after you got home last night and I never saw you again. And you seem to be doing… poorly.”

“Yeah. I’m not doing great. I really just want to go back to bed.” You rubbed your hand over your head. “I feel like shit.”

Elwain hesitated. “Do you need me to do something?”

“Just go about your day. I’ll try to keep my gross self out of your way.” You slouched across your room to your bed. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to try to get a little more sleep.”

Elwain lingered in the doorway for a few moments longer. Finally, he turned and headed into the kitchen. The door remained open behind him, and you couldn’t be bothered to get up and close it again. Instead, you buried your head in your pillow. Sleep claimed you again within moments.

Less than an hour later, your alarm went off again. You slapped at it balefully until it shut off. Somehow, it felt like you gotten negative sleep, like sleeping had made you even more tired. Slowly, painfully, you pushed yourself upright. Shivers wracked your frame. How had sleep made everything worse?

You threw on the first clothes that you could get your hands on and shuffled into the kitchen. Elwain looked up from his breakfast. His mouth opened slightly. “Good lord. Maybe you have been cursed.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “I don’t look that bad.” You did, but you’d slathered enough makeup on your face to cover most of it. Then again, maybe that wasn’t enough to hide from Fae eyes.

“You look like a walking corpse,” Elwain said. You collapsed in the seat next to him and coughed into your fist. The force of the motion made your head throb. Elwain curled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace. “Are you certain you don’t need me to call 911?”

“No. It’s a cold. I’m-” You dissolved into a fit of coughing so severe it was difficult to catch your breath. Elwain stared at you, eyes wide. “I’m fine,” you croaked.

Elwain narrowed his eyes, but returned to his phone. You didn’t know where he’d gotten it from, because he certainly hadn’t purchased it, but you’d decided you weren’t going to ask. You ate slowly, mostly because your stomach felt tender, and you couldn’t finish even half of your normal portion. After a while of picking at your food, you dumped your dishes in the sink and started gathering your items to head out.

“Where are you going?” You startled. Elwain had appeared at your shoulder, completely silent. You might have chalked up not noticing him to your cold-dulled senses, but he could sneak up on you no matter how well you were feeling.

“Work,” you said.

Elwain looked back down at his phone. “You are not supposed to leave the house if you’re sick.”

“It’s a cold. I’ll be fine,” you said.

Elwain kept looking at his phone. “If you are sick, you are supposed to stay home, both so you can avoid infecting others and so you can recover.”

“Are you reading that off a website? Where are you reading that from?” You tried to grab his phone, but he gracefully slipped out of your reach.

“I searched about human illnesses on the internet,” he said. “Your symptoms are consistent with the common cold, but they are also consistent with pneumonia. It says you should sleep and drink water until you are recovered.”

“Look,” you said. “I’m fine. It’s a cold. I’ve had them before. I will have them after this one. I know how to handle them. I’ll pop some cold medicine and I’ll be fine.” Elwain stared at you. His expression was hard to read. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll live.” You sniffed and blotted at your face with a tissue. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll see you later.”

You swept out the door, giving Elwain a wave. He stared after you, not moving until you slammed the door shut.

It was a long, slow, awful day. You could barely keep your head together. By the time you got home, your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and your mind was swimming.

You dragged yourself through the door. Your body felt like you were wrapped in a massive, thick blanket. Everything was warm and it was hard to move, like everything was stiff.

Elwain stared at you as you pulled yourself into the kitchen. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. “’m fine.” You slouched over the counter and leaned against it. Elwain stood, stepping closer to you. “I’m good. I… I’m good. Just… Tired. Tired. Need to nap.”

“Perhaps you should nap in your room,” Elwain said. “Not on the counter.”

“I’m fine here.” Your words were getting mushy. Why weren’t your lips moving correctly? “I’m good. I just, um. Need. Something…”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Here, hold onto me. I’ll-” Elwian’s hands were on your waist, on your back. You felt boneless, mushy. Your limbs weren’t moving the way you wanted them to. The only thing you could feel were Elwain’s hands supporting you. Was he carrying you? Maybe. You felt like you were floating. Your head was disconnected from your body, floating. Someone was speaking to you from far away, a soothing voice. It was so soothing. Maybe you could just sleep for a bit. Just sleep. It would be nice to just sleep.

Dimly, you came back to yourself. You blinked your eyes open. The ceiling was unfamiliar, at least as ceilings went. Not that you were familiar with many ceilings, really. Looking down at yourself revealed why the ceiling was so unfamiliar. The bed was covered in heavy, dark blue sheets. Elwain’s sheets. You were in his bed.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright. You still felt bad, but less bad than you had been feeling. A raking cough escaped your chest, thick with phlegm.

“You’re up!” Elwain appeared in the doorway. He looked… frazzled? You weren’t sure the Fae could look as frazzled and unkempt as a human could, but he didn’t look as ethereally beautiful as he usually did. He looked sort of ruffled. “I was considering dragging you to the hospital, but the internet said that maybe ginger tea would actually be better, so I got you some of that.” He indicated the cup in his hands.

“You have got to stop getting all your information from the internet. Or at least I need to give you a media literacy course on identifying good sources,” you croaked. Your voice sounded bad, but it no longer hurt to speak. It just felt uncomfortable.

Elwain gave you a bewildered look and held the cup out toward you. “Drink it.” You took it obligingly and took a sip. Elwain must have dumped half a bottle of honey in it, because it was so sweet you almost couldn’t taste the ginger. You swallowed it carefully.

“Thank you,” you said when you’d finished the cup. “What, uh. What exactly happened to me?”

Elwain sat on the end of your bed. He was wearing his old cloak, the one he’d taken with him when he’d fled from Faerie. He tucked it tighter around him, fingers fidgeting at the hem. “I was hoping you could inform me of that, actually. I was quite frightened when you collapsed like that.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. Vaguely, you remembered passing out. “How long was I out?”

Elwain glanced at the clock. “Mn. Less than an hour? You were in and out for the first ten minutes, mumbling a lot.” You had vague memories of Elwain leaning over you, expression panicked. Must have been from then. “Once I got you into bed, you fell asleep. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not.”

“It is,” you said. “Probably a good idea to let me sleep. Though if I ever do collapse again, please call 911.” You considered. “Well, I guess don’t call 911 unless I’m actually dying. I can’t afford the ambulance.”

Elwain nodded, even though he looked politely confused. “Is your illness getting worse?”

“Maybe,” you said. “It’s hard to tell. I think I have a fever now, so that sucks.”

With absolutely no warning, Elwain leaned forward. His face was abruptly so close to yours, close enough to feel his cool breath tickling your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck lifted. Suddenly the only thoughts in your head had to do with his lips pressing to yours, his cool mouth meandering along your skin-

His forehead touched yours. His eyes closed, a little furrow appearing in his brow. “You’re warm,” he said. “Very warm.” He sat back.

You blinked. “Uh. You can do that with your hand, you know.”

“Oh? I saw the forehead one on the internet,” Elwain said, but he reached up and cradled your face in his hands. With a soft, delicate touch, the back of his hand brushed against your forehead and down your cheek. The touch made something in your chest tighten and your breath catch. “You still feel warm.”

You moved your mouth, trying to get your brain back in gear. “Uh, yeah. Fever! That’s, uh. Bad. I need, um. You remember that pill bottle in the bathroom I showed you? The one with the little red pills?” Elwain nodded. “Get those and a glass of water. They’ll bring the fever down.”

Elwain vanished for a moment and returned with a tall glass water and the bottle of pills. He watched as you downed them and sank back into bed. His sheets were softer than yours, his bed even more luxuriously plush. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the sheets from, or if maybe they were the sheets you’d bought him, just augmented with magic. “Why did you put me in your bed, anyway?” you asked. “My bed’s not that much further away.”

“I wanted to keep an eye on you,” Elwain said. “And you do not like me coming in your room.”

“I don’t like you just walking into my room whenever you feel like it, but you can come into my room,” you said. But you were pretty glad he’d put you in his bed. Everything in his room smelled faintly floral and herbal, a smell that relaxed you. Everything was cozy.

“I am not familiar with how to deal with sick mortals,” Elwain said. “Do you need anything else?”

“No. I just need to rest.” You paused, looking toward the window. “I should probably head back to my own room, actually. You’ll probably want to sleep here tonight, right?”

Elwain shook his head. “Stay. You need to rest. I will sleep elsewhere.” He swept out of the room, cloak fluttering behind him. You stared after him for a moment before sinking back into bed. Despite just waking up, your head was already muddy again. Maybe Elwain had gotten you the pills with the sleeping medicine in them. Your eyes closed. Within moments, you were drifting away, fast asleep.

You dreamed of strange things, of hands on your face, cupping your cheek, of soft lips pressed to your neck, of kind eyes and strong arms carrying you around. When you opened your eyes to see the same kind eyes staring down at you, you were half-convinced you were still dreaming.

“Hello,” Elwain said. “You have been asleep for a while.”

You blinked. Your body did have that foggy heaviness that came when you’d been sleeping deeply. Even your discomfort from the illness seemed far away and dim. “Elwain.”

“Yes. I’m right here.” He said it more gently than a simple statement of fact, almost like a reassurance.

“How long was I out?” There was bright sunlight streaming in through the window and across the bed. You lifted a hand to clumsily shield your eyes.

“Over twelve hours. I thought you should probably sleep. That’s what the internet said.”

“Oh, man, we are going to need to get you some better resources than just ‘the internet,’” you said. “But you were right. Thanks for letting me sleep.” Slowly, you shoved yourself up into a sitting position. “What’s that?”

Elwain held a bowl out to you. “I was told that soup was good for mortal illnesses.”

You took the bowl of vegetable broth. Elwain’s cooking was usually pretty hit or miss- he could follow recipes just fine, but he also had a habit of deciding that he had a better idea than the recipe and going completely off the rails. The soup just seemed to be broth, though. You took a cautious sip. It was watery, but tolerable.

“Are you feeling better?” Elwain asked. You nodded, glancing over at the clock.

“It’s past nine,” you noticed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I called in sick. I wanted to stay home to make sure you were all right.” Elwain looked completely serious.

“It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”

Elwain’s eyes narrowed. “You collapsed.”

“Well, yeah, but…” You trailed off. There wasn’t much you could say in response to that. “Fine. But if you get fired for this, I’m going to be pissed.”

“I will not be fired. My boss loves me.” Elwain gave a superior little sniff, nose stuck up in the air. You laughed into your bowl of broth.

When you were finished, Elwain took your bowl back into the kitchen, returning only a few moments later. “Do you need anything else?”

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “You really didn’t have to stay home to take care of me. There’s not going to be a lot to do. I think I’m mostly going to sleep.”

“Regardless. I think it is better to be safe.” Elwain looked at you from the doorway for a moment longer. “I need you.”

He left the doorway. You could hear his footsteps retreating into your apartment, perfectly steady, like what he said hadn’t made your chest tighten intensely. You sank back into his bed. His scent wreathed around you, gentle and reassuring. Oh, god. Warm feelings were fluttering up in your stomach, swelling through chest and trembling in your lungs. Worse than that, they felt familiar. How long had these feelings been lingering in the background of your mind? And now they had surfaced and you didn’t know what to do with them. Naturally, you would have some kind of emotional crisis when you were sick.

You faded in and out of dreams where Elwain’s scent wreathed around you and his gentle hands stroked your forehead and cheeks. You woke up feeling oddly melancholy.

The sounds of the TV drifted through the open door. Shaking some feeling back into your heavy limbs, you hauled a blanket over your shoulders and headed into the living room.

Elwain was draped over the couch, staring at the TV. There was some soap opera on with a woman and a man hysterically throwing themselves at each other. Elwain looked up as you padded into the room. “Is it okay for you to be out of bed?” he asked.

“Yeah. I feel better, actually.” The sleep had helped quite a bit. You still felt foggy, but the pain in your head and chest had faded. Elwain sat up, drawing his limbs in closer to himself so you could sit next to him.

“You look less… corpse-like,” he said. Before you realized what he was doing, he took hold of your face in both hands and pulled you closer to him. “You are still warm.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m getting better.” You reached up and carefully pried his fingers off your face. You were overly aware of how your fingers lingered together. “How’s your day off going?”

“Human TV is still strange,” Elwain said, turning back toward the screen. “I can’t imagine any humans really behave like this. I have never seen it.”

“No, it’s a soap opera. It’s supposed to be deliberately over-the-top and crazy. That’s why they’re fun to watch.” Elwain rolled his eyes, but there was amusement in his expression.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” he asked.

“No, this is fine.” You settled into the soft cushions, staring at the TV. As much as you were looking in the direction of the TV, most of your attention was focused on Elwain. His gaze kept flicking toward you, as if he was unable to focus on the show either. After a moment, he reached out toward you.

One of his hands settled on your head, the other on your shoulder. Before you realized what had happened, he pushed you so your head was resting in his lap. You stared up at him as he, apparently unconcerned, started weaving his fingers through your hair.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You did this for me when I first came here,” Elwain said. “It was soothing. I thought you might like it as well.” He paused. “Was I incorrect?”

You considered for a moment. His fingers were still carding through your hair, twining strands around his fingers. “No. I don’t mind.”

Elwain continued to stroke your hair. His nails scratched lightly at your scalp. The feeling of being touched made something tremulous swell in your chest. It was a pleasant feeling, but one so sharp and overwhelming that it almost made you cry.

You lay with Elwain for a while, his hands absently playing with your hair and trailing along your head and neck. He seemed to be paying far more attention to you than to the TV. “You should take better care of yourself,” he said, stroking your bangs back from your forehead. “If you were to die, I would be alone in the mortal world.”

“You’d manage,” you said.

“Perhaps.” Elwain removed his hands from your hair and hesitated for a moment. He seemed to be struggling to speak. Then he sighed. “But I would prefer it if you were with me.”

You looked up at him. He was staring deliberately to one side. There was a faint pinkish color to his cheeks and his eyes were narrowed. “You could have left, once our deal was up. I only asked you to stay with me for the night. And yet, you helped me. There was no reason to. I no longer have my connections or any particular Faerie skills. Even the few powers that remain with me, you don’t like me using. You have gained nothing from this deal and you help me regardless.”

“Of course, I did.” Thinking about that night only brought one image to your mind. Elwain, who had nearly been killed by his own parents, looking lost and confused and abandoned. He had been cocky before, but in that moment, he had just looked forlorn and upset. He had just looked scared. “I wasn’t going to just leave you on your own.”

“You could have,” Elwain pressed on. “Easily, you could have. You could have justified it, even by mortal morals. There’s not a lot here that could kill me. As you have pointed out, I would be fairly fine on my own. But you stayed with me regardless, for no other reason than just helping me.”

“You’d just almost been assassinated. I couldn’t leave you,” you said.

“You could have. But you didn’t. And, at least so far, you have asked for nothing from me in return. To be quite honest, you’ve been almost annoying with how little you allow me to do.”

“I try,” you said. Elwain snorted. It was an inelegant noise, but somehow also incredibly attractive. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to explain to you that I care about you. I want you to be well and safe and healthy because you saved me and you didn’t have to and I appreciate it.” Elwain’s cheeks flamed red. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You reached up slowly and let your hand cradle the side of his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing. “It’s strange. I’m not used to this,” he said. “My parents loved me as far as they could use me. It’s how Faeries are. But you have used me for nothing, gained precious little advantage from having a Faerie living with you. And I wasn’t used to it. I still think I’m not used to it. But I am so… so… happy. For this. For you.” He blinked his eyes open. They were hazy with emotion. “Thank you.”

It was an impulse maybe you could have resisted if you were feeling better, but you were overwhelmed with feeling and not in the mood to fight with yourself. The hand on his cheek shifted position toward the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of you. His mouth pressed into yours, tense and unyielding, then softening as he realized what was happening.

There was a moment of fumbling, while Elwain registered that you were kissing. You broke away from his mouth, but he was pressing into you again, pulling you close to him and meeting your lips over and over with his own. His tongue brushed your lower lip and his moan sounded against your mouth.

You weren’t aware of how it happened, but suddenly you were lying back on the couch with Elwain on top of you. He was kissing you furiously, his hips flush to yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him as close to you as you could get.

One of your gasping breaths caught in your chest, triggering a coughing fit. You rolled over, trying not to cough right into Elwain’s face. He sat back. His lips were already slightly kiss-swollen and he looked a bit rumpled. “Right,” he said, trying to finger-comb his hair back into a presentable state. “You’re still not feeling well.”

“Hold on. Give me a minute, we can keep going,” you said between coughs. Elwain pressed his lips together, but they were twitching toward a smile.

“You are admirably determined, but I think it would be better for you to rest,” he said. There was a pause. Elwain tugged on a few of the longer strands of his hair. “I take that to mean you feel the same way?”

“That I like you? Yeah.” You pulled him down so he was laying across your chest. He looked at you, eyes surprisingly wide and innocent. “When I first met you, I thought you were kind of an asshole. And you are kind of an asshole. But you’re also charming and endearing and you try to follow my rules even when you totally don’t have to. And you’re willing to take care of me when I’m sick.”

“You took care of me when I had lost everything,” Elwain said. “I only wished to return the favor.” His fingers wandered over your stomach, tracing absent patterns on your shirt. You could feel his warmth against your skin. “Usually, that’s how it works, with Faeries. Favors are given because giving means you can get something in return, and you’re always trying to leverage the deal to get more than what you’re giving.” He closed his eyes for a moment, brows furrowing. “But when I saw you were sick, I wasn’t thinking that I needed to pay you back. I was only thinking that I wanted to help you.”

You stroked your fingers through his hair. “That’s what love is.”

“Mortal love,” he sighed. “I always thought it was flimsy and weak and short-lived.” His eyes opened again and he nestled into you. “It’s much stronger than I thought. So much more than I believed. It almost hurts, but it’s a good hurt.”

You started coughing again. Elwain swung himself up and gathered you into his arms. “I’ll take you back to bed,” he said. “You need to get better. I want to continue this.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. His heartbeat thudded against you, slow and steady. The feeling of him holding you swelled and ached inside you, a pleasant ache. You clung to him as he eased you into bed and settled in next to you. Your illness was all but forgotten. Everything was soft and pleasant under a heady wave of love.

#exophilia #fae #faerie #fae boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lover #Fae lover

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smalltragedy · 3 years

Text

* ryan destiny, cis woman + she/her | you know kira blake, right? they’re twenty four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ever? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to babooshka by kate bush like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole lazily stretched out in a ray of light, daisy shaped irises and daisy chain braids, performing an intricate dance to move the ocean's waves thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is october 31st, so they’re a scorpio, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hllo ive hd kira in my head fr a bit bt i also know ntohing abt her! this is me winging it even though i hv no right to <3 this is my third character maybe whose birthday is in honor of ella n coincidentally 2/3 of them r in this rp. yea im messy smirks sexily.

DEATH, GRIEF, DRUGS TW

mini playlist.

wuthering heights ;; kate bush / babooskha ;; kate bush / dreams ;; fleetwood mac / california dreamin’ ;; the mamas & the papas / lavender moon ;; haroula rose / time of the season ;; the zombies / after the storm ;; kali uchis / left hand free ;; alt-j / always forever ;; cults / wait a minute! ;; willow / your dog ;; soccer mommy.

statistics.

full name: kira blake

nickname(s): keely.

birthday: october 31st, 1996.

zodiac: scorpio sun, cancer moon, aquarius ascending.

mbti & temperament: esfp & catalyst / sanguine.

label: the ebullient.

sexuality: bisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

born to two original hippies which hs pretty much set up who kira is fr the rest of her life <3 the type of ppl who didnt like the boundaries of marriage n held off frm it fr as long as possible until theyd hd a spur of the moment elopement involving a celebrity impersonator at fannie’s <3 yea theyre lesbians lets go <3

nvr rly took things srsly until kira ws like 5 yrs old n then they were like ah gee ah fuck we probably shld probably settle settle. n they job hopped n worked many odd jobs until they found their footing in careers they liked n one of them probably does like. blown glass art. n the other prob fixes old computers n other ~vintage~ mementos of the past fr ppl.

they make a decent living n they live in delpinius heights n they try a few times fr another kid bt it nvr rly works out (raises an eyebrow. adopted siblings anyone?) n fr the most part kira as a child spends her time running around town and tugging on the hem of other’s shirts to ask them small favors (mostly to play a game with her)

often left unsupervised as a kid, bt not in the way tht her parents dnt care (bc her parents love her a lot a lot a lot like she is their world) bt in the way tht they simply raised her the way they were raised. running amuck all day n coming home jst in time fr dinner, front porch light always on, cat always waiting faithfully on their stoop.

pretty evident frm a young age tht kira’s mind saw things differently, in a different light - the world an array of light n mystery n sound n taste n sometimes those collided n created new experiences. prob hs some form of synsthesia bt dnt ask me which one yet. she’s a painting prodigy with an excellent understanding of color theory.

always ws known as a kind of like. rambunctious kid. a well meaning class clown who cld nt keep her mouth shut fr the life of her. grew up constantly with a yellow card beneath her name in school bt ws always well liked by her teachers n classmates alike.

jst a very bright child who did well naturally bt always ws turned more towards art.

feel like her parents very noticeably turned a cheek when she started smoking weed w the cool older kids when she ws 13. the type of person who wnts 2 b liked so bad she’d jump over a hurdle fr it. hs jumped over many hurdles n many fences n many other obstacles to be liked bt does it without breaking a sweat.

(edit: nw tht i think abt it hwevr i dnt think she does tht anymore i think while a bit of a mess atm she. likes herself. n doesnt rly want or need the approval of others anymore she jst does her own little thing. bt when she ws younger? she jst wnted 2 b friends w the entire world.)

nothing bad rly happened fr like. a good bit of her life. got into psychedelics at some point in high school n tht only heightened her artistic abilities. most of her high school art portfolio ws probably done while high bt <3 does it matter.

hd a high school sweetheart n they were pretty serious like. full on in love. a total believer of soulmates kira ws jst like. this is the one. there is nobody else i cn imagine my life with.

death tw

death tw.

death n grief tw // yea. sometime during their freshmen year of college. car incident. kira ws nvr the same though she’d like to pretend tht nothing’d ever happened. like theyd nvr existed. like she didnt plan out their entire lives together hiking thru hills n valleys n boating across various bodies of water n traveling together until they were old n wrinkly. end of death tw //

cld nt explain 2 u why kira hd bought a van n completely demolished it only to drain all of her savings remodeling it bt nw she lives in it by the beach. hd dreams of travelling the world bt cannot go long distances in a car without feeling sick. sees planes n feels envy. stopped painting fr a long time bt she’s started back up recently. took on surfing. told her parents tht it ws fine n tht she ws fine n theyre concerned bt shes always by the beach, her van rarely leaves. she’s trying her best bt its only been a few yrs n i think ppl cn sense tht shes jst nt the same cheerful girl as they once knew. end of grief tw //

anyways. tugs on my collar. tht’s kira! she lives on the beach n surfs everyday n is obsessed with daisies n is prob growing her own shrooms somewhere.

personality & facts.

always been very emotional n a little dramatic. nt a drama queen bt is a little messy n does not hv like. many rational thoughts up in there. very cup full or cup empty.

regardless though she hs an. overall reputation fr jst being. enjoyable to be around. her her little moments bt shes also pretty like. laidback. in a way. KDSHFSDLKHGHFLKSD

prob bc she smokes a lot or is often <3 on a trip if u know wht i mean <3

god. got obsessed with the 60s n 70s aesthetic at some point n hs not gone back evr. big fan of psychedelic rock. is a prodigy painter bt her life dream outside of traveling ws always to own her own record label. hs nt happened yet, maybe will never happen? works at a record shop though n does hide the good vinyls tht she wants away frm the customers.

very cheerful n usually uplifting n she doesnt like to b negative around others bt smtms she cnt control it n smtms thinks tht ppl r out 2 get her jst out of. anxiety. hs long bouts where she’ll sit in a still sort of sadness n then shake out of it n hop back into conversation like nothing’s happened bt. its fine we’re fine kira is fine.

shes not gullible or naive bt wants to believe tht everybody hs a heart of gold even if its false. keeps giving ppl second chances bc she hs a savior complex n thinks she cn change ppl.

is very into zodiac n will judge u by ur chart. knows everybody in town’s natal chart. even newcomers. it’s a little scary hw quick she finds this information bt its very important to her.

kind of like. into spirituality bt i wont lie its very surface level n a little superficial. learning tarot cards bt cannot fr the life of her memorize the meanings so smtms she jst makes up things on the spot. hs so many crystals she will not stop buying them.

i think a part of her is desperately trying to cling onto tht like. think positive. self care. msg thts super prevalent online without addressing or actually helping any of her problems. it is her flaw </3

hates to admit when she needs help. wld rather do everything herself.

head is a little in the clouds n her parents r a little concerned fr her bc shes nt rly doing much rn bt like. she jst needs time i think. shes jst doing her little thing.

does not give up on ppl easily she absolutely hates dropping ppl frm her life even if she grows 2 resent them over time which is bad bc she is bad at hiding when she is upset at someone or when she doesnt like someone.

like shes jst passive aggressive abt it n does not properly communicate <3

bt this is rare i think ... negative feelings abt other ppl

self centered bt not selfish if tht makes sense. she will do things fr others without a problem n sometimes trips over herself 2 do it bt at the end of the day i think she cares abt herself the most.

hs only been in love once bt hs hd many infatuations n many like. admirations n very surface level feelings. her body is a temple n she loves 2 b worshipped.

prob does fkn. beach yoga. probably vegan bt also maybe breaks tht every once in a while. almost noncommittal its hard 2 distinguish between her being carefree, not taking care of herself, or jst hving commitment issues? flaky or not? who knows.

feels jst a bit too strongly bt tries to contain it. jst full of multitudes or smth. idk. icon <3

like. cares bt doesnt care. does thinks tht r purposely self destructive n then acts like shes like. cool girl monologue frm gone girl. bt does it while being like peace n luv on earth x

ok thts all i hv goodbye

wanted plots.

a pseudonym 2 fool ‘em... ;; jst hd this idea pop up bt i like the idea of kira going undercover 2 expose cheaters. whether she does this on her own accord or is personally requested by smbdy is up in the air. a plottable point. she h8s cheaters n is chaotic good she prob thinks shes the relationship vigilante testing the strengths of other’s relationships. once again she cld b. specifically going undercover fr smbdy 2 help them out. im sure she wldnt go 2 very. extensive srs measures like actually. sleeping w the assumed-cheaters bt once again. world is our oyster n i lov drama?

crystal visions ... ;; once again. shes super into crystals n astrology n she will base sm of her opinions of others on it. this is nt just abt her being judgmental of others bt also jst. catching her running around in the rain trying sooo hard 2 fkn. charge her crystals in the rainwater bc she forgot 2 charge them under the full moon the night b4. this is her giving wrong tarot readings. she hs no idea wht shes doing at any given time bt acts like she does know. acts like she knows the entire world. she gives crystals as gifts n will do ur natal chart for u bt will also pack her things n leave if ur a capricorn.

time of the season... ;; i dnt knw admittedly. this song’s abt being horny so perhaps? perhaps. kira isnt rly able to keep a grasp on long term relationships rn due to. factors in her life so she hops frm person 2 person often. smtms jst flings smtms its jst a relationship accidentally led on. shes noncommittal n a little flaky atm when she’s usually ride or die fr others. perhaps this is all in the name of some good fun! world? oyster.

literally anything .dsfskhdkgs ;; god. shes so new i jst dnt know. childhood friends. current friends. friends shes hd frever. enemies n ex lovers n ppl shes constantly pushing away or scorned lovers or both or anything?? she pushed them out of the roller rink to make more room fr herself or maybe they did tht to her. perhaps theyre both constantly pursuing some sort of fkn. meaning in their lives tht they cnt quite grasp. mayb they go on an acid trip together. who knows.

#irvingintro #death tw #grief tw #car accident mention tw #drugs tw #specifically weed n psychedelics i think

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celestialholz · 5 years

Note

Qcard 222? Pleeeeeeeeeease? :D

Happy to oblige, dear anon - thank you for the prompt! I apologise for this taking me a little bit - I’m trying to organise moving house, which is an absolute ordeal!

Welcome to 1600 words of feels for your patience, my friend, and the deliberate misdirection of what you’d probably expect from this prompt. I thoroughly enjoyed creating this, and hope you love reading it just as much! =)

22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Prompt list here: http://celestialwarzone.tumblr.com/post/179662102941/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you

It was blissfully quiet in Picard’s quarters; soft breath was all thatcut through the air, the sleeping Captain’s mind at utter ease. By his side, Q’slips curled into a silent smile; it was majestic to watch this ineffable humanat peace, his diplomacy, quick wit and brilliant intelligence switched off byhis own biology. Jean-Luc Picard soared above his species, courageous enough tobegin affairs with gods, stubborn enough to keep such matters private from hiscrew, and far too delightful to watch in their afterglow.

He wasn’t welcome after hours, he knew – “I wouldn’t want you to getthe wrong impression, Q,” he’d murmured several weeks earlier, everthe diplomat. Too late, dearest, Q had acknowledged, onlyslightly bitter – the man was far too enthralling to ever be truly irritatedby, and he was vastly too enamoured to maintain the illusion of being so. Itwas an arrangement of convenience, a way in which to satiate the entity’sconstant desire to play god upon his vessel. It didn’t mean anything – well,not to one of them, at least.

Made something ofa rod for your own back there, didn’t you? His subconsciousdrawled. A billion lifetimes of cosmic awareness, and you still thought thatengaging in intercourse with a transient mortal you’re in love with was amagnificent idea. And you mock theirstupidity.

Q sighed wearily, in desperate need of a distraction from his personalself-deprecation; quietly, he slipped into the dreams of his lover, knowingthat whilst it was invasive, Jean-Luc would hold no great qualms with the act.

Picard was relaxed, sun beating down upon his handsome features from aworn sun lounger that perched upon the hill above his family’s vineyard. Qglanced down at him in fond amusement, vexed.

“Honestly, Johnny – who dreams of being asleep?”

The Frenchman’s eyes wrenched open within his own mind, startled.

“Q?” He demanded in bewilderment. “What on earth – is thistelepathy? Am I still asleep? What are you doing here?!”

“Yes, yes, being intrigued,” the deity replied softly, smirking. “Doyou want me to leave?”

The ‘get out’ lingered on Picard’s tongue for a long moment,before he gave a sigh of relent.

“As long as you don’t intend to be irritating, and I get the requiredrest, then no.” He shoved his spine into the back of the lounger, calming. Hismind hummed with disapproval, accepting nevertheless, and Q basked in itstangible glow; the sun held real warmth in the mysticism of the mental space,the experience as true to its beholder as the actual world would have been.

“I shall be a paragon of virtue, my dear,” the entity assured himmildly, conjuring a recliner of his own and easing into it.

“First time for everything,” Picard drawled, unconvinced.

Q gave a silent grin, summoning a frosted glass of iced tea to sip;they basked in silence for a little while, simply enjoying the ambience of aFrench summer, the god fully absorbed in the tantalising, indistinct psyche ofhis companion. It was a marvel, the resonant peace he’d managed to acquire justbeing beside him – any real period of inactivity had always had Q itching todiscover something new, to create havoc, yet he was entirely content to existquietly beside this enigma of a human.

Missionaccomplished, he noted miserably. Sleeping with me haseradicated my desire to entertain your precious crew.

“You hated this place,” he murmured, more to hush his damning owndamning assessment. “Why would you return to it in dreams, when the universe isyour oyster? You are as omnipotent as I am, here.”

Picard’s lips pursed pensively, smile fading as quickly as it hadarisen.

“Saudade,” he murmured. “Something lost, which can never bereclaimed – in this instance, a time when things weren’t always perfect, butfar simpler.”

Oh, I remember,Q mused inwardly, only his mastery of telepathy keeping his thoughts personalin his lover’s domain. I only wish I’d recall well enough to abandon you –but, then, I never was one for self-preservation. Too dramatic, you see.

“Mm,” he muttered noncommittally, simply to fill the void.

Picard rose a surprised brow at the lack of quirky reply, gauging thesituation for a moment.

“I doubt my need for relaxation this evening stems from anything that Ishould be overly concerned about.”

“No?” Q summoned a cushion for the back of his head, placing it in afluid movement as he tried to appear as though he didn’t hang permanently offthe man’s every word.

“I think not. I’m sure the individual that I have appealed to is on thesame page as I am.”

Q turned onto his side to stare, following the line of cryptic thoughtwith equal vagueness.

“Well, hopefully. I could check, if you like? It would hardly be beyondme.”

“No, no, it will be quite alright, I’m certain.” Picard’s gaze returnedto the ambling vineyards. “I just don’t understand, you see, becausethey knew the whole time. I was never anything other than upfront.”

Something very similar to foreboding crept up Q’s spine.

“Perhaps they do know,” he murmured, “though, of course, knowing doesn’tmake something personally applicable.”

“Doesn’t agreement?”

“Potentially. That rather depends on who we’re discussing, doesn’t it?”

Picard’s eyes wrenched back to his, their irritation clear.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, when you think I don’t notice.” Hiswords were little more than a whisper, though they held the sharpness ofmidwinter. “Like I’m comprised of, of… stardust, of the finest jewels… asthough I’m something – wonderful.”

Q gave a bark of a bitter chuckle, gaze taut, his tea cast aside with aswipe of his hand.

“You mortals are so obtuse,” he murmured, deliberately glancing away,the vines before him blurring just slightly. “You spend so much of your livesdealing with the physical, the tangible to your limited senses, that you forgethow much more there is, that there are things far beyond your comprehension.You’re human, Jean-Luc – oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, calcium, a handfulmore; seventy percent water, five foot nine, French… really quite dull, by yourpeople’s standards, though highly intelligent, and rather handsome to boot. Youlive an average life, on an average vessel, in a largely uninteresting timeperiod – by rights, you shouldn’t fascinate anyone, much less a god.”

He conjured a holographic star system, a miniature Captain floating atits heart, a bright smile gracing his lips. The real thing watched, entranced,unwilling to give away a damned thing.

“But we’re all more than the sum of our parts, aren’t we dear?” His ownsmile was tired as he regarded the hologram. “You’re brilliantly clever, morethan willing to stand up someone so beyond your capacity it’s laughable… yourise above the morons you exist beside. A diplomat, a man of honour, wisdom,passion… you are wonderful. You match me word-for-word, never bore me, alwaysprove a challenge – and you care, on whatever level it may be. You askme how my day’s been when I don’t even have a concept of linear time, how theContinuum’s doing. No one does that, you know. I’m acquainted with billions,Jean-Luc, and none of them mean a damned thing in comparison. Innumerate stars,planets, phenomena, people, timescales, and it all reduces to you.”

The tiny cosmos retracted to nothingness in Q’s palm, leaving the simulatedCaptain alone, still regarding his magician as though he was the world. Picardstared, breathless, his relaxing dream quite forgotten.

“My point is, you’re the tiniest pinprick of existence – you aren’t anewly formed sun, an unexplored M-class system, the first inklings of a highlyadvanced race upon an untouched world… physically, you’re worthless.”

He smiled morosely, trembling fingers causing his illusion to flicker;his eyes finally deigned to meet his lover’s, burning with emotion.

“But by the Continuum, and all we are, you are the universe tome.”

Picard choked back tears, visibly compromised.

“I…” He swallowed quietly, struggling to regain his usually impeccablecomposure. “This was never meant to – I told you – ”

“Oh, I know.” Q shook his head just slightly, the lament clear. “If ithelps, it isn’t your fault, Jean-Luc. You really were perfectly upfront.”

He paused, essence threatening to shatter, gaze drilling into the human’s.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Picard murmured immediately, understanding that the offer wasn’tunique to his dream, “but I need… time, Q. Perhaps the concept of the cosmoshasn’t only narrowed for you, my friend.”

A thrill shot through the god’s spirit, and he barely suppressed abeam, instead settling for a soft smile – gods only knew he didn’t wish toappear smug.

“Alright.” He breathed softly, delight curling through his spirit. “Igenuinely didn’t think –”

“Nor me, but apparently you’ve somehow wormed your way in,” Picardadmitted dryly, warm expression belying his caustic tone. “I’m… willing toconsider the notion, Q, but that’s all I can offer as yet. There will be rules,of course –”

“Naturally.” The sarcasm held no bite whatsoever, distant starsexhausting their chemical supply under his joy. “It is you, after all.”

Their gazes drifted to the vineyard, both comfortably silent for a longmoment even as the question itched at Q’s mind.

“So, Captain, how long do you think –?”

“Q,” Picard interrupted coolly, “shut up. I’m trying tosleep.”

He leaned back against the lounger and closed his eyes, his loverlaughing softly.

“There isn’t anyone else in this universe I’d stay quiet for, you know.”

An eyelid partly opened, its look humbled – the cynical, desperatelyhopeful part of Q could almost call it tender.

“I’m glad.”

By mutual agreement, they reached out a hand, lacing them together,grins identical as they simply basked in the ambience of rural France, and thecontentment of being united.

#qcard #prompt #mini fic #all of the feels!#q #picard

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bootz-n-catz · 6 years

Photo

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3

Title: Why’d You Come In Here (Lookin’ Like That)

Rating: M

Summary: Waverly is drowning in student debt, can’t find a good date to save her life and wants something different out of her life. When Chrissy approaches her to be on ‘The Bachelorette’, she takes it as her chance to do something adventurous, find some financial stability and maybe find love along the way. But what she didn’t realize is that the owner of the ranch they’re staying on, Nicole Haught, would be an unlikely contender for her heart.

You can read the latest chapter below or on AO3

Last time on The Bachelorette Canada!

On the first night in the mansion, Waverly sits by the pool with a handsome man. The lower third of the screen says his name is Perry and he’s an Entrepreneur. He says something that makes Waverly laugh and the scene cuts to Champ standing in the house, watching them through the window.

“Bullshit,” he says to himself, clearly inebriated. “Champ, Social Media Participant/Rodeo Star” is how the screencap describes him.

B-Train sits on the couch, legs spread and arms wide along the back of the couch. His description reads “B-Train, Hockey Enthusiast”. He nods in greeting as Perry walks back inside.

“Nice penguin suit, bro,” he says as Perry tugs at the edge of his perfectly tailored suit.

“Nice jersey,” Perry counters. B-Train wiggles his eyebrows at Perry and strokes the picture of Waverly’s face on his jersey.

“I’m not going to complain about a beautiful woman on me, especially Waverly.”

It cuts to an interview with Perry who’s shaking his head, unamused. “I thought they were supposed to find men to compete for Waverly’s heart. But all I’m seeing are boys.”

The camera cuts to an interview with Waverly, who’s blushing. “I definitely met some interesting...people today. I’m really looking forward to getting to know them better.”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth before smiling and blushing even more deeply.

***

No matter how comfortable the dress was initially, Waverly was more than ready to strip it off as soon as she got to her room that night. Chrissy followed her, helping her unzip it and hang it back up before Waverly practically ripped the mic pack off from around her torso. She set it on the nightstand before collapsing face first on the bed.

“No pj night?” Chrissy asks as she sit on the edge of the bed.

Waverly just groaned and turned her head so it wasn’t pressed into the pillow. Chrissy smiled down at her sympathetically and brushed some hair from Waverly’s face.

“I promise the first night is the hardest,” Chrissy said toeing off her heels and lounging against the pillows next to Waverly. “That first rose ceremony is always brutal.”

“I feel bad for sending all those guys home,” Waverly pouted.

Chrissy chuckled as she looked at something on her phone. “Better get used to it, honey. This is the first of many rose ceremonies.”

Waverly watched Chrissy scroll through her phone and her frown got deeper. “How come you get to have your phone?”

“Because I’m not going to have articles about me and all the other contestants floating around the internet like you are. You must remain untainted by the world.”

Another sigh fell from Waverly’s lips as she turned onto her back, eyes on the ceiling. Her mind wandered to Nicole and if she ever finished the desk. Waverly’s cheeks flushed when she thought of how Nicole smiled at her and how her dimples popped. Nicole was wearing a blue flannel like some sort of gay stereotype, but it worked for her. Something about the color brought out her eyes and highlighted her hair. She looked like she was strong. She wondered if she was hiding muscles under those long sleeves.

Waverly was shocked out of her daydream by Chrissy hitting her arm. She blinked in annoyance at her friend who was grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

“Who are you thinking about?” she asked conspiratorially. “Is it Perry? He’s dreamy. Or Champ? You spend a lot of time with him. He kinda reminds me of the guy you dated in high school.”

Waverly shrugged and looked back at the ceiling. “I was just…thinking,” she lied as she swung her legs out of bed and opened her suitcase. She made a mental note to unpack it tomorrow. Today was definitely not the day. She searched until she found her pajamas and slipped them on as she grasped her toiletries. As she walked into the bathroom, she casually mentioned, “I met the house owner today.”

“Nicole?” Chrissy said, eyes still on her phone.

“Yeah. She’s nice,” Waverly said noncommittally. She started to brush her hair out as she continued. “I helped her build a desk.”

“Is that where you disappeared to earlier? You almost gave poor Jeremy a heart attack.” Chrissy looked up, finally setting down her phone.

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Waverly said, trying to play it off. “I just needed a break.”

“A break with the sexy gay ranch owner?” Chrissy asked.

Waverly blushed. “I didn’t call her sexy.”

“I can see it all over your face,” Chrissy accused, “She’s off limits, Waves.”

“Jeez, Chrissy, I’m not-“ Waverly stopped herself, feeling her face heating up, “I just said I met her. Not that I wanted to jump her bones or anything.”

Chrissy stared at her for a moment. “Of all the handsome guys here, you have to go and get a crush on the one person that refuses to be on the show.”

“I don’t have a crush!” Waverly insisted as she put toothpaste on her toothbrush.

“If you say so,” Chrissy singsonged as she looked back down at her phone.

Waverly started brushing her teeth maybe a little too aggressively as she looked at Chrissy’s smug, knowing face in the mirror. She spit before shouting again.

“It’s not a crush!”

Chrissy just looked at her knowingly.

***

Most of the next day was lost to sleeping. Waverly figured going to sleep at six in the morning would do that to a person. But the day after that, Waverly woke up feeling refreshed. She wasn’t what she considered an early riser, not by a lot by shot. But she was up early enough to get a run in before things really started for the day. It really was the only thing she could do without a gym on the property. Plus she figured it would give her a chance to explore the property a little bit.

And yes, maybe in the back of her mind she thought she might see Nicole around. It was a ranch, after all. One that needed daily maintenance and all that. But she would leave it to a friendly smile and wave if she did.

So what if she picked out the cute sports bra that didn’t squish her too much and the cut off T-shirt that showed off her abs. It wasn’t on purpose. It was just exercise.

She did a quick stretch and started jogging, making her way to the edge of the fence. There was a slightly worn path, but she still was cautious about where she was stepping in case there were any holes. She got past the main part of the property and ended up in a pasture. She could see a barn in the far part of the land and what looked like a horse ring behind it. As she jogged closer, the summer heat weighing heavy on her, she heard some movement over behind the barn.

Subconsciously, or...maybe not so subconsciously, Waverly began jogging along the fenceline towards the barn. She wasn’t expecting Nicole to come out of a side gate of the barn on a chestnut colored horse, wearing boots, another flannel and a Stetson atop her head. Waverly felt her heart rate speed up a little but she blamed it on her body finally catching up with her exercise.

Nicole kicked the horse into a trot away from the barn and effectively away from Waverly. She felt sweat prickling along her hairline as she watched the way Nicole seemed to almost move with the horse, the rising sun highlighting her red locks.

Waverly sighed as Nicole stood in the saddle so Waverly could see how her jeans hugged her just right. Unfortunately in that moment she also stepped into a hole and her ankle twisted at a weird angle.

“Ow! Shit- Fudgenuggets!” Waverly yelled as she tripped forward and landed in the dirt. She groaned, cheeks a bright red as she turned over on her back, her ankle throbbing. Really, truly, she hoped Nicole hadn’t heard her yelling or worse, seen her fall into the dirt. She hoped that the tall weeds hid her from view. “Please please please have missed that,” she whispered to herself.

Of course, that was when she heard Nicole clicking to the horse and the sound of hoofbeats getting closer. Waverly kept her eyes shut as if it would help her disappear. But when a shadow moved over her face, she knew she was caught.

She peeked one eye open just as Nicole swung herself off the horse and landed on the ground next to her.

“Are you okay?” Nicole asked kneeling down next to Waverly, her brow wrinkled in concern. Waverly tried to wave Nicole off with a small chuckle.

“Oh yeah I just...got tired,” she said with a shrug, ankle throbbing, “Just needed a little break.”

Waverly watched as Nicole actively tried to keep a smile off of her face with barely any success.

“So...that wasn’t you that yelled ‘fudge nuts’?”

“Fudgenuggets, actually.”

“My mistake, fudgenuggets.”

“No, that wasn’t me,” Waverly said drumming her fingers on her stomach.

Nicole nodded slowly before sighing and offering her hand. “Waverly, can I please help you off the ground?”

“I’m fine,” Waverly insisted. She would much rather stay down in the dirt before admitting she had tripped in a hole and gone crashing to the ground while staring at Nicole riding a horse.

Nicole raised an eyebrow, hand still out. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“Okay,” Nicole said standing up and slapping her hands on her thighs, “well I guess I should tell you that there’s a serious ant problem around here right now-“

Waverly practically jumped off the ground with a small scream, wiping invisible ants off of the back of her pants. Her ankle smarted and she hissed in pain, trying to hobble on one foot. Nicole immediately grabbed her arm and Waverly leaned part of her weight on her, noticing with a rush of heat to her face that Nicole still smelled good. Like vanilla dipped donuts and...hay.

“So not just resting?” Nicole asked softly, moving her arm to loop around Waverly’s waist. She was hyper aware of the warm hand above her hip and it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

“Not just resting,” Waverly admitted.

“Are you okay?” Nicole asked, “Let me help you back to the house.”

“No, it’s fine,” Waverly said, “I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

Nicole smiled widely, dimples practically blinding Waverly. “Why are you embarrassed? If I could tell you the number of times I’ve tripped in these darn gopher holes we’d be here all day.”

Waverly chuckled and leaned a little more into Nicole without thinking. “I mean...if you wouldn’t mind,” she sighed, “my ankle hurts like a bitch.”

“You got it,” Nicole said leading her closer to the horse. “I’ll give you a ride back.”

“Um,” Waverly stopped suddenly, “A ride?”

“Yeah,” Nicole said matter-of-factly.

Waverly just stared at Nicole wide eyed. “On that?”

Whiskey snorted, shaking her mane out, and Nicole patted her neck with her free hand. “Ssh, girl, she didn’t mean it,” Nicole said to the horse before turning back to Waverly. “Don’t worry, ol’ Whiskey here is a sweetheart. Plus I thought you were a cowgirl according to all those ads and articles.”

Waverly smiled guiltily. “I um...you know. Television.”

Nicole just nodded and tilted her head to the horse. “So...no ride?”

Waverly felt her resolve crack and she shrugged. “No, I’ll um...yeah. Sure.”

“Are you sure?” Nicole asked, “I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

“No no, I’m fine. Just-...took me off guard. You know,” Waverly said, trying to play it off as she looked up at the horse. “I’ll just um...get on up.”

Waverly grabbed the edge of the saddle and slotted her injured foot into the saddle.

“Wait-“

She swung herself up onto the top of the horse, one thing she still remembered from her pre-teen days when she wanted to ride horses. A sharp pain went through her ankle at the pressure and she winced. Whiskey stepped to the side and Waverly let out a small squeak, both hands clinging to the horn of the saddle.

“I coulda helped you up, you know,” Nicole said, glancing down at Waverly’s hurt ankle. “It’s a little swollen...but it should be fine if you treat it right.”

“I figure I’ll ice it when I get back,” Waverly muttered, leaning over to look at her ankle.

Nicole grabbed the saddle and lifted herself up into the horse in front of Waverly. She immediately clung to the back of Nicole’s shirt, worried she was going to be thrown off balance and off the horse.

“You know, my mom used to make a balm that would help that heal right up,” Nicole said as she adjusted her position. “You okay back there?”

“Mhm,” Waverly answered.

“Hold onto me, yeah?” Nicole said looking over her shoulder. Waverly nodded and tentatively wrapped her arms around Nicole’s waist. Her front was pressed to Nicole’s back but she tried to keep a respectable distance. The tips of her ears burned at the proximity, vanilla filling her lungs with each breath. When Nicole kicked Whisky into a slow trot, Waverly clutched Nicole tighter, no space left between them. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, hands clinging to the soft fabric of Nicole’s shirt as they rode.

She could feel quiet laughter rumble in Nicole’s chest as she pressed the side of her face against Nicole’s back, clinging on for dear life. She bounced in the saddle almost painfully and not even the feeling of Nicole’s toned stomach under Waverly’s hands could distract her.

“You okay back there?” Nicole asked as she brought Whisky back down to a smooth walk. Waverly sighed in relief and loosened her hold a little bit as she stopped bouncing roughly in her seat.

“Yep,” Waverly straightened up quickly, clearing her throat, “Just fine.”

They rode in silence for a little bit, Waverly tensing with every trip or stumble the horse took as they rode. She tried not to imagine getting thrown off the horse like when she was younger, but with each jolt she was convinced she about to go flying.

“So...are your parents living here too?” Waverly asked, hoping conversation would distract her.

“Oh, um...no. They’re um...elsewhere,” Nicole said as she shifted in her saddle, “How was your little ceremony the other night? Find your new husband yet?”

Waverly chuckled. “Obviously. The wedding is tomorrow.”

“Do I get to attend?”

“Mm, very exclusive. Celebrities only kind of wedding, you know?”

Nicole laughed and the sound reverberated through her chest, making Waverly smile.

“All this attention has gotten to your head, Earp,” Nicole teased, “Remember us little people at the end.”

“I’ll get you an autograph,” Waverly said. She peeked over Nicole’s shoulder and saw that they were close to the house and their ride would inevitably come to a close. While she was relieved on one hand, she wasn’t quite ready for her time with Nicole to come to an end. She knew there was a whole day of shooting planned and she probably wouldn’t get another moment to herself until late that night.

Waverly knew she was going to enjoy getting to know some of the guys, it was just hard in the situation. The high pressure of the cameras...having to split her attention between twenty guys...Plus, Nicole smelled nice. Really nice. Probably nicer than any of the guys and Waverly liked that. And how she was clearly strong even while she looked so...gentle. All the guys were wonderfully wonderfully ripped. All hard muscle and firmness. But that was just it. They were firm, not soft and cuddly. Usually Waverly didn’t mind...and they certainly were lovely to look at. But Nicole was firm and cuddly.

She shook the thoughts from her head and loosened her grip on Nicole’s shirt. She had to keep her mind on what was important, the facts of everything. First off, Waverly wasn’t here to flirt with Nicole. She was here to meet one of the many vetted men who were being paraded in front of her.

Second, Nicole wasn’t interested. There was nothing that Nicole had done or said that implied she was interested at all. Nicole was a flirt. That was that. Waverly really shouldn’t be letting herself get attached and yet…

She was just so nice and pretty and smelled good and -

Waverly sighed and pulled herself together. Leave it to her to want the thing she couldn’t have. As they got closer to the house, Waverly saw Jeremy run out one of the side doors, with his headset in place and the usual panicked look on his face.

“Oh! There you are!” he said jumping a little in excitement. He noticed the horse and Nicole almost as a second thought, jumping back a little. “Oh.”

Nicole slid off the horse first and Waverly’s stomach jolted when Whiskey moved and she wasn’t holding on to the horn. Nicole rested one hand on her thigh and one on the horses neck. The heat of her hand felt like it was burning Waverly through her exercise pants in a...not unpleasant way, but it didn’t last long. Nicole had her hands on Waverly’s waist as she tipped her head for Waverly to get off the horse.

“Do you know how to slide off?” she asked. Waverly nodded and swung her other leg over the saddle, stomach on the saddle as she slid off the horse and back onto the ground. Really she just kind of floated to the ground as Nicole slowly lowered her to avoid hurting her ankle. “Can you walk on it?”

Waverly tested it, taking a small step forward on her injured foot while Nicole sort of hovered besides her. She winced a little but shrugged.

“I can walk. I’ll be fine,” Waverly said looking up at Nicole with a small smile. Brown eyes caught with hazel and Waverly’s breath caught in her throat. Her entire body had basically been pressed up to Nicole just a few moments ago, but here she was turning into jelly from looking into her eyes. Waverly was sure she’d never felt anything as gay as this.

“You sure you’re okay?” Nicole asked softly, concern written on her face, “You look a little flushed.”

Waverly chuckled awkwardly, a small snort catching in the back of her throat and making her cough as she waved Nicole off. Hopefully Nicole just thought her cheeks had a permanent tint to them.

“I’m fine,” Waverly said, “My ankle already feels better. Thank you for the ride. Er...on your horse.”

Nicole smiled crookedly, charming as always. “Anytime, Waves,” she said gently. She might as well have winked too with the way Waverly’s heart took flight in her chest. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” Waverly said, watching as Nicole got back on the horse and made clicking noises while using the reins to turn Whiskey around back towards the barn. She looked over her shoulder one last time and tipped her hat to Waverly. She wasn’t sure if she was swooning or having a heart attack. Or both.

Jeremy cleared his throat next to her and she forced her eyes away from the retreating redhead.

“So uh...what’s on the agenda for today?” she asked with a smile.

“Group date,” Jeremy said with a smile, “With six of the guys.”

Waverly forced her smile to stay on her face. “Super!”

***

Waverly got back to her room and took a quick shower. She taped up her ankle and threw on the clothes Chrissy and the wardrobe person had laid out for her for the day. Thankfully it wasn’t much different than what she usually wore, simple shorts and a crop top. She brushed out her hair and did her makeup, knowing the makeup girl was probably going to mess with it anyways once she got a hold of her.

Jeremy knocked a few moments later to collect her, Chrissy by his side. They ushered her into a car and headed towards their destination.

“What’s this group date we’re doing?” Waverly asked as she looked out the window for a chance to catch a glimpse of Nicole.

Chrissy smiled. “It’s like a relay race competition sort of thing based on you working at a bar. They’re going to carry some kegs, open a beer bottle with weird things, crawl through a mud pit and then make you a drink.”

“That sounds...interesting,” Waverly said as Chrissy handed her an iPad with some headshots up on it.

“These are the eight guys you’re having your date with, so remember their names now so it’s not embarrassing later,” Chrissy explained, “B-Train, Perry, Jacob, Johnny-”

Chrissy droned on the names and Waverly just nodded, trying to commit the faces to memory. Really the only ones she remembered were B-Train and Perry. She had a vague idea who some of the other ones were but they were the only two who stood out.

“Here’s the thing, Waves,” Chrissy said as she handed the iPad back to her, “You’re expected to kiss whoever wins the competition.”

“Expected?” Waverly asked with a raised eyebrow.

Chrissy nodded, “Obviously, don’t do it if you’re not comfortable. But...it’s all about good tv and...kissing him would be good tv.”

“Okay,” Waverly trailed off. She wasn’t against kissing him, she wasn’t a prude. But she hadn’t kissed anyone in front of the camera yet and that’s what she was most nervous about. What if it looked fake or unnatural? What if it felt fake or unnatural?

It didn’t take too long to get to the park where this competition was happening. They set Waverly up in a certain spot and told her all the lines she needed to say. It seemed like it was going to be fairly easy. Less of a group date and more like a group competition that Waverly just hosted and watched. Easy enough.

They set her up on her marks and she posed there with a giant smile on her face as all the guys ran down the hill of the park towards her like over excited golden retriever puppies. They stood in front of her as she explained the task at hand and she watched them all surreptitiously flexing their muscles at the mention of competition. After she explained it, she was placed under an arch that the first guy would run to. They would hand her the drink they had made and they would be the winner if it was made correctly.

Admittedly, she had fun. It was entertaining to watch as all the guys made fools of themselves to impress her. At the end, it was Champ and Perry who were neck and neck, all the way up until they had to go behind the makeshift bar and make a Mai Tai, complete with garnish. Perry pulled through at the last second, sprinting over to Waverly just in front of Champ. He stopped in front of her, dropping on one knee as he presented his drink to her.

Waverly took a sip and nodded. “It’s good.”

“Really?” he asked as he stood up.

“Really,” Waverly said with a wide smile before he opened his arms for a hug.

Waverly hugged him despite the fact that his clothes were covered in mud. The cameras surrounded them and a photographer came out to take pictures of the two of them. She remembered what Chrissy had told her in the car ride over and felt nerves take over for a moment. Perry looked down at her with his arms wrapped around her...Waverly figured it wouldn’t be so bad...just a little peck. So she put her hand on his cheek and leaned in as he leaned down, giving him a soft kiss.

It wasn’t awful. His lips were nice enough and he didn’t have a scratchy five o’clock shadow or anything. And it wasn’t as weird as she thought to kiss him on camera. But it definitely didn’t feel amazing. Maybe it was because they had an audience. That was always a possibility. It certainly had nothing to do with Waverly wondering what it might be like to kiss Nicole. If her lips were as soft and welcoming. If she would make her stomach turn from excitement. Not at all. It was the cameras. Always the cameras.

***

When Waverly got back to the mansion that night, Chrissy followed her into the bathroom as she took her shower.

“So, Nicole dropped something off for you,” Chrissy said, her voice echoing. Waverly immediately stuck her head outside of the shower door and squinted at her.

“Um...she did?” she said casually. Chrissy raised an eyebrow at her and held up a small jar.

“She said it was for your ankle,” she said looking at it. “Something about...her mom?”

Waverly smiled and ducked back into the shower to hide her blush and rinse out her hair. She wondered what had happened to her parents. Were they alive? Estranged? Dead? Why was Nicole taking care of a giant beautiful ranch seemingly by herself?

“You saw her this morning?” Chrissy asked. Waverly could hear the judgement in her voice.

“While I was out on my run. She helped me after I took an unfortunate fall.”

“Mhm.”

“Chrissy, before you say anything, I wasn’t going out of my way to see her. I was jogging, tripped in a hole and actually tried to avoid her but it was too late, she saw me,” Waverly said.

“I just...know what you’re doing,” Chrissy said as Waverly shut off the shower, “Please, Waverly?”

“I know!” she said catching the towel that Chrissy threw over the top of the shower. “I’m just making friends, okay? There’s a lot of testosterone around here.”

She wrapped her towel around her and stepped out of the shower just in time to catch Chrissy’s playful pout.

“I’m not enough estrogen for you?”

“Sometimes a girl just needs a little more estrogen,” Waverly quipped. Chrissy rolled her eyes and handed Waverly Nicole’s balm. Waverly took it and looked at the balm inside. On the top of the jar was a little sticky note with a messy scrawl on it.

Rub a little on your ankle twice a day. Three if it’s really aching. Hope this helps. :) - N

It was a simple note. Nothing out of the ordinary about it. But it made Waverly smile all the same.

***

The next day was her one on one date with Champ. Chrissy told her they were going to some batting cages so she dressed her in simple jeans and a nice shirt. She was actually looking forward to spending some time with Champ. In all the other scenarios he seemed perfectly fine and interesting enough. He was cute and charming and seemed like the exact kind of guy she would have dated in high school. Or even college.

The date went fine. He opened doors for her and was very much a gentleman. He even taught her the proper batting stance in that typical “boy-teaches-girl” way that people loved. He smelled a little bit like sweat and his hands rested a little too low on her hips for her liking, but it was fine other than that, even with the cameras constantly hovering over their faces.

At the end of the night, she kissed him. His lips were chapped and for some reason he tasted like Fritos so Waverly kept it chaste. Despite this, she felt a small thrill in her chest when they kissed.

Waverly hadn’t hated it, but she hadn’t loved it either. It had just...happened. And now she woudn’t hate if it happened or even didn’t happen again. She cursed her indecisiveness but blamed it on the cameras. It was easy, after all. Easier than admitting that maybe the person she was most interested in wasn’t one of her options at all.

***

That night, Waverly sat on the back porch of the house cradling her cup of tea between her hands, just watching as the tail end of the sunset sunk below the mountains. It really was beautiful. The air smelled crisp and clean and different. It wasn’t like she had never been in the outdoors like this, she basically lived in the middle of nowhere. But something about this ranch just felt...different.

The boys were restricted to the front part of the house for the most part and Waverly stuck to the back. The production team was very strict about them not interacting off camera which Waverly didn’t mind at all. It meant she had some built in alone time where no one could bother her.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Waverly turned towards the voice, a smile instantly blooming on her face when she saw Nicole walking towards her. Sans horse this time. Thankfully. Her eyes lingered on the dimples that Nicole seemed to showcase with each smile, her eyes always bright.

“Hey,” Waverly managed, scooting over on the step she was sitting on to give Nicole some space to sit. “Where’s Whiskey?”

“Whiskey had enough of me for the day,” Nicole said sitting down next to Waverly. Their arms brushed together and Waverly found herself blushing. Again. Great. “Where are all your doting suitors?”

Waverly chuckled and took a sip of her tea as she looked back out at the mountains. She waved her hand behind her a little bit. “Somewhere...there. Who knows. I wonder what they do in all their spare time.”

“Probably compare dick sizes,” Nicole said a little under her breath. Waverly snorted into her tea and shot Nicole a look.

“Now, come on,” she said looking back at Nicole. “They’re not all that bad. Some of them are very sweet.”

Nicole hummed evasively and considered Waverly, her smile falling from her face but eyes still bright and trained on her. Waverly wanted to look away, she felt like she was being analyzed, but she couldn’t bring herself to avert her gaze.

“So you have a thing for them, huh? You’re gonna find your true love here?” Nicole asked.

Waverly finally looked away, suddenly finding her tea very interesting. She shrugged and leaned against the porch rail. It was an odd question because she felt like the easy answer should have been ‘yes’. That was the entire purpose for being on the show. Her presence here was based on the idea that she believed, truly believed, she would find her true love in one of the twenty-seven men that the network picked out for her. Money was just supposed to sweeten the deal...but for her it was actually the driving force behind her decision. Either way she was expected to propose to one of them at the end of the show. So far she’d only been here for three days and she’d already kissed two guys and really...she did feel a connection with a few of them.

“I think anything is possible,” Waverly said with a final nod. She looked back at Nicole who was giving her the same look as before. Like she was seeing her, really seeing her. It made her squirm. Nicole looked at her for a few seconds longer before nodding and looking away.

“I guess anything is possible,” Nicole repeated. She leaned back against the top step of the porch, elbows resting on it as she kicked her feet out in front of her. Waverly’s eyes naturally followed her movements and to the small strip of skin she could see just above her jeans. She drummed her fingers on the porcelain of her cup. It wasn’t like she wanted to run her fingers over the skin there. No. Ridiculous.

“After all,” Nicole continued, eyes on the mountains too, “I would never think it was possible for you to not have men clambering over themselves to date you. But it must be a thing or else I imagine you wouldn’t be here.”

Waverly blushed and shook her head, taking another sip of tea to give her time to think. Men. Waverly had been out long enough to know this was how people prodded the hint of a sexuality out of you. Or at least when you quickly corrected them if you wanted.

“Well, the dating pool in Purgatory isn’t very deep. Small town and all,” Waverly said with a small chuckle, “I’m pretty sure I’ve already dated every available man and women there.” She blushed and shook her head again. “Oh, god, no that sounds like I’ve slept my way through the town. I haven’t-...I’m not my sister, I-...well there were never a lot of available people to begin with.”

Waverly shut her mouth before she tripped over any more of her words and sighed, hoping her embarrassment would fade. But it only got stronger when she looked at Nicole who had an amused look on her face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Waverly said with a small pout.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m insane.”

“That’s not what this look is,” Nicole said with a shrug.

Waverly raised an eyebrow at her. “Than what is it?”

Nicole licked her lips and Waverly’s eyes followed the movement. “This look? It means you’re cute.”

Waverly opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. The tips of her ears burned and she could feel her blush creeping up her neck. She watched as something flickered across Nicole’s face and she looked away, eyes back on the mountains. Nicole cleared her throat and stood up abruptly, Waverly copying her movements even in her silence.

“Well, I better get back to my room,” Nicole said with a small smile. “I’ll see you around, Waves.”

With that, Nicole tipped her hat and turned back towards the barn. She walked away and Waverly just watched her helplessly, her mind still trying to catch up.

***

Coming up on The Bachelorette Canada!

We see Champ standing behind Waverly at the batting cages, helping her with her swing. She hits the ball and they both yell in celebration. Waverly turns around and hugs Champ who has a toothy smile on his face as he wraps his arms around her and lifts her up in the air. We hear his voice over the picture and cut to his interview.

“Waverly and I just have that special connection, you know?” he says with a smug grin, “I can make her laugh and I think she really needs that in her life. And I can give it to her.”

We see Waverly in her interview, she shrugs and looks coy. “I...think everything’s going really well.”

It cuts to Champ checking his appearance in a mirror of the house, messing with his hair. Perry walks by and shakes his head. Perry sighs in his interview.

“Champ is a joke. He’s only here for attention and...I think Waverly should know.” Perry looks off camera, shaking his head again. “His intentions aren’t pure.”

There’s a shaky hand held shot through a window of Perry talking to Champ, the tension visible. “Dude, are you even here for Waverly?” Perry asked.

Champ scoffed. “Shut up, you don’t know me.”

We see Champ in his interview again. “I’m just saying, that anyone who crosses me needs to watch their back.”

It cuts to a shot of an ambulance pulling up in front of the house, someone is being put in the back, clearly bleeding. It cuts back to Champ’s interview and he shrugs, looking smug. Then there’s a shot of Waverly with her hands over her face. She looks distressed and you can barely hear her when she talks.

“I just...don’t understand why someone would do this,” she says, voice thick with tears, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

The dramatic music swells, coming to a crescendo as the main title plays.

Next time on The Bachelorette Canada!

#wynonna earp #wayhaught #wayhaught fanfic #wayhaught fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #my shit #why'd you come in here

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years

Text

Tripping Over the Blue Line (15/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Once upon a time Colin coached a charity hockey game and video came out and my mind was, like, write the thing and it spawned this entire story, so Emma’s charity hockey game is super important. Also, this chapter begins my complete takedown of The New York Post all story. As always @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan are the gifts that keep on giving. Hanging out on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr

“What’s the matter with you?”

Emma didn’t even bother turning her head – just glancing at Ruby out of the corner of her eye as she shifted the pile of papers in her hand. Again. She must have moved them half a dozen times now, certain if she moved them the right way she’d be able to get rid of the knot of anxiety that had taken up root in the pit of her stomach over the last three days.

Three days.

She’d walked out of his apartment three days ago and they’d talked three days ago and she was, still, an absolute mess. Even three days later.

It was because Mary Margaret had texted her, because she’d woken up on Saturday morning and Emma hadn’t been on the couch and she already knew before, had stared at her suspiciously in the suite during the game and it felt like it was all crashing down at once.

And Emma might have been the worst – the worst – because she’d gotten the text message and the frantic phone call and David had the entire goddamn NYPD out looking for her and she did what she did best.

She ran.

She ran and she tried not to think about the look on Killian’s face when she did, something a bit worse than surprise and more jarring than disappointment. She couldn’t quite get that look out of her mind.

Even three days later.

Ruby was the only one brave enough to ask about it. Mary Margaret just looked at her like some sad, broken thing. David grumbled a bit, but he bought her new Pop Tarts anyway – and that might have almost made Emma bite her lip when she opened the cabinet that morning. That was just pitiful.

God. She’d told him Neal’s name. And Walsh. Well, not Walsh’s name. But she’d told him about Walsh and Los Angeles and what she thought when she looked at Mary Margaret and David. And he’d listened and he’d told her about Milah and he’d said...he’d looked at her like…

She didn’t know.

There wasn’t a word for it – or there wasn’t a word Emma was willing to acknowledge while sitting in a chair next to Ruby in Zelena’s office with a pile of papers in her hands and half a plan she’d come up with in Killian’s bed.

Five weeks. It had been five weeks. Five weeks and three days and maybe...maybe she was insane. Maybe he was insane.

You don’t just get to tell people things like that, you don’t just sit in bed with an absurd amount of decorative pillows and share absurdly personal information about foster families and lost loves and injuries that define your career as much as closing in on the top-five in points for the franchise.

He was the goddamn face of the franchise.

And he, apparently, hadn’t gotten the memo because Killian had talked and told and then held her like she was something important and maybe not quite completely broken.

She absolutely was.

No wonder he hadn’t texted. Or called. Or done anything except get a negative-two rating on the ice the night before and Arthur had screamed when he actually cross-checked a Hurricanes player into the bench.

Emma tried not to overanalyze that and it had worked about as well as trying to forget the way he looked at her when she walked out of his apartment. Fuck, she still had his clothes. What was she going to do with a Winter Classic t-shirt from seven seasons ago?

“Em,” Ruby continued, leaning over the arm of the chair to smack his shoulder. “Are you even listening to me right now?” “Jeez,” Emma mumbled, shifting the pile of papers again so she could rub her shoulder. “What were you a boxer in another life? Relax.” “That didn’t answer my question.” “What was the question?” Ruby sighed, staring at Emma with something that almost resembled disdain or maybe just a very particular form of frustration, and she rolled her eyes when Emma tapped her fingers on the papers again.

“What’s going on with you?” “That’s not what you asked before.” “Ah! So you were listening.” “And ignoring.”

“Well that’s just rude.”

Emma flashed Ruby a smile – possibly the first time she’d smiled in three days and that might have been the most melodramatic thing she’d ever thought in her entire life.

Ruby didn’t smile back.

She didn’t glare either or do that wolf-like thing that made the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck stand up, certain Ruby could read her mind. She just stared at Emma and waited.

And then she groaned when Emma didn’t say anything.

Zelena walked into the office – heels sounding loudly on the carpet and Emma tried to refocus her energy on the conversation in front of her, the one about a charity hockey game and Garden of Dreams and anything that wasn’t Killian Jones.

Or Ruby’s continued stare. She kept staring at her.

“Alright,” Zelena said brusquely, sitting down on the edge of the chair behind her desk. “I’ve got,” she glanced down at the phone in her hand, “six minutes. Go.” “Jeez Z, relax,” Ruby muttered, earning her own glare for the comment. Emma tried not to smile at that. She was, apparently, feeling just a bit vindictive as well.

“What’s this great, big idea you’ve got then, Emma? You’ve got five and a half minutes now, by the way.” “Alright,” Emma said, shifting the papers again. “I want to organize a game.” “A game?” “A charity game. For GD.” Zelena stared at her, head tilted slightly to the side as she drummed her fingers across the top of her desk. She twisted her lips, glancing down at the pile of papers when Emma all but dropped them in front of her.

“What’s this?” Zelena asked.

“My plan.” “When did you even have the time to come up with this?”

Emma shrugged noncommittally, far too aware of Ruby’s eyes practically boring a hole into the side of her head. She’d come up with the first half of the idea in bed, with a very unclothed Killian Jones next to her, but she’d actually written it all out and researched and made graphs – God, there were graphs – while doing her best to ignore every single other feeling she could possibly feel over the last three days.

It hadn’t really worked.

“I want to do this,” Emma said, far too aware that she hadn’t actually answered the question. “I think we can make this something really big.” “When?” Zelena continued.

She’d pulled the pile of papers and the graphs towards her, flipping through the twenty-odd pages in front of her, humming when she got to potential dates and cost possibilities and there was a Saturday in March that, somehow, appeared to be free on the Garden schedule.

“March,” Emma answered. “Early March. Have it after Casino Night so that you can actually auction off things for the game. Get the season-tickets to spend some more money and you can have some meet and greets and maybe even a few on-ice moments.” “You’d probably need insurance for that,” Zelena mused, but one side of her mouth had pulled up and she might have been smiling.

It was kind of difficult to tell.

“Not for the players,” Ruby said rationally. “I bet Gina would be all over that for her guys. It’s a fantastic negotiating tool.” “And Jones is an FA.” Ruby nodded, eyes darting between Zelena and Emma with a – very obvious – smile on her face. “Ok,” Zelena continued, staring intently at Emma. “I like the tie in with Casino Night.” “The season-tickets would be all over it,” Emma said, voice picking up the same way it had when she’d explained the idea to Killian. She tried not to think about that. And that didn’t really work either. “Make them pay to get into the game. Make them pay to meet some players. Make them pay to order food at the game. You could probably even get game-day merch.”

“You’re really intent on getting season-tickets to pay for things aren’t you?” Zelena asked, the threat of laughter inching into the question.

“They’ve got some money,” Emma shrugged.

“That’s true.” “Mix in some celebrities too. Bobby Flay, Justin Tuck, make Matt Harvey sign something.” “You don’t want to try and get Matt Harvey on skates too?” “Spring training.” “Ah, of course,” Zelena said, not even trying to stop herself from laughing that time. “Bobby Flay?” “He loves the Rangers.”

“What about the players?”

“What about them?” “Well you’ve thought of everything else,” Zelena shrugged. “What do you want to do with the players? Ruby’s right, Gina would probably love to get her guys out there. Push some sort of community-first narrative. Jones especially. If you’re going to bring GD kids into this, we’ll have to get him out there anyway.” “I was thinking some of them could play, but Killian said…”

Emma cut herself off, eyes going wide when she realized what she’d almost said and Ruby sat up just a bit straighter in the seat next to her.

Zelena didn’t seem particularly impressed with it, however, staring at Emma as she waited for her to continue.

“What about Jones?” she asked. “He said he’d coach. Or consider it.” “Consider it?” “Yeah.” Zelena hummed in agreement, the ends of her mouth tugging down as she considered Killian’s consideration and that wasn’t really fair.

He’d agreed. Already. As soon as Emma almost asked it. Had she actually asked him? She couldn’t really remember.

All she could remember was the look on his face when she’d walked out of the apartment.

“That’s one coach,” Zelena continued and Ruby hadn’t blinked during this entire conversation. Emma was almost nervous about the status of her eyes. “What about the other side?” “Phillip the Rookie?” “Phillip the Rookie?”

“Face of the franchise against the up-and-comer and he’s, like, Killian’s biggest fan. We could market that like crazy.” Emma leaned forward, tapping her finger on the pile of papers half spread across Zelena’s desk. “That’s on page six.” “Game-day merch?” Zelena repeated, catching Emma off guard. She hadn’t expected to move backwards in the conversation.

“Put Phillip the Rookie and Killian on the same t-shirt and half the fandom will buy it solely based on their faces,” Ruby said easily. Her eyes narrowed when she noticed Emma’s shoulders shift, the slight way she pressed up against the back of the chair.

This conversation had lasted more than its five and a half allotted minutes.

“That’s a good point,” Zelena murmured, glancing back down at page six. “We’d have to bring some kids in too. And speaking of which, did you sneak a GD kid into the opener last week? Security was losing its collective mind about it.” Emma rolled her eyes, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and she was actually surprised this was the first time anybody had mentioned it.

Henry had texted her two days after that first practice with Killian and the team, updates on the house and the kid that had gotten adopted. And she hadn’t quite been prepared to be some eleven-year-old’s emotional rock or whatever, but she’d seemed to settle into the role easier than she expected.

She asked if he wanted to come to the opener the day before – just a few hours removed from that particular moment in the alley behind the restaurant – and he’d actually called to answer, screaming into the phone and making Emma wonder if her eardrums would ever actually recover.

“I didn’t sneak him in,” Emma said. “He came in through the gates like everyone else.” “But he’s a GD kid, right?” Zelena pressed, confusion pulling her eyebrows down low. “He came to practice?” “Yeah before Pittsburgh. He’s a huge Rangers fan.”

“He’s a huge Jones fan,” Ruby added, glancing meaningfully at Emma.

“Ah, well, aren’t we all?” Zelena mumbled. Emma rolled her eyes again, doing her best to actually take a deep breath.

“He’ll go nuts for something like this,” she said. “A ton of kids would. Tell Aurora to get whatever forms she has to and maybe we could even get a few of them out on the ice again.”

“The Tarrytown event did go really well.” “Exactly.” “Early March?” Zelena repeated.

Emma nodded. “Before a playoff push.” “Awfully optimistic of you.” “This is the year or something. Whatever the guys say. What’s the PR-appropriate response in this situation, Rubes?” “We think we have a really strong roster and we’re confident in what we’ll be able to do on the ice this season,” Ruby answered immediately.

“As long as Jones stops acting like an idiot against the boards,” Zelena muttered. “He was a disaster last night. I actually thought Arthur was going to hit him with his own stick.” “Who knows what happened once they got back in the locker room,” Ruby laughed, glancing at Emma like it was the funniest joke in the entire world.

Emma didn’t move. She wasn’t convinced she was breathing much anymore and her phone hadn’t buzzed in three days.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine tonight,” Zelena said. “New Jersey’s a joke this season.” “That’s not the PR-appropriate answer.” “Don’t sell me out to the Post then.” “Deal.” They laughed again and Emma still couldn't seem to get enough oxygen into her lungs, tongue tracing over her teeth as she tugged on the end of her hair. Ruby stared at her questioningly, but Zelena was quicker, shifting in her chair and moving the papers back into a small pile before handing them back to Emma.

“This is good,” she said. “Really good.” “Told you you’d be good at this,” Ruby muttered and Emma made a face. She didn’t need a cheerleader. She needed budget support.

And a distraction.

“So?” Emma asked. “Game on or whatever sports cliché you want to use?” Zelena smiled again as she stood up, heels somehow managing to click on the carpet as she walked back towards her office door. “Yeah, Emma, game on. I want a complete budget breakdown before they’re back here for the homestand later this week. Then we’ll talk to Jones and Phillip the Rookie and get Aurora’s opinion on whatever sort of insurance we have to get to make sure the GD kids get out on the ice.” “Yeah, sure.” Zelena was gone half a breath later, out the door and down the hallway and the sound of her ringing phone was barely audible when Emma stood back up, pointedly ignoring Ruby again. Her own phone still hadn’t made a single noise.

It took Ruby all of five seconds to catch up with her once Emma made it into the hallway, nearly tripping over her own feet and dropping her entire plan on the floor when she felt fingers around her wrist, pulling her up short.

“Jeez, Ruby,” Emma mumbled, shaking her head to get her hair out of her eyes. “What’s your deal?” “I could ask you the same exact thing. Now, come on, answer my question.” “About the status of my deal?” “Emma.” “I don’t even really know what you’re asking me.” “I asked you what the matter was about two thousand years ago and you told me you’d been ignoring me and I said that was rude and…” “Alright, alright,” Emma said, holding out her free hand to get Ruby to stop talking. “I don’t need the complete play-by-play.” “I’m worried.” “I’m fine.” Ruby nodded towards the stack of papers resting on Emma’s hip. “That’s fine? That’s a month’s worth of work and you did it in what...two days?” “Two and a half,” Emma muttered, scuffing her foot along the hallway floor.

“Ah, well, an eternity.” “It wasn’t that big of a deal. I just wanted to get it done.” “You’re some sort of community relations machine. Did you even watch the game on Sunday?” “Of course,” Emma said quickly and a bit sharper than she wanted. She wasn’t being entirely honest with herself.

Because if she were being entirely honest with herself, she should have texted him or called him and told him what a goddamn idiot she was because he’d told her something important – had told her a lot more than that – and she’d thrown it all back in his face.

Because if she were being entirely honest with herself, Emma might have actually been able to acknowledge that there was something to what Killian had said, something to believing him. And them – as some sort of collective unit.

“Jones played like garbage,” Ruby said conversationally. She didn’t back down when Emma shot her a very particular type of glare.

“I watched the game Rubes.” “And?” “And what?” “Is that what’s the matter with you? Or what’s going on with you?” “These are all very vague questions.” Ruby groaned, head thrown back in her obvious frustration. “Why are you making this so difficult? You’re all Emma’ing it up.” “Did you just use my name as a verb?” “Yes,” Ruby hissed, taking a step towards Emma and it all felt a bit threatening. “You’re being all you and I know, I know something is going on.” “Nothing is going on.” “When did Jones say he would coach?” “What?” “When did he tell you he’d coach your game?” Ruby said, altering her question slightly like that would, somehow, make Emma want to answer it. “It’s got to be at some point in the last three days, right? So at some point, since Saturday, when this team left for Carolina, you’ve talked to Jones and told him about your charity hockey game idea.” Emma ignored the way her stomach flipped or possibly clenched, refusing to blink when Ruby stared at her, an accusatory look on her face. “These are all accurate facts, Rubes,” she said, shrugging as she shifted the papers in her hand again.

“You didn’t answer my question! Again!” “Saturday,” Emma snapped, frustration getting the better of her. “I told him on Saturday.” In bed. With no clothes on. After she’d told him about Neal. And he’d told her about Milah. And they’d done whatever they’d done for the better part of the previous eight hours. They hadn’t really slept at all.

“You told him first.” “That’s not a question.” Ruby shrugged and Emma’s whole neck cracked when she rolled her head, frustration rolling off her in waves. “Did Reese’s talk to you or something?” “No,” Ruby said, surprise coloring the two letters. “Why? Should she?” “No.” “No?” “No.” “That was a lot of the same word right in a row,” Ruby muttered. “I’ve lost track of the conversation.” Emma laughed softly and some of the tension fell out of her shoulders. “I’m fine, Ruby,” she said and it was only a small lie. She was somewhere in the vicinity of fine, just a few steps away from almost coping. She just needed to plan a budget and make sure Killian Jones would still want to coach a charity hockey game she’d told him about first – which meant, eventually, she was going to have to talk to Killian Jones.

Idiot.

She was a goddamn idiot.

“Is this the part where I apologize for that set-up before?” Ruby asked, a small smile on her face as she tugged on the sleeve of Emma’s jacket. “I should have done it at the restaurant when Belle did, but you were kind of set in your let’s not talk about it anymore. ” “It’s ok,” Emma said.

“He’s a good guy and for whatever it’s worth he probably hates his friends as much as you hate yours, because they’re always doing this. Have been for years.” Emma hummed in agreement, teeth tugging on the inside of her lip and her stomach was doing that thing again. “He is a good guy,” she agreed, shifting on her feet as she tried to decide whether or not to ask the question sitting on the tip of her tongue.

“What?” “There wasn’t...in all those set-ups…” “Anyone that, what, stuck?” Emma nodded and Ruby shook her head quickly. “No, no, not even close. I think it almost became some sort of competition with Locksley and Scarlet, trying to see who they could find that would maybe get Jones to agree to the set-up. Even Gina tried last season, some friend from school who was some sort of huge Rangers fan. He was less than interested in that. I think...well, there was something or someone, right before he got hurt, but I had only been here for a season or so and I didn’t really know him that well then.”

“And you do now?” Emma continued, curiosity outweighing that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she had completely fucked up.

Ruby shrugged. “Better than I did then. That’s why I agreed to the set-up. I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think you’d at least like him.” “He’s a good guy,” Emma repeated.

“Alright, alright,” Ruby sighed. “You don’t need to try and placate me. I heard you at the restaurant, all friends and everything. I’ll back off. I promise. And the game is a freaking fantastic idea by the way.” “I think we could do a lot for GD. Season-tickets will go nuts for that kind of stuff. All sorts of karma to be bought up.” Ruby stared at her knowingly, but she didn’t actually voice her opinions, didn’t say anything about how this all played into Emma’s past just a bit too perfectly or how she kept talking to Henry weeks after his GD event had wrapped.

That wasn’t exactly par for the course – or whatever the hockey equivalent of that particular sports clich é was.

“Relating to the community so well,” Ruby smiled, tugging on Emma’s sleeve again like some sort of PR-mother. “I knew you could do it.” “Tell me that when we actually budget a charity hockey game.” “Please, like I said, if you get Jones and Phillip the Rookie to coach this thing and put them on a t-shirt, it’ll sell like...hot cakes or something.” “Hot cakes? Are you a thousand years old?” “You’re, like, the rudest person in this building, you know that?” “I’ll save you a t-shirt,” Emma promised, grinning at a slightly put-out Ruby before walking back towards the bank of elevators at the other end of the hallway.

She had work to do.

Emma walked into the loft later that night, weighed down by another pile of papers – Merida proving to be some sort of research machinewhen it came to finding out how previous charity games had run at the Garden – and there were numbers to crunch, or something that sounded less lame, and a game to watch and, maybe, text messages to be sent.

If she didn’t lose her nerve.

She’d probably lose her nerve.

Emma barely had time to consider the status of her nerves, however, running into an outstretched hand as soon as she closed the loft door behind her.

“Ah,” Mary Margaret gasped, jumping back and nearly spilling the contents of the two glasses in her hands. “Careful!” “What even, Reese’s? Were you just waiting behind the door the entire night?” “No,” she muttered, moving back towards the couch and putting the glasses on the coffee table in front of her – right next to the already-open bottle of wine.

“What is this?” “I wasn’t waiting behind the door all night.” Emma slid her shoes off, kicking them towards the small pile of footwear in the corner of the room and ignoring Mary Margaret’s soft tut when she didn’t put them back where they belonged. “Just, you know, since Merida texted me and let me know that you’d left work and weren’t going to the restaurant to watch the game. Again.” “Reese’s,” Emma said slowly, walking towards the couch and sinking into her designated corner. “Is this some sort of intervention?” “Of course not!” “What is it then?” “A conversation?” “That sounded a bit like a question.” “Yeah, well, you’re you. And you don’t do well when you’re backed into a corner.” Emma opened her mouth to argue, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to actually voice the words, not when Mary Margaret kept giving her that look and the pre-game show was already on in the background, comments about Killian’s concerning play the game before.

She took a deep breath, twisting her lips and reaching forward to grab one of the wine glasses in front of her. “That’s true,” Emma mumbled.

Mary Margaret eyed her cautiously, but she grabbed her own glass when she seemed to decide Emma wasn’t actually going to start shouting or tearing apart the couch. There were a lot of decorative pillows there as well.

“No questions?” Emma asked, glancing at Mary Margaret over the top of her glass.

“You tell me.” Emma shifted in the corner of the couch, tugging her legs up and glancing at the TV. The team was on the ice – announcers talking about the early-season hopes and whether or not Phillip the Rookie would be able to keep his spot on the first line, something about how his speed matched up with Killian’s and she was only really half listening. She tugged on her lip while she watched them go through warmups, shooting pucks towards a half-trying Jefferson and the camera zoomed in on Killian and Robin, leaning up against the boards with sticks in their hands and slightly tense looks on their face.

She sighed loud enough for Mary Margaret to hear her, tongue darting over her suddenly dry lips and Emma needed to tell someone – certain her whole body was going to snap in half if she held any more stress in between her shoulder blades.

“I think I made a mistake,” Emma muttered quietly, downing half of her glass as soon as the words were out her mouth.

“About?” “So, uh, remember when I told you that nothing was going on and everything was all friendship and friends and just talking?” She rushed over the words, refusing to meet Mary Margaret’s presumably stunned gaze. “Well, that was kind of a lie. Or it was a lie. The biggest lie. Like in the history of the world.” Emma pulled her eyes up to find Mary Margaret staring her as if she’d never seen her before, mouth half open and wine glass barely upright as her grip slacked just a bit. “Wait, wait, are we talking about you and Killian?” Mary Margaret stuttered. Emma nodded. “What’s the opposite of friendship and friends and just talking?” “Not that. Or that plus other things.” “Other things.” “Reese’s.” “I’m confused.” “Think about it for two seconds. I, uh, I didn’t go to Ruby’s on Saturday.” Mary Margaret’s eyes widened to what must have been dangerous proportions and Emma gulped the rest of her wine quickly. It felt like a boulder in her stomach. “You were with Killian?” she asked, whispering out the words.

“Yup.” “Doing what?” “Oh my God, Reese’s you did not just ask me that question.”

Her eyes, somehow, got even bigger – all brown and confused and there was not enough wine in the world to have this conversation. The game had already started.

“Ok,” Mary Margaret said quickly, setting down her untouched wine. Emma grabbed it immediately, ignoring the quiet reprimand she got for her actions. “So you left the game with him?” Emma nodded. “Where’d you go?” “His very fancy apartment on Amsterdam Ave.” Mary Margaret made a face, looking impressed that the captain of the New York Rangers could afford an apartment on Amsterdam Avenue. “And?” “And what, Reese’s? I stayed.” “Exactly.” She still couldn’t quite rationalize that – three days of radio silence and no fun facts about Carolina, either North or South, and Emma still couldn’t quite understand why she’d stayed. That wasn’t her move.

She left.

She walked away before she could wake up to find an arm still wrapped around her waist or a voice in her ear and she’d been the one to suggest they not even try to fall back asleep when they’d woken up far too early.

He’d probably been late to film.

She didn’t know. They hadn’t talked in three days.

“Why?” Mary Margaret pressed.

“I wanted to.” There it was – the truth, as much as three words could be some sort of overwhelming, deep-set type of truth. Emma had wanted and she wanted him and she wanted to stay and she wished he’d text her so they could decide if they were actually using boyfriend and girlfriendin some sort of high-school nonsense that might be kind of nice.

She glanced back up at the TV when she heard the whistles.

He’d gotten a penalty – another penalty – and Arthur was screaming on the bench and Killian was halfway to the box by the time they showed a replay. It was another crosscheck, the same move he’d used in Carolina and Emma wondered where he’d learned that, able to get his stick just underneath pads in a way that could only hurt like hell.

“Like you wanted to kiss him,” Mary Margaret pointed out and that was hardly fair because one person shouldn’t be able to know Emma that well. Or be able to call her out that well.

“Has this been happening the whole time?”

“The staying at his apartment?” Emma asked. Mary Margaret nodded. “No, no, that didn’t happen until the opener. Yes to the kissing though. Like a, frankly, ridiculous amount of kissing.” Mary Margaret smiled at that – a romantic at heart who couldn't quite seem to keep her features neutral when the possibility of Emma being happy was concerned. “So you go home with him on Friday and scare me to death and what happens next?” “Nothing,” Emma answered quickly, eyes darting back towards the screen when Killian came racing out of the box, nearly connecting on a breakaway when Phillip the Rookie set him up in the neutral zone.

Almost.

She tried not to read in that too much.

“Nothing?” Mary Margaret repeated, voice catching just a bit on that one word. “Oh my God, Emma. Did you leave?”

“Like as soon as I got your text. And voicemail. And David’s text. I hadn’t seen it before. My phone was with my dress.” “Was your dress not with you?”

“My dress spent the night in the living room.” Mary Margaret let out a sound that might have been a laugh or a scoff and Emma’s head whipped around when she heard the buzz of the goal signal, breath catching in her throat when she saw Killian’s hands in the air.

“I’ve got to ask you another question,” Mary Margaret said, distracting Emma from the replay and the rebound had landed on Killian’s stick almost perfectly. He barely even had to move his stick – it was almost too easy.

“Go for it.” “If you spent the night, if you went in the first place and you guys have been doing a ridiculous amount of kissing since that first kiss, why would you leave? Was it bad?” “Oh my God.” “It’s an honest question.” “No,” Emma said sharply. “No. It was...the opposite of that. It was...overwhelming.” “That’s not really your thing.” “I told him about Neal.” Mary Margaret’s whole body sagged forward, breath rushing out of her quickly and loudly and Emma tried to look like this was fine. “That’s big, Emma.” “I know. I know. I think we’ve been dating for the last two weeks.” She didn’t tell Mary Margaret about Milah or what had happened in that car or what Killian had said before she’d practically sprinted out of the apartment, the enormous space suddenly feeling like a straight jacket. She didn’t think she could.

That was Killian’s story.

“You think?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Well we haven’t really talked since Saturday.” Mary Margaret made a face, unable to completely mask her sigh at Emma’s complete inability to be a human with actual, functioning emotions. “You still didn’t answer my question. Why did you leave? Because I was worried about you?” Emma considered her answer – trying to find the words she hadn’t been able to quite decide on in the last three days. “Pillows,” she said after what felt like a decade of silence right there on the couch.

“What?” “He had a ridiculous amount of pillows on his bed.” “And that made you freak out?” “His mom, foster mom, whatever, used to have pillows. Everywhere, he said, and it was like some sort of home for him and so now he’s rich and famous and the captain of the New York Rangers and he’s got all these pillows and they do this ridiculous ritual before the season opener and Locksley and Scarlet still talk to his brother. They all talk to each other and his sisters and it’s just…” Home.

He had a home.

And Emma had a couch.

She didn’t have pillows. She’d never had pillows.

This metaphor was ridiculous.

Mary Margaret had that look on her face again. “Oh, Emma,” she muttered, reaching out to wrap her fingers around Emma’s wrist.

“And then you were worried and we’ve been doing this under the radar thing and you knew. Or you would know and I hadn’t really thought about it the night before, I just wanted.” “You’re allowed to want things.”

“Not like this.” Emma bit her lip tightly, words feeling almost heavy when she said them and they seemed to almost visibly hang in the air as Mary Margaret kept her fingers wrapped around her wrist. “He’s got people, Reese’s,” Emma continued. “A family.” “You could have that too.” She blinked once, a bit stunned at how easily Mary Margaret had rationalized everything in a few words and one sentence and her whole face had shifted as soon as she promised Emma, smiling at her with a determination that simply couldn’t be questioned.

Mary Margaret got what she wanted.

And she’d make sure everyone else got what they wanted along the way.

“You make it all sound very easy,” Emma muttered. She was out of wine again and the period was almost over. They were winning.

“There’s no reason it couldn’t be.” “I walked out.” “So apologize for that.” “People are going to talk.” “So keep doing whatever under the radar thing you’re doing now. I won’t sell you out to Page Six or anything.” “No David?” “No David,” Mary Margaret promised and Emma was half a second away from actually crying in the corner of the couch, a wave of emotion and something that might have been an almost kind of family hitting her suddenly. She was a mess.

“Is he really going to coach your charity game?” May Margaret asked.

“How could you possibly know about that?” Mary Margaret shrugged. “Zelena told Aurora who told Regina and I guess Ariel was nearby? It was like a whole ridiculous string of gossip.” “Of course.” “You don’t have to worry, Emma. I know you will because you’re you, but I’ve got a good feeling about this.” “How do you always do that?” “What?” “Know exactly what to say in order to make me believe things. You always get me to believe things.” “Actual years of practice,” Mary Margaret laughed, squeezing Emma’s hand tightly. “And you’ve had a very specific look on your face for the last few weeks. I knew something was going on. I’m a genius.”

Emma groaned, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling and she knew Mary Margaret was right. She was happy – or had been happy or maybe could be happy again. If she could get up the courage to text him.

That was proving a bit more difficult when she couldn’t exactly take a deep breath.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret said quickly, leaning forward as if she had some sort of sixth sense for when Emma was feeling particularly terrified or prone to emotional breakdowns in the corner of the couch. “It’s going to be ok. I’m sure he’ll understand.” “How? We kind of dove face-first into emotions and he was…” Everything? Fantastic? Staring at her like he might actually care as much as he promised? All of those things sounded absurd. They were all true. “I walked out.” “So explain why you did.” Emma eyed her meaningfully and Mary Margaret’s head fell to the side, landing almost audibly on her shoulder. “Alright, so don’t tell him the whole thing, but tell him some of the things. Or, I don’t know, wear his jersey again.” Emma groaned, dimly aware of the start of the second period. “This team is the worst.” “No it’s not. And neither are you, so stop thinking that you are. He’ll understand.” “You seem awfully certain.” “Nothing is ever certain,” Mary Margaret said and that didn’t do much to help the knot of anxiety in the pit of Emma’s stomach. “But even believing in the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”

Mary Margaret smiled at her – certainty and positivity and the force of the the entire goddamn sun all contained in a single look – and Emma found herself wanting to believe. She grabbed her phone out of her back pocket, pushing up slightly in the corner of the couch to stare at the screen like it held the answers to all the questions of the universe.

The New Jersey Devils name was selected as part of a newspaper contest, but it was based on the Jersey Devil, which is reported to have lived in the Pine Barrens. He was a monster. Thirteenth son. Totally the worst.

She was almost asleep when her phone vibrated, the sound echoing in her ears just under the pillow she had propped up against the arm of Mary Margaret’s couch.

They’d won.

A bounceback victory of the highest order – at least according to the MSG announcers who promised that Killian Jones had, obviously, put his less-than-impressive second game of the season in the metaphorical rearview mirror.

He’d scored again and assisted on Robin’s empty-netter and he’d been first star. She’d smiled at that.

I didn’t know that, Swan.

Emma bit her lip and she blinked blearily at the screen, the only light in Mary Margaret’s pitch-black living room.

I thought you knew everything.

Not quite so much anymore.

She pressed her teeth down until it actually hurt, certain she was going to push through her entire lip and she could actually taste blood in her mouth.

First star. That second goal was ridiculous.

Thanks.

The announcers were going nuts. And you almost had the hat trick if the shot after the penalty had gone in.

He didn’t answer and Emma didn’t really sleep again, the knot of whatever in the pit of her stomach making it difficult to do anything except stare at the ceilings and come up with all the reasons why she was the absolute worst.

She’d totally fucked up.

#cs ff #captain swan fanfiction #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #in which mary margaret has thoughts and opinions

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