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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

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My Type

(Hufflepuff!*)Reader X Draco

Fourth Year

There was a time when I was alone

Nowhere to go and no place to call home

My only friend was the man in the moon

And even sometimes he would go away, too

Summary: (Original request form @darcypottah) The events of the summer between fourth and fifth year unfold and you find yourself at Malfoy Manor more than you expected.

A/n: Okay, so I might have said that these summer ones would be shorted, but that was before I started writing it... so yeah it’s like 10k words. But every one of them is so cute and ugh, I’m in love you guys. It’s got fluff, it’s got angst, it’s got magic, what more could you want? Let me know what you think!! Also see the end note for some thoughts from me and my posting schedule!! Love y’all so much

“Malfoy?” My mother asked. “You want to go to Malfoy Manor?” She was trying very hard not to yell at me and I could tell as I bit my lip and looked down.

“Draco invited me,” I argued weakly. “He... um.”

“He what? He’s tormented you for three years Y/n. And now you want to go to the lion’s den?” Her voice was raising as the invitation in her hand fluttered about with her spastic movements.

“It’s not like that mother,” I insisted. “He’s... you wouldn’t understand,” I shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself defensively. “No one understands.”

My mother took a deep breath and set the parchment on the mantle, facing the fire, her back to me.

“Your father would understand,” She whispered softly. “He always saw the best in people...”

My eyes dropped to the floor as my stomach sank because we were thinking the same thing: it was his trust in people that had led to his death in the first war, and now my mother thought it was happening again. After what happened with... Cedric and the rumors about...she was frantic about protecting me.

“Mother, please. Draco asked me to come. He sent an invitation,”

I looked to the fancy paper marked with the Malfoy seal: an invitation to a Summer Solstice Ball at the manor. I took a deep breath.

“He’s alone, mother. You have to see that,”

It killed me that she had kept me here all summer because of the news of what occurred during the Triwizard Tournament. My thoughts often lingered to Draco as I wrote to Abby explaining why I couldn’t come over to see her, as was the usual of my summers. I didn’t write to him, explaining, and though I wanted to... I found myself staring at a blank page with too many words and not enough to say.

“Very well, you may go,” She finally sighed out. “But Abby will be your plus one,”

My heart soared as I thanked her, hugging her and taking the invitation, rushing to my room to write to Abby and to tell Draco I was coming after all.

Abby was ecstatic about the invite and teased me about liking Draco still, but again, I insisted that we were friends, and that was all. It was a friendly thing to do, invite me to the Ball, and it was friendly when I responded:

Draco,

I’ll be there, I promise. Mother’s making me bring Abby—not that I don’t want her to come as my plus one, but it is first and foremost my mother’s wishes. I can’t wait to see you.

Your Hufflepuff,

Y/n

P.S. Yes, I’ve sent the invitation back with the proper RSVP. It’s included with this letter.

It was two weeks before the party, I could wait two weeks. Right?

_______________________

“What is that?” His father demanded, coming up behind him.

Draco flinched and quickly hid your letter behind the invitation.

“Another has RSVP’d to the ball, from school,” Draco responded coolly, counting the seconds until his father responded in tense anticipation.

“I see,” His father’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. Your mother and I are going out for the evening. We shall be back in the morning.”

“Yes father,” Draco sighed.

All summer, since the Dark Lord had returned, his parents had been going to meetings non-stop, leaving him alone at the manor. In the quiet of the house, away from the house-elves, he had read through your book about three times, pouring into the pages, finding comfort in knowing that the book was all that he had to know that you were real and not a figment of his imagination.

Behind the locked door of his room, he took your letter out and smiled. Though he was bitter that you hadn’t come, or written to him all summer, it all went away when he saw the letter upon the dining table.

Taking out his own parchment, he stared at it, wanting to write you back, but having no idea what to say, or how to respond that would make sense and not make him look like he was holding onto your every word—because he wasn’t. He was just fine. And you were just a friend.

A week remained until the ball, and his parents were barely at the manor despite the fact. The house elves were cleaning religiously each day, so he spent his days outside, under a tree, reading your book.

________________________________

Abby arrived two days before the party, and after the initial excitement of seeing each other, we had time to fawn over our dresses and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Is there a reason your dress is green,” Abby drawled. “To match a certain Slytherin we know?”

“No,” I refuted, growing red. “It was my mother’s. I’ve made adjustments of course, but it has nothing to do with Draco,” I defended.

“Who said I meant Draco?” Abby grinned.

I gave her a pointed look and rolled my eyes, failing to hold back a smile.

“I can’t believe you got invited to a Malfoy party,” Abby sighed wistfully as we lay awake, the stars coming out to play.

“It’s not that big a deal,” I laid on my back, staring at the swirling stars that lingered on my ceiling. “And, I did say I would come visit him over the summer,”

“You miss him,” It wasn’t a question, it was a melancholy statement.

“Somedays, yes.” I confessed, taking a breath in. “It’s harder at night... after you know...”

“What did happen between you two on that day? At the tournament? There was something that you knew, that really freaked you out. I know you Y/n, you rarely get that bad for Pomfrey to give you all three,” Abby sat up, looking over at me.

“I know, and... what Dumbledore said... about... you know... and my dad... and Cedric... It was too much that night, it still is most nights,” I sat up and hugged my knees. “And he was right there. He was as scared as I was... and he still... stayed.”

“I know I tease you about it a lot, but you know it is okay to like him, right?” Abby looked over at me, a soft look on her face.

“I know,” A smile touched my lips. “But I don’t know if either of us is ready for anything more than what we have now.”

That thought stopped me from writing to him constantly or doing something Slytherin worthy to go and see him. We needed to figure out what we needed, and right now, a friend was that.

The night of the Ball, Abby and I spent hours getting ready in my room, music playing for hype. It was great fun, preparing for the unknown with Abby. It calmed my nerves about seeing Draco for the first time in about a month.

“See, you should have gone to the Yule Ball with us,” She pointed out, setting an embellished headband in my hair, her options now much smaller that I had cut it, not that I was complaining. It was the easiest getting ready I ever had.

“Like I would have made it through that night,” I scoffed.

“What makes this one different?” The challenge caught me in my tracks, and I knew the answer deep down, but I was in denial about it: I had said yes to Draco this time.

The Malfoy Manor held up to its expectations as Abby and I arrived, greeted by a house-elf that asked for our names. After giving them and being escorted inside, our coats ushered off, I paused, taken aback by the glittering scene before me. It was like I had stepped into one of my books and it was a proper royal ball. My eyes scanned the sea of people, looking for silvery blond hair that I knew to be Draco, but I couldn’t see him in the crowd.

Abby took my arm and we headed into the throng of people, and I tried to ignore the stares that lingered on the two of us. I recognized several people from the Ministry, and professors from school, and of other places that were highbrow. Many greetings were exchanged, and I was becoming slightly overwhelmed, making my way to the outskirts of the noise.

“Miss Y/l/n,” The icy tone tipped me off that I was being called by a Malfoy.

“Mr. Malfoy,” I smiled politely, dipping in a slight bow. “May I congratulate you on your party,” My compliment was light and airy, opposed to the deep dark look Lucius Malfoy was giving me.

“Yes,” The word held disappointment and a thousand meanings. “You look so much like your mother,” His eyes all but stripped me. My hands clenched as I took a sharp breath in. “I believe she wore that before you,”

“Yes,” I responded blithely.

“It suits you as it did her, a fine Slytherin at Hogwarts,” There was a challenge in his eyes, as if he were trying to find what would make me come undone.

“She was,” I smiled, thinking of her and the comfort the thought gave.

“I heard that you are Hufflepuff, like your father then?” His eyes narrowed, disgust in his voice.

“Yes sir,”

“A shame he died in the war,” Lucius gave off hand. “Must have been difficult to grow up without a father,” There was no pity or sentiment in his voice.

I grit my teeth, pursing my lips together.

“He died for something he believed in,” I whispered. “It was the greatest example he could have set for me,” There was a fire in my eyes as I looked into a cold stare.

Lucius opened his mouth to say something, but I felt a hand at the small of my back and from my peripheral vision I could see blond hair and a cold look.

“Father, I see you’ve met Y/n, she attends Hogwarts with me,” His voice dripped acid as he took a small step in front of me.

“Yes, she is quite charming,” It was a lie. “If you’ll excuse me. And Draco, do not forget, you owe your mother a dance,”

As soon as his father was out of sight, I all but sagged in relief, turning to Draco. There was a small smile on his lips, and I greeted it with one of my own.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“You’re okay?” There was concern in his voice.

I nodded and looked back to the way Lucius had left. I took a deep breath and let his comments slide off of my shoulders. I wouldn’t let him ruin my night.

“You... um... look lovely,” Draco stammered as we stood there, quite awkwardly.

“Thank you,” my cheeks flushed a slight pink like his. “You’re rather handsome yourself.” He was in a well-tailored suit with a green tie that held the same hue as my dress.

“Thank you,” A smile caught his lips as his cheeks reddened.

“So, this is a Ball,” I mused, looking out onto the happy party goers. “It’s very warm,”

“Depends on the company you keep,” His voice got colder for the moment, no doubt his thoughts directing towards his father.

“Well, I hope I’m good company,” I baited, grinning at him.

“You’ll do,” He grinned back, offering his arm.

I took it, walking along the halls surrounding the party, all lit with hundreds of fairy lights. A few hellos and introductions were made as we walked along. Seeing Snape outside of the school halls was a bizarre experience.

“Why didn’t you write sooner?” The question was soft as Draco and I found another moment alone.

“I’m really sorry about that. My mother was being overly protective,” I muttered as we walked among the outskirts of the party. “I did want to,” I clarified.

“It’s been so dull here. My parents are always out...”

“And they just leave you here?” I was slightly appalled. “You could have written me, we could have figured something out,”

“You said your mother was being overly protective,” he pointed out. “Besides, it’s fine. It’s done now,”

“I’m sorry Draco, if I had known,”

“Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?” He gave a hesitant smile. “A few others from school are here as well, I believe Abby already found them.” He changed the subject quickly and put up a front I knew all too well.

“I’m sure she did. She has a knack for that,” My tone became somber as I found the same mask he did and donned it.

He led me to a sitting room off the main foyer where a group of students from Hogwarts chatted and lounged. Most of them I recognized from Slytherin but there were a few others from different Houses.

“Y/n!” Abby called. “I was wondering where you went, you just vanished,” she scolded in a soft voice not to raise attention.

“I’m sorry, I don’t like large crowds, you know that,” My voice dropped to a mutter, while I fidgeted with the lace on my dress.

“I guess it’s a good thing I brought her back then?” Draco smirked, joining our conversation and bringing Pansy with him.

“Oh, like you didn’t go looking for her,” Pansy baited. “Merlin, you two,” She muttered under her breath

I felt my cheeks blush as Abby handed me a glass of what I hoped was not alcoholic. A gentle sip and I knew it wasn’t. I didn’t prefer the carbonated drink however, so I held it politely with no intention of drinking more.

“Is it better in here?” Draco’s voice was low and soft, I barely heard him.

I gave a small inconspicuous nod and a smile.

“Let me know if you need a break,” he whispered and then went to talk with Crabbe and Goyle.

My face warmed up again as I leaned against the wall, talking with Abby and Pansy about the party and the people and what we had done over the summer thus far. It was great fun, and a warm atmosphere but I found myself slipping into a sort of panic, as too many questions were asked, and the noise rose. My fingers thrummed against the glass as I got more fidgety.

“Excuse me,” I whispered, setting my glass down.

“Do you need me to come with you?” Abby asked concerned.

“No, I just need some air... I’ll... yeah,” I swept out of the room without another word and found myself hopelessly lost in the large house.

“There you are,” Draco’s annoyed voice came from behind me. “Seriously, Y/n you can’t just roam around here alone.” He hissed; fear hidden in his eyes letting me know that it was dangerous to be alone tonight.

“I’m sorry,” my gaze dropped. “I...” sighing, I shrugged.

“If you don’t like crowds and lights and noise, why did you come?” He asked, his tone softer as he led me in a better direction, it still stung though.

“I don’t know,” I confessed softly. “I thought I’d give it a try... and I... I missed you.”

“You missed me?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes as if he couldn’t believe it. “Am I not allowed to miss you?” I demanded, watching disbelief flit across his face.

“I guess,” he led me down a long hall, and to a smaller foyer that had a door leading outside.

Guiding me through the door, he took my hand in the moonlight and led me with practice down a path to a small garden of roses. I took great care in walking, not trusting myself completely in the heels I wore. The lights around us began to illuminate, and fairy lights twinkled all around, lighting the rose garden and the two of us.

“Is this quiet enough?” His demeanor had changed, his voice now colored with concern again.

I nodded and sat upon a bench, taking a deep breath, toying with my dress again. He sat beside me, as the same awkwardness from the Tournament and earlier hovered over us. Like whatever walls we had between us were gone, and it was just him and I out here; not Houses or expectations or our pasts. It was nerve wracking. Instead of focusing on that, I watched the stars swirl in the night sky above us.

“Lovely view,” I commented softly.

“Too bad it’s just us out here,” He sighed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, curiosity stretching a smile on my face as I stole a glance.

“Well, isn’t it a bit... I don’t know,” He took a sharp breath in and shrugged. “Romantic?”

I let out a soft laugh, hope fluttering in my chest, in vain of course, but it was there all the same. A blush rose to my cheeks as I focused on anything that wasn’t him.

“Maybe,” I murmured.

“Some other couple would love this,” He gestured softly, and I rolled my eyes, finally giving in and looking at him.

“And why can’t we enjoy it?” I challenged. “Shame to waste a lovely night,”

He gave me a flat look and stood.

“You can’t be serious,” Draco scoffed and faced away from me. “You’re not my type.”

A laugh bubbled through my lips as I stood.

“Really?” I dared. “And who is? Pansy maybe?” I took the few steps that laid between us, so that we were side by side again, gazing over the night sky.

He shrugged and didn’t say anything.

“I think I’ll be the one to make that call though,” I decided. “Of course, I’d never fall for you,” I scoffed at the mere thought and rolled my eyes, seeing if he would play my game.

“And what makes you think you get to make that decision? Are you going to make it for me?” His eyes found mine, his eyebrows raised.

“Of course not,” I narrowed my eyes at him, “But, you’re right, this would be nice for some girl who feels the chance that there’s some sort of romance but,” I shrugged teasingly. “I’m feeling nothing,” A smirk played at my lips.

He paused a moment, and I could see the gears working in his head. Would he play the game, or would he call me out on it? What call would he make?

“Is that right?” He was playing. Game on.

“Could be less than nothing,” I pressed further, turning from him, facing the rest of the manor and the rolling hills that were bathed in moonlight.

“Good to know,” He came up behind me, placing his hands at my waist. “What a waste of a lovely night then,”

______________________________

A million thoughts were swirling around Draco’s head. He had caught your game after a few comments that couldn’t be anything but teasing from your lips. He knew you too well. So, he’d play along.

You denied it, and so did he. What it was, however, was another matter. You didn’t seem to take his negating words to heart though and maybe he didn’t either.

If he would share this night with anyone, he would want it to be you. He didn’t feel this... different about anyone else. You mentioned Pansy, but he couldn’t imagine her out here with him like you were. There was something different about how you treated him that made him want it to be you.

With you so close to him, relaxing in his arms like you did the night you two accidentally ended up in the same bed, he felt the similar peace that you held about yourself.

“Draco,” His mother’s voice called softly from behind him. “I thought I’d find you out here,” Draco turned, and so did you, a blush creeping across your face.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” You greeted softly. “My apologies for keep Draco away. I’m afraid I’m not one for large crowds,”

You held such decorum that he was honestly impressed. The way you spoke respectfully and with dignity was a sight to behold. It was almost devious in the way that you did it.

“Think nothing of it my dear,” Oh, his mother liked you, he could tell from the use of the pet name. “But your father is looking for you,” Her eyes met his, but all he could notice was how your face dropped.

“Of course,” He answered coldly. “Come Y/n,” He urged softly, leading you inside.

You followed wordlessly, lost in thought again by the look you held on your face. He was so preoccupied with thinking about what you were thinking, he had missed what his father said to him.

“Draco,” His father scolded sharply. “You are not to be skirting around alone with her. You have a reputation and people to impress tonight. Now, bid her a goodnight and find your mother to offer her a dance,”

How could his father still sap any joy from him with a few words?

“Goodnight Draco,” Your voice was somber as your eyes didn’t leave the floor, “Excuse me,”

Before he could get a word in, you pushed past him, down the hall toward the sitting room that held the rest of his friends, leaving him alone with his father.

“Father,” Draco snapped. “That was uncalled for,” His glare matched his father’s.

“Excuse me?”

“Y/n is a friend,” Draco stressed. “And I won’t let you treat her that way,”

Following your lead, he left before his father could get a word in, knowing that there would be hell to pay for what he was doing, but he couldn’t get the image of how broken you looked out of his mind as he raced off to find you.

And he did find you. With Abby by your side, you looked as if you were about to cry. Clenching his fists and pressing back the rising anger against his father, he made his way to you quickly.

“What are you doing?” You asked hoarsely. “You need to go socialize, impress people,” It wasn’t malicious, but he still took a hit from your words.

“I’ll just... leave you guys to it,” Abby muttered, quickly making her way out of the room.

You attention turned back to him as you awaited an answer, and honestly, he did too. He had no idea why he chased after you instead of doing what he was bred to do. He should have had no problem going out into the mass of people and charming them into liking him. But their opinions didn’t matter to him. Yours did.

“Come with me,” He blurted out. “Come... out there, with me. Socialize, and...” he trailed off knowing he was crazy and stupid for asking.

“Draco, that’s... I can’t.” Your voice was hopeless. “I can’t do large crowds and people...”

“I know,” He cut you off. “But you’ll be with me, that... that always seems to help you,” It was a long shot that his observation was correct, but he was desperate on making this work at the moment.

And to his surprise, you nodded and agreed to go with him. He led you to the main room, and though you spoke softly and rarely, he could tell that people were enamored with you, wondering who you were and why you would be on his arm. You’d absentmindedly tug on his sleeve when you became overwhelmed and he’d take you to a quiet spot for a moment and let you gather yourself again before meeting someone else.

He only left you when his mother finally found him for the dance that was promised and as the night closed, he couldn’t find you again.

___________________________________

As soon as Draco let go of my arm, I felt panic slip over me as I was alone. Abby was by my side before I could blink as she grabbed my hand and led me to the coat room then outside for fresh air.

“You okay?” She asked, animate.

I nodded and pulled my cloak around myself tightly.

“Let’s get home then,” She encouraged, and we used the portkey as before and were standing outside of my front door.

Inside, I sank onto the couch, ignoring my mother’s questions as tears started to fall softly. All of my emotions came crashing down all at once and it was too much. Abby explained it all to my mother, who understood and quietly took me upstairs and helped me out of my dress and makeup, finding me soft pajamas as she brushed through my hair.

“You like this boy, don’t you?” My mother asked softly.

I nodded hopelessly, a few more tears slipping out.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s okay,” She gathered me into her arms, and I felt safe enough to come completely undone, crying into her shoulders.

“He’s so alone momma,” I whimpered.

“I know sweetheart,” She soothed, petting my hair softly. “You remind me so much of your father, he had a heart just like yours,”

“What am I supposed to do?” The question was hopeless as I fumbled for an explanation.

“For right now, you’re going to calm down and unwind,” My mother chided. “No use worrying in something that can’t be changed right now,”

I nodded at the familiar words and took a deep breath, getting my thoughts under control. Again, and again I repeated the words my mother said. There was no use in worrying about it now. It could be dealt with in the morning. Tomorrow was another day. I had done what I could with the day and that was good enough.

Abby was waiting for me, sitting on my bed, three familiar vials in her hands.

“I’m okay,” I confirmed. “I don’t think I need them,”

“You need to take them anyway, there’s no harm in it,” She chided, placing them in my hands. “This is twice now that he’s gotten you this worked up.”

“It’s not his fault,” I snapped venomously. I took a deep breath and composed myself. “It’s not him.”

“But these situations he’s getting you into,” Abby tried again. “This isn’t good for you Y/n,”

“I’m getting myself into these situations, well, the first one I had no control over, and I don’t know if I could have done that one without him, and tonight...” A sharp breath in and I sat on my bed beside her. “I knew it was a bad idea, I just thought I’d try,”

“You can’t do this to yourself, it’s self-destructive,” She stood, allowing me to curl up under the covers.

I toyed with the first vial, running through my fingers. Abby turned off the lights and got into her bed, settling down for the night.

“He needs someone,” I argued softly. “And... I think I do too,”

“And you think that it should be him?”

“Yes... I think so,” I whispered, taking the first vial, making my way through the next two and falling into a dreamless sleep.

________________________________

“Draco Lucius Malfoy!” His father roared. “How dare you speak to me like that!?”

Draco flinched, and stayed quiet, knowing that saying anything would make the outcome worse. The guests had gone and all that was left in the big empty house was him, his parents and the house-elves.

“After everything that I have done for you! I even let you invite that filthy little blood traitor! And you chose her over your family!?”

Draco clenched his fists, gritting his teeth, knowing it was going to be a painful sleepless night again. Not even his mother could stop his father when he was like this.

............

Looking in the bathroom mirror, the bruises and cuts on his face and skin started to heal already from the vial he kept under the sink for nights like these. It wouldn’t be long until he could wash away the dried blood. It didn’t matter what his father did to him, he still had to look presentable, and he always had a knack for potions.

He shed his suit as quickly as possible, finding comfort in sweats and a t-shirt, neither of which were tight fitting nor insulating. It was the middle of the summer and he was shoved into a three- piece wool suit. Whose idea was that anyway?

Pacing his room, muttering under his breath, he attempted to control his thoughts and anger but failed, letting tears fall behind locked doors. He let out a yell of despair and rage, scattering the things from his desk onto the floor, staring at the carnage.

He quickly panicked when he saw spilled ink weaving its way toward your book that had been thrown about in his fury. Rescuing the book, he smoothed the pages, repressing the dandelion on its proper page, rereading the words:

“Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he is good.”

Draco had spent the few months from when you had given him the book trying to figure out why you had underlined that. He memorized it accidently and found himself repeating it whenever he felt lost. After tonight, maybe, he thought, the reason was because that’s what you saw in him.

“She’s such a Hufflepuff,” He muttered, smiling to himself. “She’s going to get herself hurt one day,” The thought sobered his mood.

He brought the book to his bed and with the bedside lamp turned on, he began to read once more, getting lost in a world filled with hope and redemption. The thoughts of his father faded, of tonight faded, of the harsh words and expectations... they all slipped away.

Consciousness faded from his eyes as sleep welcomed him like an old friend. He found himself in a wintery forest, hopelessly lost. The chill was getting to him as he wrapped his arms around himself. Crunching through the snow, he saw a light ahead, and followed it.

“Bloody hell,” He muttered, finding a lamppost. “Maybe I’ve read it one too many times,”

“Hello?” The voice was soft and gentle, holding a familiar decorum.

He turned and saw you standing there, in a light blue long-sleeved dress with white fur accents, your hair falling about your shoulders, sweeping down to your waist—it made him miss your cropped hair, it didn’t quite look like you any longer. The frost caused your nose and cheeks to hold a red hue. You looked like you belonged in the scene around him, except for the mass of black fur in your arms.

“Well, what are you doing out in the cold?” You asked, talking to him like he was crazy, like you weren’t out in the snow as well.

“I didn’t choose to be here,” He muttered.

“Well, come on then, let’s get you warm,” You offered the mass of fur in your arms out to him and he realized that it was a thick coat.

Just as he reached for it, the dream faded into nothing.

When he woke the first bits of dawn shined through his window, and the book laid open across his chest. Rubbing his face and running a hand through his hair he sighed, setting the book on his bedside table.

“Get a grip Malfoy,” He muttered. “Fairytales aren’t real, they’re just stories... it’s stupid to believe in it,”

_____________________________

I woke in the morning, unusually early for me in the summer, and Abby was downstairs having breakfast with my mother. I paused on the stairwell—not because I almost tripped down the stairs.

“I’ve never seen her like this,” I heard Abby’s soft voice. “There’s something about him that just makes her... I can’t explain it.”

“Is she in danger?” My mother retorted. “I know the Malfoys. I know Lucius. I fear that Draco might be just like his father,”

There was a pause and I sank to the nearest stair, leaning against the railing, listening in.

“He was, for the first few years of schooling, you know it as well as I do. But when Y/n came back last year, she got a lot of attention... and I think he got jealous. She was close with Cedric last year...” Abby’s voice became somber. “I just feel like I’m missing something, something she won’t tell me,”

“She does that,” I heard the smile in my mother’s voice. “Every time I think I have her figured out, she’ll tell me something or do something that has me on my toes again. Her father was like that,”

“I think that’s a part of whatever’s going on too,” Abby noted. “Since... You-Know-Who has been rumored to be back... she’s been...”

“I know. I try so hard to keep her from it all. Which is why I don’t know if I want her to keep seeing Draco, his family was on the wrong side of the first war,”

That wasn’t new information to me, it was quite public.

“Forgive me if I’m stepping out of line, but I don’t think keeping Y/n from Draco will end well in any circumstance.” Abby muttered, chuckling darkly.

“She is stubborn that way, isn’t she?” The smile was back in my mother’s tone as I stood, deciding I had heard enough.

“Good morning sunshine,” Abby grinned obnoxiously. “Sleep long enough?”

I gave her a flat look and lumbered to the kitchen bar and sat at a stool, flopping my arms on the counter, laying my head on them. Breakfast came and past, and Abby said her goodbyes before heading home, leaving me alone by the fireplace, staring at nothing and thinking about everything.

“Why don’t you send an owl to Draco,” My mother suggested softly, setting a cup of tea near me.

I took a breath in and sighed.

“He probably hates me,” I voiced my thoughts aloud. “I left without saying goodbye... and I know he got into trouble because of me.”

“Well, if that’s the case, you can at least apologize,” There was something mischievous in my mother’s tone. “Write to him, dear,”

I sat at my desk, staring at the crumpled parchments that I had failed to write a cohesive letter on. This shouldn’t be that hard. Determined, I started again.

Draco,

I’m sorry about last night. I hope I didn’t get you into too much trouble and that you don’t hate me.

If you still want company and you’re not to upset with me

I hope you’re not upset with me,

Y/n

There, that would do wouldn’t it? Before I could second guess anything, I sent it off. Putting it out of mind, I set outside to work on my spells for next year and to read in the summer sun. The family owl, Herman, returned later that evening, as the sun was setting over the mountain range. The barn owl dropped the letter and dove off into the wheat fields to hunt.

The parchment was expensive, I could tell by the weight and grit of it. The green wax seal held a recognizable mark. Anxiety fluttered in my chest about what was inside, and part of me worried it might not be from Draco at all, but another Malfoy.

I took a breath and opened the letter.

Y/n,

Why would I be upset with you? It baffles me to know what goes on inside that head of yours.

And I can handle my father’s temper. I have for years. There’s no need to worry about that.

If you want to come to the Manor, my parents are going to be gone the next month. That is if you want to, and don’t mind the circumstance. I’ll have my mother write to yours.

I’m not mad at you, stop thinking that,

Draco

I ran my thumb delicately over the words on the page, a smile reaching my lips. He wasn’t mad at me. That was the biggest relief. His cryptic remark about his father worried me, however, but that could be worried about another day.

Fate was with me, because my mother consented to let me spend the afternoons at the Manor, as long as I was home for dinner. I sent a letter to Draco as soon as I found out and began to look forward to the next afternoon.

Draco met me outside the large front doors, looking as if he were trying not to smile. I didn’t care that a grin stretched across my face. Before I could stop myself, I jumped into his arms, hugging him. He was shocked a moment but returned the gesture. I pulled away quickly, blushing.

“Sorry,” I offered.

“No, it’s alright,” There was a suppressed teasing smile on his face. “Shall we?”

The house seemed even bigger now that it was empty, and it didn’t quite hold the same magic as it did the night of the Solstice Ball. He led me through the house and back down a familiar hallway and out to the rose garden once more. It was different during the day as the old oak trees created a canopy for us.

_________________________

Draco never actually thought that this would work and that you’d be here with him. Good things didn’t just happen to him, ever. But now he wasn’t alone, for the first time in his life. Maybe this month would be bearable.

“I... I brought the other books, if you want to read them,” Your voice was timid as sat in the same spot you did the night of the Ball, hugging your bag to your chest. “We don’t have to though, I just thought maybe,”

Your innocence made him smile, the softness of your demeanor. He never really noticed before.

You and he sat on the grass of the small garden hidden in the rose bushes to anyone onlooking, and he watched you read as he did at Hogwarts. The words fell from your lips, creating a moving picture in his head once more about the Pevensie children in Narnia.

“How much do you know about the muggle world?” The question slipped through Draco’s lips before he could stop it.

“Oh,” You closed the book, setting it in your lap. “Well, I mean, I know a bit more than most, not like my parents are muggle, but my father had a fascination for certain things, music, movies, books, stuff like that,” A shrug left your shoulders as you stretched out your legs, crossing your ankles.

Draco tried very hard not to notice that this was the first time he had seen you in shorts, ever. Your entire wardrobe changed in fact, it was void of school uniforms—sweaters and skirts—and heavily relied on shorts and cut off t-shirts with designs he didn’t understand. It almost suited you more, seeing you this carefree.

The summer sun faded, and you paused your reading, a sigh falling from your lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” The question was hopeful from your lips as you stood. He gave a small nod and saw you to the door, watching you leave.

Dinner was quiet as he ate alone, wishing that you were still there with him. The house-elves had made it, as usual and set it in the dining room, like always. It was maddening, being alone. He never grasped how deafening it was until you were gone.

All he could do was wait for tomorrow as he tossed and turned all night.

“You look awful,” The quip came with a smile and an air of concern.

“Didn’t sleep well,” He muttered, leading you to a random sitting room that held a grand piano that he watched you eye enviously. You sat up right, in the corner of the couch, taking up the least amount of space possible as you began to read once more.

Knowing he was pushing his luck with whatever this was, he had no qualm about stretching out across the couch and laying his head in your lap.

You raised an eyebrow at him, and he challenged you with a smirk, daring you to say something. You didn’t. Instead you continued to read to him, your other hand falling and resting on his chest, counting the soothing breaths he took.

He wondered if you knew that you absentmindedly rubbed his chest with your thumb as you read. Or that you were driving him absolutely mad by doing it.

___________________________

When my words began to slur together too much to understand, I gave up reading and placed the book on the end table, realizing that Draco was fast asleep in my lap. It hurt, to see him like this. There was no fear or worry in his eyes, no look of distress or a façade of power in his features. He was at peace, like the weight of the world was off of his shoulders.

Carefully, I ran my hand through his hair, combing it back and out of his face. It was soft and silky. His eyes fluttered open.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” I teased softly. “Have a nice nap?”

He sat up instantly, groaning and rubbing his face.

“Sorry?” He offered, defeated. “I wasted the entire afternoon, didn’t I?”

“I don’t mind, though I have no idea where to start the book again,”

He gave a hopeless laugh. I pulled my feet onto the sofa and angled myself towards him. He sat, his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He was a burning man again.

“I’m sorry Y/n,��

It didn’t go unnoticed when he flinched as I reached out to rub his back comfortingly. My thoughts drifted back to his cryptic remark about his father from his letter and something burned within me.

“Don’t apologize for sleeping Dray,” I soothed, moving closer to him. “I’d rather you do that than be miserable all afternoon trying to humor me,”

The clock chimed and I sighed in defeat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Draco, please get some rest,”

I laid awake in bed that night, wondering if Draco was taking my advice and sleeping, but I knew that it was probably a long shot to hope that.

I don’t know how it happened, but three weeks slipped through my fingers. I spent every afternoon with Draco, most times reading, inside or outside: in different rooms of the house, walking along the trails of the yard, under trees.

Sometimes he would fall asleep in my lap, or we’d just lay and watch the clouds and sleep claimed us both. There were days when he’d play the piano for me and I would sit beside him, watching quietly. Each time I saw him, he looked miserable, but it would fade by the time I left, a true smile touching his lips.

I arrived one afternoon, and Draco wasn’t outside as usual to greet me. Hesitant, I let myself in, my eyes searching for him. Hearing a clatter and shouting upstairs, I rushed up, nearly tripping in my fervor.

“Draco!?” I screamed, bursting through the door that separated us.

I was startled by the scene around me. Books were strewn everywhere, and a large armoire was thrown across the room, its doors fallen unceremoniously to the floor. Shredded clothing littered the room and the bed was barely standing, all of its four posts mangled. The wallpaper was sliced into nothing. But it wasn’t what was the most heartbreaking.

Draco was curled up on the floor, his head buried in his arms, his wand clutched in one of his hands as his shoulders shook. I barely heard his muffled sobs.

Taking out my wand I began to mutter the Repairing charm but paused. Instead, I put my wand away and made my way over to Draco, sitting beside him. I stared at the mess around us and slowly laid my head on his shoulder. He didn’t acknowledge me.

__________________________________

Draco wanted nothing more for than you to go away. He didn’t want you to see this. He didn’t want anyone to see this. He was a failure and a mess of a wizard who didn’t deserve anything. So, he most certainly didn’t deserve you sitting beside him, unafraid.

“I know you’re scared,” Your voice was soft and low. “I know you’re lonely, and I know it eats at you. I know that’s why you lash out,”

You paused, and he dared to peek at you. You were looking up at the ceiling, tears caught in your eyes as your lip was caught between your teeth.

“I know he abuses you, and it’s why you flinch whenever I try to touch you,”

Draco hung his head, his hand tightening around his wand.

“And I can only imagine what your father is doing now, being away. I know it can’t be good, even though some part of me wishes it was. And I know you wish that too,”

He looked up at you, and slowly your eyes met his. Carefully your hand rose, and he wasn’t afraid. Not of you. Your fingers brushed through his hair, moving it away from his eyes.

“There,” You whispered softly, a kind smile on your lips. “Not so bad is it? Words are powerful, Draco. Speaking them, even though you’re afraid, takes some of their power.” You eyes dropped down and you took a small breath in. “And pressing on despite them makes you stronger,”

For the first time, Draco saw the sadness you held in your eyes and the weight that you carried on your shoulders. And it occurred to him, you had a lot to carry. Your father had died when you were young, and you had lived with your mother alone in a house that probably reminded you of him every moment.

You spoke with such wisdom he wondered how long it took for you to learn the same lesson before you could teach it. You never liked large crowds and you probably missed a lot of incredible things because of it. Then, you had to go and become his friend. You took a chance on him when you had every reason to walk away.

A girl who ran away and hid in books that you shared with him. A girl who ran to stories because they were better than what went on around her. A girl who showed him the same escape.

Lost in his thoughts, he hardly noticed that you slipped his wand out of his hand and stood slowly, offering your hand to him.

“Let’s fix this, yeah?”

He didn’t know if you meant the room or him, but he nodded, wanting to do both. A smile spread across your face as you helped him up.

“Here, my aunt taught me,” Tucking his wand into your back pocket, you took his hand, standing beside him looking at the wreckage.

“In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun.” Your eyes shined. “Find the fun and snap,” You snapped your fingers. “The job’s a game,”

All around him he watched his room piece itself back together. The ruined walls mended themselves and the armoire reassembled and returned to its rightful position. The books picked themselves off the floor and reassembled and his bed made itself.

“What kind of spell is that?” His eyes darted around as the room continued to restore itself.

“Cleaning spell,” You smiled softly, “My aunt used to watch me when I was little, showed me how to clean up after I made a mess doing accidental magic,”

“You’re strange, you know that?” Draco smiled shaking his head.

“I know,” You quipped. “But you love it,”

There was a beat between the two of you as it dawned on you what slipped through your lips. Before you could amend it, he responded.

“I do,” And it was the truth.

You looked down; a smile still stretched across your face.

“I thought I wasn’t your type?” You drawled mischievously.

“Oh, I’m never going to live that one down, am I?” He dismayed, a chuckle leaving his lips.

“As if I’d let you,” You reached up and he still didn’t flinch as you wrapped him into a hug. “Thank you for letting me in,”

His arms wrapped around you in return. You were so warm and soft, and a chill ran through him as your fingers curled in his hair.

“Thanks for taking a chance on me.”

You two spent the rest of the afternoon curled up in his window seat. You didn’t read to him, and neither of you really talked. Instead you held him in your arms, absentmindedly petting his hair and humming. You watched the view outside the window, and he watched you.

And for the moment he felt safe and didn’t feel alone. Even when you left that evening, he still didn’t feel isolated. He knew you would be back for the few days that he had left before his parents return. And though that thought was worrisome, he didn’t let it bother him.

“My parents will be back soon, but so will she,” He spoke aloud to an empty house.

__________________________

“Draco?” I called to the nearly empty house again. “Draco!?”

“Here!” He responded, coming from in front of me somewhere. “Come on!”

“Come on where!?” I asked, following the sound of his voice.

“Come on!” “Draco,” I whined.

I finally found him, he was in the kitchen, a large basket on one arm offering his other hand to you.

“What are we doing?” I complained lightly as he pulled me through the grassy backyard, down a path we’d never taken together before and into the woods.

“Will you trust me?” He bantered back, throwing me a playful questioning look.

“Sure, sure,” I rolled my eyes and dodged a tree branch. “Trust me, he says,”

Draco stopped short and caught me before I went barreling down a muddy slope and into a small lake that resided in the neck of the woods. Sunlight filtered in golden and green through the trees lighting the water and scene softly.

“You do know how to swim don’t you?” He asked softly, grinning at me.

“I can swim circles around you, Malfoy,”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Isn’t it always?” I smirked.

I don’t remember laughing so much or having that much fun in an afternoon ever. Being with Draco seemed to make everything hurt less. Between slash wars or simply just hanging onto his shoulders as he chauffeured me around the crystal water it was a shining moment.

“You know it’s okay to like him, right?” Abby’s words echoed in my mind.

All I could think in response was how could someone not?

Wrapped in a fluffy probably over-expensive towel on the lake beach, I watched Draco in the fading sun as he lounged, his eyes closed, smile reminiscent on his lips.

“It’s that time again isn’t it?” He asked softly.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see. I’d have to go home soon, and our days were running out. A piece of me wished we had figured it out sooner. What it was, however, I didn’t know. But we would have had more time to figure it out.

Sighing I stood, casting a Drying charm and slipping his shirt over my head and my shorts back on, leaning over him.

“Well, are you gonna say goodbye?” I mused as he peeked an eye open.

“That’s my shirt,”

“Not anymore,” I grinned, and he sat up as I crouched down beside him.

The awkward energy the lingered between us changed to something a bit more nervous and potential. His eyes matched the crystal water behind us, though his hair slicked back with the water reminded me of our first few years at school, so I reached up and ruffled it out so that he looked like my Draco once more.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Dray,” Standing, a smile remained on my face as he squinted up at me before standing himself.

“Y/n,” He called as I started to ascend the small bank.

His hand caught mine and he pulled me back to him, steadying me with his hands on my waist. Raising an eyebrow, I looked up at him expectant. His hand came up and tucked a stray strand of hair out of my face, lingering on my cheek.

As he leaned down, my eyes slipped closed as I felt his lips on mine, the anxiety in my chest turning into butterflies fluttering beautifully inside me. I pressed up on my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, our lips dancing trying to find the right rhythm. His hand cradled my face softly and his other held my waist steady.

I pulled away reluctantly, nuzzling my nose to his.

“Still not your type?” I breathed out.

“Not even close,” He chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. “Go before you get in trouble,”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I promised meeting soft blue eyes.

“You’re awfully happy,” My mother commented offhand as I walked through the door. “Have a good time this afternoon?”

I nodded, smiling to myself and headed upstairs. After dinner there was a letter sitting on my desk as Herman, our owl, preened his feathers on my sill. The recognizable green seal offered me comfort as I sat on my bed and opened the letter.

Y/n,

I’m so sorry, but my parents came home early. I hoped that we would have more time, but it looks like our time is up. I’m sorry. Please don’t be upset.

Yours,

Draco

My heart fell at the letter as tears stung my eyes. I laid back on my mass of pillows and stared at the words, wishing them not to be true. No matter how much I stared, they didn’t change. I sprang from my bed and found parchment, writing him back immediately.

Draco,

You don’t need to apologize, but I do want to see you again. This can’t be it for us, for whatever this is. Please, I don’t want to lose this, and I don’t want to lose you either. You’re too important to me.

I won’t let this be goodbye,

Y/n

I sent the letter off and stared at the setting sun.

_______________________________

Draco reread your letter again, laying on his bed, not sure of how to make this not be goodbye. He didn’t want it to be goodbye either. He didn’t want to lose you.

The sad part happened to be that as soon as school started again, he would lose you. There he had to be a Slytherin and you were a Hufflepuff. He had a mask to keep on and you... you’d fight against him because of it. The thought made his stomach churn.

Couldn’t he have just one good thing without his family—his father—getting in the way?

There was a knock on the door and his mother entered his room. He sat up quickly and threw the letter under a pillow.

“How is she taking it?” His mother asked, a knowing look in her eyes. “Don’t try to lie to me,”

Draco sighed and hung his head.

“Not well,” He answered truthfully.

His mother came and sat beside him, rubbing his back softly.

“Part of loving someone is doing whatever it takes to keep them safe,” Her voice was gentle and despondent. “It’s a hard lesson, my dear, but you must keep her safe, and keep her from your father,”

Draco nodded mutely.

Taking his mother’s words to heart, he hid you from his father. He gave no sign that anything was out of the ordinary, nor that you were here at all. It was torture, seeing your ghost wander around the house or the yard, smiling and waving at him, knowing it wasn’t his anymore.

Draco tucked your book away, in the bottom corner of his school chest under an old spell book, your letters folded inside. And as much as he’d like to tuck you away the same way, he couldn’t. You were in his dreams that seemed too real. It left him awake late in the night, craving your touch, your kiss, your laughter, for you just to smile at him one more time.

Even though it seemed impossible, September arrived.

Chapter 3

End Note: So, hi, I hope you liked it. Anyway, I know i have a few different timelines up with Draco and different Readz, and that a lot of you are invested in my Gryffindor!Reader one, and that’s amazing and more than I deserve honestly. And I will continue ro write for it, but I need time to get all of my thoughts down and fleshed out. There are a lot of things that I want to do, and will do, but to get from A to B I need to find the right path. So there isn’t a posting schedule, though I do write daily as a practice. I know you all are excited to see what happens next, and so am I on some things, but I ask your patience and to not be upset when I post something different. I am human, I do have anxiety and depression and executive dysfunction as well as a life outside of writing unfortunately, so cut your girl some slack. I love all of you and what means the most to me is seeing reblogs and comments, not just like/kudos. I have extreme anxiety and those really help me calm down and feel like I’m wanted and doing the right thing. It’s stupid sure, but it’s me and I can accept and love that part of me too. I love you guys so much.

--KGL

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meltwonu · 4 years

Text

s n a k e | e y e s [chapter 10] FINAL

pairing; snakehybrid!woozi x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; some angst, loads of fluff, oral(female receiving), return of jihoon’s impregnation kink!!, multiple orgasms, squirting 🥴💕 y’all... the final chapter. Thank you so much for everyone who gave interest in our cute ‘lil snake hybrid jihoonie~ and to those who patiently waited for each chapter 🥺🥺🥺 I hope to keep writing for him in the future as well cause I love him so much~~💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

Jihoon working in the studio with Soonyoung and the others confirms your worst fear.

It takes them a couple of days to figure out everyone’s skillset and in the time they’re in the studio, you hardly see Jihoon at home. He leaves before you wake up and comes home right after dinner. It reminds you of when you and Soonyoung were together; or really the lack thereof.

You take the time to go into the office on most of those days instead, having lunch with Minghao who’s equally not seen his own hybrid at home.

“It’s kind of weird, I guess? I’m used to him being home but I’m glad he’s got a group of friends to keep him busy. He seems really happy when he gets home.” “Mm…” Minghao’s words go in one ear and out the other as you pick at your uneaten lunch.

“Something tells me you don’t feel the same?” This time you look at him, seeing the worried expression on his face.

“It’s not that at all! I’m really happy for Jihoon and them. He’s really excited about it all too… It’s just…” A lump forms in your throat and you do your best to keep it down. “It’s just… it’s starting to remind me a lot of what happened with Soonyoung, is all. And I guess I’m just scared.”

Minghao hums, sliding his chair closer to you before he pats your shoulder comfortingly. “Figured as much. That’s why you two broke up, right? Because he was hardly ever around?” You nod, sighing.

“I know I’m probably overthinking but it’s just weird to not see Jihoon everyday, y’know? He leaves for the studio before I wake up and gets home just in time for bed. And coming to the office helps me keep busy but I don’t know… Guess it’s just something to get used to.” You chuckle softly, sending Minghao a reassuring smile.

“I’ll be okay.”

When you get home from the office that day, you notice Jihoon’s shoes are already by the door and the lights are on.

“Jihoon?”

“In the kitchen!”

You make your way towards the kitchen, noticing there’s food on the dining table when you walk in. “Jihoon, did you cook?” The male scratches the back of his head, ears red when he meets your inquisitive eyes.

“I wish, but no, I’d probably still set the kitchen on fire if I tried. But we finished up at the studio earlier and Soonyoung sent me home with some food. Come eat with me while it’s still hot!” He sets the plates down, pulling out your chair for you before he sits across the table.

“How was work at the office?”

“S’okay, having lunch with Minghao everyday is kinda funny. We have the same stories to tell since you and Chan are barely around.” You chuckle, taking a bite of your food before questioning Jihoon about his day.

“We actually finished recording a track! The hyungs said that they might even let me have a studio space ‘cause they said we had a lot of promise and we sent the track to the cafe so they could hear it. I think we’ll hear back in a couple days if we got a performance!” Jihoon’s eyes glitter with hope, happiness evident in his voice. “That’s great Jihoon! I hope you guys get it!” You smile at him, unsure if it reaches your eyes.

“You okay? You seem kinda sad again though. It’s the same kinda sad that time we were in the shower together…” His comment catches you off guard momentarily; eyes flitting to the food in front of you in order to avoid his worried stare. “I... “ All of your thoughts and worries finally come to a head in an instant.

“You can be honest with me, y’know? I won’t be upset.” Jihoon gets up from his seat, pulling the chair out next to you before he sits in it. He grabs your hand, lacing his fingertips with yours reassuringly.

“I just… I--I’m scared.”

“Scared? Why?” Jihoon uses his free hand to push your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. Tears blur your vision, a stray droplet falling into your lap as you use your free hand to rub at your eyes.

“I--I don’t want us to turn out like how Soonyoung and I did. And I guess I just got scared because--because you weren’t home and that’s where my problems started with Soonyoung. And… and I just felt like I never really had a place in his world once he started really getting into his work…” You clench your jaw, tears freely spilling when you meet Jihoon’s loving gaze. “I’m scared of being forgotten or something, I dunno. I’m not making sense. Sorry, I’m just… thinking too much, I guess.”

“You are.” Jihoon sighs, running a free hand through his hair before he reaches over and wipes at your eyes with the back of his finger. “I don’t want you to think of me like Soonyoung because we’re two different people with two completely different lives. I don’t know what you’re thinking I’m going to do but I’d never leave or forget you.” He caresses your cheek, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“And you gave me a home in your world, so the least I can do is give you one in mine too.”

It doesn’t shock you at all that they get a call-back to perform at ‘An Ode’. Jihoon frantically tells you over breakfast one morning; jumping excitedly in the bed as he struggles to call the others to let them know.

You, Seungcheol and Minghao meet up in front of the cafe on the night they’re set to perform; nervous and jittery for the hybrids.

“I’m excited but so nervous for them! And to think they kept their song a complete secret until now…” Seungcheol ponders, opening the door for you and Minghao. “Huh, I didn’t even think about that but you’re right.” Minghao adds, guiding you to a table closer to the back.

“I’m surprised we’re not gonna sit in the front?” Seungcheol asks. You and Minghao share a look, giggling before you each take a seat. “Chan and Jihoon said they were shy and they were afraid of messing up if we sat in the front so we agreed we would try to blend in with the crowd. I don’t want Jihoon to take it out on me later.”

“Damn, Mingyu asked me to do the opposite so I could film him.” The three of you laugh as Seungcheol settles into his own seat, checking to make sure he can still catch the stage from where he sits.

“Seokmin was saying he was nervous but I think he’s probably on the same level as Jihoon and Chan with being shy. I think it’s just Mingyu that isn’t freakin’ out right now.”

“That’s a good thing though. It’s probably helping them not run out of the cafe right now, ‘Cheol.” You reply, looking over the drinks. There were a few other performers that were going on before Jihoon and the others. “By the way, did they ever decide on a group name for themselves?” You ask.

“Mmm, I think Chan said something about how they couldn’t decide on one so they just… didn’t.” Seungcheol snorts, shaking his head as he laughs. “Sounds about right. They probably thought everything was too cheesy and just decided to go with none.” The three of you order coffee in the meantime, chatting until it’s time for them to perform.

Thirty minutes pass easily before you see Mingyu hopping onto the stage, adjusting a few of the mics before he gestures to the other three to get on stage. His tail wags excitedly as the others join him and he takes his place next to Jihoon who situates himself in the middle with Seokmin.

“Um..” Jihoon’s cheeks are beet red up to his ears, licking his lips as he tries to will the nerves away. “We--um, we don’t really have a group name or a-anything yet. But we’ll be performing a ballad for you, um, tonight. We took a while to prepare this song and we even produced it ourselves! It holds a lot of meaning for us.” He pauses to clear his voice, his eyes locking onto yours immediately through the crowd.

“I… wrote this song with someone in mind. And for all of you who have that special someone, this is for you. It’s called ‘Smile Flower’, please enjoy!” He licks his lips shyly just as Seokmin nudges him jokingly; the lights dimming just as the music starts.

A shiver runs down your spine as you listen, tears springing to your eyes when you focus on the lyrics. Minghao nudges you slightly, sly smile on his face when he sees your blush even in the dim lights.

“He really cherishes you.”

“Mm…”

When the song finishes, you wipe a stray tear, clapping quietly with the crowd as the shy hybrids shuffle off of the stage. Mingyu yells an excited ‘Thank You!’ before he pushes the other three towards the back room.

“Uh oh, I don’t think I was recording anything the entire time.”

Seungcheol takes you all to dinner afterwards; the hybrids excitedly chatting and wondering about when they’d be able to write and produce more songs. Mingyu had been sad for a second that it hadn’t been recorded but Seungcheol promised to let him have whatever food he wanted so it was quickly forgotten.

When you and Jihoon get home that night, the air feels different. He tangles his pinky with yours, guiding you towards the bedroom without a word.

“Ji--”

His lips are on yours not a second later, hand tangling into your hair to keep you close as you wrap your arms around his neck. He licks the seam of your lips, slowly guiding you to the bed as his tongue slides into your mouth. The back of your knees hit the bed; a small squeak escaping you when his lips disconnect from yours.

“I wanna show you how much you mean to me.” He mumbles, shedding off his clothes before he helps you out of yours. “Lay by the headboard for me, baby.” You nod, adjusting yourself until your head rests on the pillows. Jihoon pries your legs apart, settling himself in between them as his hands roam your skin.

“You’re so pretty… and beautiful… and kind…” He whispers, leaning down until his lips are against your sternum. “And you’re all mine, right?” A smile carves itself onto his lips just as he kisses your skin gently.

“Y-yes… I’m all yours, Jihoon.”

He kisses his way across your torso, tongue flicking out as he licks at one of your nipples. You whimper, back arching into his touch as the nub hardens under his ministrations. “Ah, Ji…”

“You sound so pretty too, baby…” You blush at his compliment; already feeling the wetness beginning to pool between your thighs.

Jihoon moves to your other nipple, lapping at it until it hardens as well. He leaves love bites in the mix, marking up your torso and the column of your neck before he slowly inches lower and lower. “You mean so much to me…” His words are muffled against your skin and you watch as he lowers himself until all you can see is his blonde head of hair between your legs.

“...I’d give you anything you ask for.” He smiles up at you before he delves in, using his fingers to spread your folds. “I’d eat you out for hours if you want me to.” His tongue flicks out, lapping at your entrance as he groans. “Fuck, you always taste so good.” He moans against you as his tongue travels from your clit to your entrance, spreading your wetness. The vibrations send a tingle up your spine as your hands lock into his hair.

“Ngh, Ji… Your f-fingers too.. Please…” He obliges, bringing his index and middle finger up to his mouth to properly wet them before he brings them to your pussy. Slowly easing in a digit, he sucks your clit into his mouth, a sharp cry escaping you as your thighs clamp around his head. He slowly fucks his finger into you as he licks at your clit; adding another finger when he can hear how wet you were getting.

He crooks his fingers inside of you, tapping your g-spot repeatedly as you cry out. “Ji! I--mmh!” When he adds a third finger is when you start to feel your first orgasm already building; walls tightening around his delicate fingers. He continues to lap at your clit, drawing circles on it with his tongue as you grind down onto him to get more.

“I want you to cum for me.” Jihoon mumbles, fingers doubling in speed as he sucks your clit back into his mouth. You whine, feeling the tension snap as you cum on his command, walls spasming around his fingers. He works you through it, slowing down his pace until you’re mewling and trying to push his head away from your sensitive pussy.

Jihoon giggles cutely, hair messy when he positions himself between your legs again. “Still with me?” His lips are covered in your wetness when you pull him down, kissing him square on the lips as you taste yourself.

“Mmhmm…” You moan against his lips, feeling the shaft of his hard cock against your sensitive folds. He grinds against you, letting you feel him before he pulls away. He wraps a hand around his cock, tapping the head of it against your swollen clit as you flinch.

“Jihoon, please.. Wanna feel you…”

He positions himself at your entrance, moaning as he slowly sinks his cock into you. He goes slow, letting you feel every inch of him until the head of his cock taps your cervix. You wince, clenching at how full Jihoon always made you feel. “God, please, please move!”

Jihoon draws his hips back before he slams into you hard; your breath hitching when you feel the drag of his cock between your walls. Your hands tangle into the sheets under you, already on the verge of another orgasm. “Fuh--fuck, you feel so good, Ji!” You cry, lashes wet with tears.

“Mmm, you feel so good around me, baby. So fuckin’ wet and warm.” He smiles at you, squeezing your waist. He keeps at a moderate pace; pulling all the way out before he thrusts back in.

“Feels like you wanna cum again, don’t you? You’re getting so tight.” You nod frantically, hands grasping at his forearms when you feel your thighs shaking. “I--’m cumming!!” Your eyes snap shut, mind going blank and breath pausing when you cum hard in Jihoon’s hold. He halts his thrusts, cock snug between your walls as he groans. “God, you feel so good.” He whispers; hands massaging your skin as you start to come down from your second high.

“Still okay, baby?” You sniffle, thighs still shaking when he resumes his pace from before. “Mmhmm…”

You feel sated and warm when he starts thrusting into you faster, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple as he chases his high.

“A-ah, Ji… want you to cum inside me… let me have it~” You murmur, clenching around his cock as you urge him to cum. He gives you a breathless laugh, pushing his hair out of his face before his eyes lock onto yours.

“You really love it when I cum inside of you, don’t you? You wanna get nice and full of my cum so you’ll get pregnant, hmm? I’ll have to cum inside of you every time we fuck so it’ll stick.” He grins at you, eyes filled with mirth.

“But our kids would be cute, huh?”

Your heart pangs at his question; body flaring up immediately at the thought of having kids with Jihoon. He giggles at your shy expression, grinding into you as he felt his orgasm start to crest. “Ngh, sh--shit, I’m gonna cum! Think you can cum one more time for me, baby?” You bite your lip, nodding.

“Want you to cum with me this time, okay?” You nod again, moaning loudly when the pad of his thumb meets your swollen clit. He circles the nub harshly as your thighs shake and clamp around him hard, garbled noises spilling from your lips when he throws you over the edge and into your third orgasm.

The ringing in your ears is overwhelming and you can feel your body arch off the bed, pin picks all over your skin as the pleasure washes over you. Jihoon’s cock is forced out of you when you unintentionally squirt all over him. He smirks as he taps the head of his cock against your sensitive clit, working you through your orgasm before he sinks his cock back into your sensitive pussy.

He wastes no time, fucking into you hard and fast as your walls flutter around him; still in the thrums of your orgasm when he grinds into you, filling you up with his cum.

You mewl at the sensation, already feeling his cum dripping down the sides of his cock that’s still deep inside of you. Jihoon hovers over you, breath uneven as he stares down at your tired eyes.

“I… think I love you.”

You clench around his cock on instinct, a sharp groan escaping his lips. “I--you--wuh--what?”

Jihoon smiles shyly, slowly pulling his cock out of you as the cum drips down onto the sheets. “Sorry, was my timing wrong?” You stare up at the ceiling for a second, the ringing in your ears getting even louder as you feel his cum sliding out of you.

“I--no--I mean, your cum is literally… dripping out of me, but… when… you--I?” Your words are jumbled as you sit up, moaning tiredly as you sit in a pool of Jihoon’s cum and your own wetness.

“I… sorry, I didn’t say it at a more romantic time. But I just wanted you to know… I said ‘I think’ because there’s still a lot we still need to learn about each other, right? And there’s still a lot of questions about how we’re going to move forward from here.” He pauses, a flush painting onto his cheeks as he stares at all the love bites he’d left on your skin. “But I know how I feel and I know what I feel is love. And I want to keep exploring more of that feeling… with you.”

Jihoon’s eyes travel to your face, a shy blush on your cheeks as well. “I… think I love you too, Jihoon.” You whisper.

In a split second, he tackles you back down onto the bed, shy laughter filling up the space almost immediately. His eyes twinkle when he settles down next to you, pushing your messy hair out of your face.

“I want you to know that I’ll do anything to make you comfortable with whatever happens in our future together. You gave me a safe place and the freedom to be who I really am and I want you to feel the same. I don’t want you to be scared and insecure because I’ll take care of you just like you do for me. I don’t think I ever loved anyone until I met you. And I’m scared too, but I’m willing to learn with you.”

The tears spring to your eyes faster than you can think, lip quivering when he kisses your forehead. “Can’t believe you’re being a sap and making me cry after you made me cum three times and squirt.” Jihoon lets out a boisterous laugh, tossing his head back at your words.

“Baby, I cannot tell you how many love songs I’ve written about you. I’m always going to be a romantic sap underneath my harsh exterior.” He jokingly glares at you, wiping the tears that wet your lashes.

“But seriously, whatever comes our way, we’ll work through it together, okay? I don’t want either of us to make individual decisions because we’re a real couple now. And… And once I finally get work and start getting paid, I’m gonna spoil you so bad, you won’t even know what to do!” He promises, relaxing onto his stomach next to your tired form.

“Okay, but can you spoil me now and get me cleaned up and change the sheets because we’re laying in… well, a lot. And then I wanna hear all about these love songs you wrote about me, if you’re okay with sharing...” You giggle, watching as he pouts at you.

“I’ll do you even better and get you cleaned up, change the sheets, serenade you to sleep and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

“Jihoon… are you… capable of doing that or…”

“How hard is it to make bacon and eggs in the morning? A cup of coffee? Easy. Toast? Just a button.” He boasts, easing off the bed before he helps you up.

Jihoon carries you to the bathroom, letting you sit on the countertop as he runs the water. “How about we compromise and I’ll sit in the kitchen and supervise while you try to make breakfast.” He grins at you, slotting himself between your legs before he kisses you softly.

“Deal.”

#snakehybrid!woozi #woozi smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #woozi #lee jihoon

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maria-scribbles · 4 years

Text

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part two

summary: the pogues get up to a few shenanigans, burn the shit out of some marshmallows, and have a group hug of epic proportions. the dynamic duo of kiara and sailor brings out girl power in full force before getting real about a certain golden group rule.

word count: 4.2k+

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings: mentions of abuse/neglect/parental abandonment/anxiety, underage drinking, weed usage, more fluff, flirting, reference to absolute legend kobe bryant

a/n: hello again! thank you all for the great response to part one, i’m seriously blown away and so grateful for your support! <3 i’m happy y’all enjoyed reading about sailor’s adventures with the pogues! here’s part two, which had previously been combined with part one but i decided to split it because it was getting wayyyy too long (over 8k words, oops). also i’ve never even seen weed with my own two eyes before so my bad if that part’s not realistic, i did my best lol. unbetaed, so i apologize for any mistakes. enjoy!

gif credit goes to @toesure

~Masterlist~

part one | part three | part four | playlist

part two: treading water

The pogues spend the next few hours among the waves, surfing their hearts out until they’re waterlogged, exhausted, and hungry. As the sun starts to sink over the island they pile into John B’s beat up Volkswagen, all their boards tied together on the roof, and head to The Wreck, where Kiara’s dad begrudgingly feeds his daughter and her ‘delinquent’ friends.

That word seems pretty harsh at first but as the evening goes on and the group gets a little louder, it’s kind of well-deserved. Pope can’t seem to stop dropping his fork, sending the rest of them into hysterical laughter each time, and everyone knows when Taylor Swift comes on the radio, Sailor has an obligation to get up and dance. The fact that she knocks a chair over in her haste to show off her moves only makes them laugh harder. When they finally leave and head back to the Chateau for the night, she makes sure to put forty bucks on their table for the food and the twelve pack of beer Kiara swipes from behind the bar when Mr. Carrera isn’t looking.

While it may not look like much, John B’s house if home for more than just him. It’s a safe port for all the pogues when they get lost in the storm, a place where they can all be themselves, be real, without judgement, and it’s Sailor’s second favorite place on the island. She’s lost count of how many nights she’s spent here, sleeping in the spare room, on the pull-out couch, and the hammock in the yard (sleepovers have become even more common in the eight months since Big John’s disappearance at sea, no one willing to leave his son all alone in an empty house.).

The hammock is where she finds herself now on this warm June night, sitting beside JJ with his arm around her shoulders, clad in his sweatshirt that she unashamedly stole last year, passing a joint back and forth while the others lounge around the small bonfire, roasting the old marshmallows John B found in the very back of one of his kitchen’s cupboards and drinking beer. One of her long legs dangles over the edge, toes pushing against the cool grass as they lazily swing back and forth, watching Kiara burn her third marshmallow in a row.

“Kie, what did those poor things ever do to you?” Sailor asks, exhaling smoke through her nose before passing the joint to JJ, and the brush of his fingers against hers sends warmth through her whole body. Kiara just shoots her the bird in response as she stabs her fourth marshmallow and holds it over the fire. The redhead laughs and rests her head against JJ’s shoulder, her limbs light as air. In the distance, lightning arcs between the clouds and creates a dazzling show over the water as thunder rumbles but none of them care enough to notice.

Although she never outright asks to smoke, she also never refuses the chance to get high with her best friend and let their problems drift away with every hit, if only for a little while. Lines get a little blurry between them, too, as both become oh so affectionate with each other when their inhibitions disappear like the sun over the horizon. She sighs contentedly at the blissful feeling of his fingers running through her hair and burrows further into his side, turning so she can throw an arm over his waist and curl her own fingers into the soft material of his shirt.

“Damn it!” John B yells as his marshmallow, in the span of a few seconds, catches fire and unceremoniously falls into the flames with a hiss.

“Ha, I’m not the only one on the struggle bus!” Kiara laughs gleefully, delicately turning her fourth attempt to keep it from burning like the other three. “We can’t all be Pope, I guess.”

The other boy looks up at the mention of his name and grins, holding out a perfectly toasted marshmallow on the end of the stick in his hand. “It takes talent, Kie.” He jokes, chuckling as she sticks her tongue out at him.

Sailor can’t help laughing, too when the two of them dive headfirst into a heated discussion about the finer points of roasting things over a campfire, their voices becoming louder and louder as they try to talk over one another while John B, unfazed from his spot between them, just holds another marshmallow over the fire and ignores them completely as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Aaaand JB’s totally checked out of that particular conversation,” She says to JJ under her breath and she feels more than hears him laugh in response.

“Poor bastard,” He whispers back before taking one last hit of the joint, now burnt down to a nub in his hand, and flicking it into the fire with a shout of “Kobe!”

“Nice one, hotshot.” She shifts her head up on his shoulder as her eyes unabashedly trace his profile in the warm orange glow of the fire, from the golden hair falling haphazardly onto his forehead and down the straight slope of his nose to the curve of his lips before she’s caught -not that she was being subtle in any possible way-, his ocean blue gaze holding hers with an electrified energy that would’ve normally set her whole face aflame. She’s not Normal Sailor now though, she’s High Sailor and High Sailor has positively zero shame so she just looks up at him with a saccharine smile on her face and blesses the fact that weed makes her bold as hell.

The flickering flames throw JJ’s features into sharp relief and highlight the dimples that she loves as he returns her smile, the hand in her hair now twirling a single curl around his finger. His free hand settles on the strip of bare skin at her waist where her sweatshirt has ridden up and her heart beats a little faster when he starts drawing agonizingly slow circles with his thumb. Her hand releases its grip on his shirt and before she even realizes it, she’s reaching up and brushing a finger along her jaw, just like he’d done to her that afternoon on the beach, and she feels the fingers at her waist press against her skin.

It’s moments like these that make her wish she could freeze time and live in them forever. Just the two of them, looking at each other like they’re more than just friends, touching each other like they’re falling into something beautiful and all they need to do is stick the landing. The possibility of taking that final leap teases her. He’s so close, it wouldn’t take much to just reach up and make that minuscule distance between them disappear and from the way his eyes flick down to her mouth and back, she’s sure he’s thinking the same. They won’t though and for now that’s okay, but deep down she wonders just how long they can balance on the cliff’s edge before they both fall.

As much as she’d like to stare at his stupidly handsome face all night, the weather has other plans as lightning flashes white across the sky, immediately followed by a big crack of thunder that makes Sailor jump and accidentally headbutt JJ right in the forehead. The stick in Pope’s hand goes flying somewhere into the bushes when he startles, too, and there’s a pause as everyone looks at each other before bursting into wild laughter.

“Jesus, Sail,” JJ says, reaching up to rub at the spot she hit, “you have a hard head.”

Her reply of “speak for yourself!” is drowned out by another clap of thunder and seconds later it starts pouring rain, sending the group scrambling to head back inside the Chateau before they get too drenched. The duo, in their haste, get tangled together in the hammock and nearly fall to the ground in a heap but manage to hold each other up with their hands clasped tight, both laughing so hard she’s sure the water on their faces is more than just rain.

“The beer! Don’t forget the beer!” Someone yells and John B, halfway to the porch in front of them, does a smooth 180 on the wet grass and runs back for the booze sitting beside the dying fire, sending them a lazy salute when he passes by.

“We honor your sacrifice, Captain!” JJ calls over his shoulder before they clamber onto the porch alongside a giggling Kiara.

“Oh my God, you two almost bit it so hard.” She says while wringing out her shirt, adding to the steadily growing puddle of water at their feet.

“But we didn’t, all thanks to me and my impeccable balance.” He says proudly, grinning down at the girl still snug against his side before she lets go of his hand to slug him in the shoulder.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Oh please, J, I was the one who kept you from falling on your face. Now, hold still.” Sailor orders and places her hand on his arm, using him for balance as she brushes the grass from her feet.

“Yes, ma’am.” His reply is low in her ear, his hand settles even lower on her back, and she pretends the shiver her body makes is just from the cool rain.

“You like being bossed around, Maybank?”

Her hand grips his strong shoulder a little bit tighter, and she feels his fingers tighten on her sweatshirt as he replies, “Depends on who’s doing the bossing, Flynn.”

Kiara coughs pointedly, staring at them with her eyebrows raised and Sailor feels her face begin to flush bright red because, to be honest, she’d kind of forgotten she was even there as they both let go of each other. The other girl snickers and drawls, “If you two are quite done-”

Thankfully, a thoroughly soaked John B joins them and interrupts whatever Kiara was going to say, his hair plastered to his face and dripping onto the soggy carton of beer protectively cradled in his arms.

“Mission accomplished.” He says with a satisfied smile, setting the drinks down on a chair before shaking his head like a dog and splattering rainwater on everyone, including Pope as he emerges from the house carrying a pile of towels. A few drops land on his cheek and he wrinkles his nose in disgust, wiping them away with his own towel hanging around his neck.

“I was just kidding about the beer.” He says, throwing one and smacking John B right in the face, then kindly passing out the rest. Sailor barely grabs the last one before Pope’s suddenly put in a headlock by the brunet boy, yelling something about mutiny and a captain “not standing for this” as they start to grapple back and forth. JJ pauses in the middle of drying his hair and instantly jumps into the fray after tossing his towel to the floor, the scuffle quickly turning into a three way wrestling match.

She and Kiara both glance at each other and roll their eyes before scooting by the melee and heading into the house, leaving the boys to do their thing. They quickly dry off and change into pajamas, hang their wet clothes up to dry in the bathroom, and then tiredly flop onto the bed in the spare room together.

“How long do you think it’ll take until Wrestlemania out there’s done?” Sailor asks, rolling onto her stomach and reaching to pull her phone and glasses out of her bag on the floor; under her newly acquired hat, the lightning whelk peeks through its towel and the sight of it makes her smile softly. Kiara snorts and sits up, crossing her legs and running her fingers through her damp hair. “Knowing those fools, too long.”

The redhead laughs and mirrors the other girl’s position before slipping her glasses on and glancing down at her phone in trepidation, where no new texts block the lock screen picture of her and the rest of the pogues, and she does her best to ignore the hurt coiling in her chest, the smile fading from her face. She places the phone screen down on the bedside table and when she raises her head, she’s not surprised to find Kiara, ever so perceptive, staring at her with sympathy in her soft brown eyes.

“You okay?” She asks and Sailor takes off her glasses, then pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them.

“Could be better.”

Lightning illuminates the room, followed by an impressive crack of thunder a few seconds later as rain continues to pound against the window and down the hall, they hear the door slam closed as the boys finally storm inside after their scuffle, still yelling like banshees. The other girl reaches over and quickly squeezes her wrist before shooting her a bright smile.

“If you ever need to vent, I’m all ears.”

She knows she means it. Aside from JJ, Kiara’s her closest friend and from the moment they met, the two had quickly bonded over being the only girls in the group and their love of the environment: she’s lost count of how many times they’ve volunteered, both themselves and the rest of the pogues, to help raise money for animals. Despite Kiara’s kook year, Sailor considers her a sister and knows that Kie feels the same about her. Having each other’s backs no matter what is just what they do.

The redhead looks away from watching the storm outside and matches Kiara’s smile, then scoots closer to wrap her arms around her in a grateful hug.

“Thanks, Kie.”

The dark haired girl eagerly returns the embrace. “Any-”

“Comin’ through, gotta get me some of this group hug action!” JJ yells, storming into the room like a hurricane and throwing his arms around them, all but tackling them onto the bed before they even realize what’s happening.

“No, no, you’re still wet!” Sailor cries as his head rests against the back of her neck, his damp hair slowly beginning to soak into her shirt while Kiara growls, “Oh my God, get off!”

“And miss out on this? No way.” He says cheekily and pulls them both closer, ignoring the dark haired girl’s venomous glare and attempts to pry his hand away from her arm. Sailor, resigned to her fate, just laughs and calls over his arm to John B and Pope as they curiously poke their heads in from the hall, “Get your asses in here!”

She doesn’t have to tell them twice. They throw themselves into the hug faster than she can blink and with such contagious enthusiasm that Kiara can’t fight the affectionate grin making its way onto her face, even as she threatens, “I’m gonna kill all of you.”

Sailor rests her cheek on JJ’s outstretched arm and smiles to herself. This, right here and now, is where she belongs, surrounded by the best friends she could ask for, living each moment to its fullest. No matter what comes their way, she knows this is true: as long as they all stand together, the pogues will be just fine.

Some time later, the hug comes to an end as JJ jokingly complains about Sailor’s big head making his arm numb, which earns him a swift elbow to the stomach from the redhead.

“Weak.” She replies, smirking at the little oof he makes before grabbing his arm and pulling them both up from the bed. “Now get out.”

“Please.” Kiara agrees and pushes John B out the door, followed by Pope. “This room is girls only.”

“Since when?” The latter asks, sidestepping to avoid JJ as he’s playfully shoved into the hall by Sailor, who replies, “Right now.”

“Why?”

“’Cause we said so!” Both girls say in unison before they slam the door shut and then lean their backs against it, giggling. On the other side, they hear Pope ask in a very amused voice, “I thought this was your house?”

John B sighs the deepest sigh they’ve ever heard before replying, “Yeah, I did, too.”

“Ten bucks they’re gonna talk shit about us.” JJ says and there’s a not so subtle bump against the door that gives away the fact that he’s got his ear pressed to it, trying to listen in on them; a fact that gets proven when Sailor smacks her hand on it and makes him stumble back with a yelp of surprise.

“Dream on!”

“You wish!”

She and Kiara call at the same time, then glance at each other and burst into another fit of giggles.

“Tough break, dude. You’ll feel better in the morning.” That was John B’s tactless way of saying he’s tired without actually saying it and seconds later they hear his footsteps disappear down the hall to his room as he makes his escape, followed faintly by the sound of his door swinging shut.

“You don’t talk about us at all, Sail? Seriously?” JJ asks and Sailor can almost feel the sheer force of Pope’s inevitable eye roll when he mumbles under his breath, “Oh my God.”

Kiara’s on the same wavelength as him because she rolls her eyes, too and all but yells, “If we say yes will you fucking leave?”

There’s a pause and then: a slightly miffed “...yes.” along with Pope trying and failing to disguise his laugh as a cough.

“Then yes, we do talk about you. Now go.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez.”

“Goodnight, boys!” Sailor calls in a singsong voice before hearing them retreat to the living room, arguing about who gets the sleeper sofa and who gets stuck with the regular couch. When she’s sure they’re gone she shakes her head fondly (she doesn’t see why they can’t just get over themselves and share the damn thing) and turns back to Kiara, who’s already in the middle of pulling the damp comforter from the bed, her face the picture of disgust.

“Ugh,” She shudders, tossing it to the floor and then wiping her hands on a discarded towel from earlier. “Don’t touch that.”

“No shit.”

The dark haired girl jokingly flips Sailor the bird and then joins her in lounging on the bed, watching the fan spin in circles above their heads while the storm outside continues to rage on. The silence is comforting, soothing, and goes on for so long that the redhead’s nearly sent off to dreamland by the sound of the rain before Kiara finally speaks, “Hey, Sail?”

She hums in response, slowly turning her head to face her and blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” She replies with an impish grin, but it slips from her face when the other girl shoots her a flat, unamused glance.

“Ha ha. I’m being serious, okay?”

Well that wasn’t worrying at all. “Is something wrong?” Sailor asks, rolling onto her side to face her friend completely and propping her head on her arm, all traces of lethargy thrown out the window. Kiara does the same with an unreadable look in her eyes as she answers, “No, I’m just a little...okay, a lot curious about something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

“I mean, I kind of have to. You know I suck at lying.”

She frowns when Kiara doesn’t even react to her comment and instead starts to worry her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s kind of a personal question, though.”

Oh, Jesus. She’s gonna ask about her dad, Sailor knows it, and that’s something she’s just not ready to talk about -she hasn’t even told JJ the whole story yet and she tells him (almost) everything- but before she can think of a semi-decent excuse, or run to the bathroom, or pretend to just pass the fuck out, Kiara blurts, “What’s the deal between you and JJ?”

Okay, that’s decidedly not what she expected to hear and it completely throws her for a loop, her brain blowing a fuse in epic fashion. A long stream of gibberish comes from her mouth as she tries and fails to articulate a response because holy hell she’s so not prepared for this; she’s a listener, not a talker! She’s the confidante not the confider, the asker not the answerer, and she can feel herself getting a little sweaty at just the thought of talking about her feelings, even with someone as close to her as Kiara. She almost wishes the other girl had asked about her dad.

To be honest she should’ve seen this coming, considering the looks Kiara’s been sending her recently and especially today, the ones that clearly meant that the dark haired girl’s seen what’s been happening and wants. that. tea. What Sailor doesn’t get though, is why she’s being so serious about it: she expects at least an overexaggerated wink or a teasing comment or two from her friend but she’s just waiting patiently, the slightest hint of mirth in her eyes.

Finally, the redhead manages to collect her panicked thoughts enough to squeak oh so eloquently, “Me-him-nothing!”

Kiara arches one eyebrow. “Sail, you really do suck at lying.”

Sailor flops back onto the bed and slides her hands down her furiously blushing face with a groan. “I’m not lying.” She mutters insistently but even she can admit it sounds weak as hell.

“It’s obvious there’s something-”

Something in her snaps and before she can stop them, words just start coming out with the force of a wave crashing against the shore, rough and callous. “It’s obvious there’s nothing going on, okay? Nothing. And even if there was -not that I’m saying there is- it can’t happen. That’s the golden rule, Kie.”

Kiara looks momentarily taken aback at the redhead’s outburst and then rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before she whispers quietly, like a secret she’s reluctant to share, “Maybe I think that rule is stupid.”

“Stupid?” Sailor glances over incredulously, the brief flash of anger aimed at her friend slowly morphing into confusion. “You’re the one who came up with it in the first place!”

“I know...” The dark haired girl sighs, tiredly running her hands through her hair, “I wanted to keep things from getting weird! It’s worked pretty well so far but I’m kind of, sort of, maybe starting to think it might not have been the best idea.”

“Why?” She asks, brow furrowing.

Kiara appears deep in thought as she keeps staring at the ceiling, working her jaw until she seems to come to a decision and turns her head to look Sailor in the eye. “Because I don’t think something as simple as a rule should be able to dictate who you can or can’t...love.”

Oh, God. Anxiety starts to take hold in her chest and she tries to keep her brain from going into five-alarm fire mode, her fingers tapping nervously against her leg. Why oh why did she have to say the L-word? Who said anything about that? Hell, it’s been a few months and she’s still getting used to her world-changing, panic-inducing, everything-clicking-into-place epiphany that made her realize that she does, in fact, like JJ as more than a friend (how and when her feelings changed, she hasn’t quite figured that out yet.). She’s not even close to thinking about love. Noticing her friend’s distress, Kiara reaches over to place her darker hand on the paler girl’s and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m not saying you love him, okay? But there’s obviously something good going on between you guys and I’m not cool with some dumb rule we made when we were twelve getting in the way of your happiness,” Her mouth curls into a lighthearted smirk, “even if it happens to be with someone as, uh, distinct as JJ.”

Despite herself, Sailor snorts a laugh and the tight feeling in her chest slowly starts to become a little more bearable as its replaced by a swell of gratitude that she has a person as wonderful as Kiara for a friend. She really did luck out in that department, she thinks, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile.

“Distinct?”

“Hey, I was gonna say idiotic but I’m trying to be nice here.” The dark haired girl says, laughing as Sailor affectionately rolls her eyes before continuing, “But you do know that if he messes this up I’ll kick his ass, right?”

“Trust me, I do.”

“Good.” She punctuates that with a massive yawn, then rolls away from her and pulls the sheets higher over her chest, mumbling, “Now I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for bed. All this deep talk made me tired.”

“Big mood,” Sailor replies, reaching over and flicking off the bedside lamp, the only light now coming from the occasional flash of lightning through the windows as she rolls comfortably onto her side, tucking her arm under the pillow. Silence settles over them, dark and calm and stretching for who knows how long before she says quietly, “Thanks, Kie.”

There’s no answer. Realizing she must’ve already nodded off, the redhead’s just about to crash herself when her friend’s reply softly cuts through the silence like a knife.

“You’re not the only one I did it for.”

Kiara doesn’t say anything after that and Sailor falls asleep wondering what, or rather who, exactly the other girl meant.

let me know what you think!

taglist ❤ (i added everyone who’s comments and reblogs made me smile so let me know if you don’t want to be tagged!) : @jiaraendgame @obxlife @sunflowerbecca @maysbanks @obx-adventures @mortifiedposts @sexualparkour @coltonparayyko @heavensalreadyheres

#outer banks #jj maybank #obx netflix #outer banks netflix #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x oc #jj maybank fic #obx fic #outer banks fic #jj x oc #jj x reader #my fics #obx #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank imagine

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bisluthq · 3 years

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I know this is preaching to the converted here but I genuinely don't understand Ks who think they broke up in 2019 while Lover was being recorded/ME! being filmed. Cause they say about the relationship breaking down around the 'fake wedding' but the wedding wasn't fake. I can sort of believe it if they broke up in 2018 with K choosing Josh for good but tbh given how they didn't interact from nov 2016 onwards + social media stuff I can't see it from then

I think I can actually understand it, it’s just not true. But I really am not here for dunking on people getting this wrong historically and in fact figuring out what happened here and why it went on for so long on main can teach us some valuable lessons so let’s go through this.

I think several things happened that lead fandom into making this kritical error (over and over): 1) Taylor went dark in November 2016. Kar didn’t. People who thought they were together found it comforting to believe that they were together because Karlie was offering Tay’s fans a window into “their” life together. Which was... not a window into Tay’s life, obviously, because that makes no sense, but I think it was a nice fantasy that was actively being reinforced by a number of influential Kays. But like yeah a lesson here is private couples are... about an equal amount of private usually unless one is much more famous and therefore seen more. But the less famous half of a celeb couple isn’t going to be posting lifestyle content from the home of their famous spouse who only poses with blank walls. That’s silly.

2) Taylor produced Reputation and said she is going to keep her private life private (for that era - idk why hard Kays keep dredging that prologue out as gospel for the rest of time when it does seem like it was part of the whole snake era vibes) and let the music do the talking. She also then went and said all of the album was for one muse. The latter makes no sense at all, as I’ve explained before there are.... pretty visibly three separate romantic relationships being discussed on the album. We have something messy in SIG, DBM, DWOHT and Dress except for the bridge (like the latter is not just in terms of gay/straight readings but it goes from “pining and anticipation” anxiety to “one and only my lifeline” - it literally is about two people and two different points in her life). We have something good and new in CIWYW, Delicate, KOMH and NYD. We then have Getaway Car. And we also have the diss tracks some of which do seem to reference messy muse in some ways. But Tay said to fans “this is all about my angel boyfriend Joe” and instead of being like “oh okay so that’s an exaggeration obviously but Joe can still be real you wouldn’t want to formally talk about exes when you’re happy in something new” Kays decided what she meant was “this is all about my angel girlfriend Kar”. Both are stupid things to believe due to the actual lyrical evidence and the fact that there are, as I yelled into the void for the first three years of thinking this, at least three relationships discussed in the lyrics but both opinions are kinda rooted in evidence of some sort.

3) Swiftwyn were extremely private for the first few years of their relationship and whenever they appeared formally in the media it was to stunt for her promo (which is often the case, like this is why pap walks aren’t great confirmation of a relationship) which made it possible to sell it as a PR relationship even though it made no sense as one. “Proving” it’s real in some capacity required deep diving for the multitude of receipts that they’re regularly spotted together as @youareinlovees so legendarily did. And nobody wanted to do that because they liked the idea that he’s not really around and that Kaylor are still on because lbr it’s a hotter idea. Like it’s that simple. Also, given Joe wasn’t a household name prior to dating Tay (but let me just stress again that his biggest role was before he dated her and he consciously took a step back when they got together), nobody knew anything about him and so they could call him boring and shit and therefore dispute her attraction to him while pulling up a stunty and kinda cringey Vogue interview lmao as proof of Kaylor’s deep love for one another.

4) big blogs spread lies and nobody bothered to verify the veracity of things that were being said. Which is probably our biggest lesson to take away from them. Fact check shit, kids. Y’all kept repeating the Kissgate thing - that they went dark straight after - when that was literally a lie. Like I love being fact checked and I think my regular readers know that because y’all relish fact checking me (as you should 😌). And you all should like being fact checked too. Being wrong isn’t a crime. We all get stuff wrong and we all say dumb shit. What’s bad is refusing to admit it, ya know, and ignoring evidence in order to prove something or twisting evidence of one thing into something else. And both sides are regularly guilty of this. Like hets spent ages going on about how Kar wasn’t important to Tay and was just the “situationship” lesson from the Elle essay (when I think it’s pretty clear she was all that glitters is not gold). And Kays spent ages saying Kar is her soulmate other half type. And both sets of people were being silly and not being objective.

5) Finally, there is a lesson about inductive versus deductive reasoning at play here. If you’re going from a conclusion - Karlie and Taylor are together and are soulmates - it becomes possible to twist anything into supporting that. If you think Karlie and Taylor never had anything at all it becomes possible to twist anything into supporting that. If you think inductively and try put together actual evidence that you find into a picture that makes sense you’re more likely to be on the right track. Like you can still fuck up because you’re not those people but at least you’ll make sense.

Anyway I think the point is we should learn from this situation and not bash people who believed it for a long time because I can see how it happened and I’m happy many are seeing the light now.

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introvert-no-chameleon · 4 years

Text

A Familiar Face

Did y’all really think I wouldn’t at least write some Portal Pines AU? In my Tumblr? Haha. I wrote this in like three days between work, so hopefully, there aren’t too many glaring typos.

I like how this short fic came out, so I hope y’all enjoy it. Many thanks to @3hobbitsinatrenchcoat for providing a Portal Mabel design that helped me get an idea of how she’d look as an adult being stuck between dimensions.

Update 8/20/20: Fixed some typos and cleaned it up a little.

As Ford Pines scrambled through the busy streets of the marketplace, he found himself wondering how in the multiverse Bill managed to hire so many bounty hunters at the rate that he did. Currently, he had a humanoid, multi-armed, incredibly strong pursuer hot on his trail, effortlessly knocking civilians and objects out of her way. Yesterday, it had been a set of siblings from a race of lizard creatures that breathed fire and were capable of climbing walls. Assuming he would survive this encounter, he imagined tomorrow’s hunters would be equally, if not more, challenging to deal with. (He could still feel the raw skin on his shoulder rub against his bandages as he ran, a souvenir from the aforementioned lizardfolk).

Usually, in these circumstances, Ford wouId activate his interdimensional translator and escape, but it took time he currently did not have. That, and he still had business in this dimension, materials he needed to collect some material for the Quantum Destabilizer that he wasn’t sure he could find elsewhere. There would be no telling where he would end up next, and that was a risk he couldn’t afford taking right now.

In a last-ditch attempt, Ford slid into the nearest alleyway, ducking in between some large baskets that smelled vaguely of a mix of oranges and limes (a hybrid of Earth citruses, perhaps?) and stayed, hunched over in the shadows.

A moment later, he felt the cold press of a blaster on the back of his neck. He lifted his hands up, dropping his own gun. It clattered on the concrete.

“Finally got you. I gotta hand it to you, Stanford Pines. You are very difficult to catch.” He didn’t have to see the bounty hunter behind him to know that she was smirking at him.

“Whatever Bill offered you,” he said, “I assure you, it will not be worth making a deal with him.”

She shoved him to his knees, then pushed him on his stomach with her boot. Three of her four arms held him down, shoving his cheek against the grimy floor. “Maybe not for you, human.”

He opened his mouth to reply, to give himself more time to try and find a way out, when he saw a small, circular object bounce towards him and landed inches away from his face. Upon closer inspection, it was a bright pink orb with a red blinking light.

A bomb.

Fuck.

The bounty hunter thought the same, because she yelped, releasing Ford and jumping back just as it went off. To his surprise, he had not blown to bits. He was, however, engulfed in a glittery pink puff of smoke. Tiny bits of glitter coating his throat. He coughed out the glimmering purple particles.

What in the multiverse?

The bounty hunter screamed behind him. She began cursing in her native tongue, a language he, unfortunately, hadn’t studied (yet) so he couldn’t make out what she was saying, aside from the fact that she was very upset. He ducked his head when he heard her firing off her weapon.

He heard another pair of boots hit the ground followed by an enthusiastic whoop!, the bounty hunter grunt, a body smacking against a nearby dumpster, then silence.

A hand pulled him to his feet. He whirled around, fists raised, ready to deal with yet another creature after the bounty on his head, but instead was shocked to find another human face staring at him.

The woman was at least in her mid-forties, judging by the wrinkles around her mouth. Short, curly brown hair surrounded her face. Her eyes were concealed by goggles much like his, yet he could feel her staring right at him, her unwavering attention all directed at Ford. She grinned at him, apparently unperturbed by the fact that she had just gotten shot at by one of the most notorious bounty hunters in the multiverse. If anything, she seemed to be buzzing with excitement.

“Hope I didn’t startle you too hard,” She gave him his gun. “Oh, and don’t worry, the glitter is edible. It’s just for show.”

He snatched it away before she could try and use it against him. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The stranger seemed unbothered by his harsh tone. Thin eyebrows shot up over her goggles. “It’s impolite not to introduce yourself before asking somebody’s name. Especially when that someone just saved your ass.”

He glared at her. Something about her attitude felt very familiar, and not in a way that comforted him. “I have wanted posters all over this city, I doubt you don’t already know.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “So do I, but you don’t know my name.”

He began glancing around the alley. They were alone, for now, but he knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. “There’s no time for this. I have to catch the next spaceship out of here…”

“…To get away from the bounty hunters Bill Cipher sent after you?”

He stiffened. In a smooth gesture, he pointed his gun at her face. “Are you with him?”

She furrowed her brows, more indignant than alarmed, mouth pressed into a tight frown. She raised her hands so that he could see her empty palms. “No, I’m trying to stop him!”

“Show me your eyes!” His grip on the gun tightened, the leather gloves creaking.

“Oh! Right, right,” she said. She began moving her scarf down along with her eyewear.

A pair of brown eyes looked at him expectantly. She had rather round cheeks and Ford wasn’t sure if it was the face, or the twinkle of mischief in her eyes, but he felt a wave of deja-vu, crash into him like a freight train. Ford had to shake his head, partially to ground himself, but also to remind himself that he had no time to be thinking about him.

“Can you point your gun away now? I already proved that the two-dimensional monster isn’t with me.”

He lowered his weapon, caught by surprise at the sudden iciness of her tone, and even more so at the way she talked about Bill.

“What do you know about Bill Cipher?”

“Way too much.” She didn’t even appear to be afraid. If anything, there was a fiery determination in her gaze, one that promised a vengeance fueled by years and years of resentment that he recognized wholeheartedly. “I helped you because I heard that lady mention that triangle jerk.” She jutted her thumb at the unconscious bounty hunter, who had a large, red boot-shaped mark on her cheek. “I haven’t met anybody who’s lasted as long against Bill as I have, so I wanted to see if it was true for myself.”

“Huh,” he said.

Ever since he’d arrived in the multi-verse, even those who despised the demon were too afraid to even mention his name, let alone try and go against him. Yet this woman had just admitted, to a complete stranger, that she was working against him.

“You’re also being hunted by Bill?”

“Yup!” The cold fury melted away so quickly Ford almost though he’d imagined it. She was back to her chipper attitude as if they weren’t currently in the middle of a dangerous situation. “I’ve been hopping the multiverse trying to find a way to stop him for years. I thought I was the only one, too…”

A large group of people were yelling a few alleys away. Cursing himself for allowing himself to be so distracted, he holstered his weapon. “We’ve been here too long.”

“Yup, and that’s ship leaving,” she said, holding up a strange, flat watch with some numbers blinking over an image of a cartoonish pink cat. “We’d better catch it!”

Ford scowled. “We? I haven’t agreed to anything—”

She rolled her eyes as if Ford was the one being difficult in this situation. “Uh, I just met somebody who can help me out, I’m not just gonna not take that kind of an opportunity.”

“I travel alone. I assure you, whatever your situation is with Bill, it will only get worse if you follow me.”

“All I’m hearing is, ‘I’m a sad, lonely grumpyass who needs a friend, I’d be happy to have somebody like you tag along, Mabel.’ That’s my name, by the way, since you didn’t ask.”

The footsteps got closer, and Ford let out an exasperated grunt. “We won’t be able to catch the ship in time. We’ll need to lay low for now and wait for the next one.” He glanced at her long skirt. “That attire is unsuited for running. I would cut the skirt in order to escape more efficiently.”

Mabel smirked as if glad he’d finally brought up her clothing preferences. “This isn’t just a fashionable skirt, silly. It’s also a special cowl I made myself. Watch and learn.”

He was about to argue that while he himself had never followed fashion trends, he doubted that was in style in any universe, but was interrupted by her untying the long cloth from her waist, revealing more exercise-appropriate long pants. With a theatrical flourish, she put the cloth over her head and vanished in thin air.

Ford gaped at the spot where she’d stood, scanning the area to see if perhaps she’d teleported around him, but there was no sign of her. Then he felt a finger bop the tip of his nose, and he jerked back, instinctively reaching for his weapon.

“Relax, jumpy, it’s still me. I’m invisible! Neat trick, Eh?”

Her voice was inches from his face. He felt her wrap an arm around his waist, and just as he was about to protest and say that he did not appreciate physical contact, especially not from a stranger, he heard her shift next to him.

“Grappling hook!” Her voice boomed with boundless enthusiasm. He wondered how someone who had just gotten into a fight and supposedly followed his enemy on foot for at least a few miles could still manage to be so energetic.

He wasn’t able to wonder for long. Ford only had time to see the string of a grappling hook connect with an aircraft overhead before he was lifted into the air with a startled yelp. Had the woman not kept a strong grip on his side, he surely would’ve fallen. As it was, he was able to peer downwards and see the search party that had came after him continue down the streets, clueless to his presence overhead.

The wind whipped at his hair and clothes, as well as his companion’s. Her hood had fallen away, revealing her grin as she kept her gaze upwards, towards the ship they were latched onto. “I’m going to pull us up, so hold on!”

They came flying towards the ship at an alarming speed. He braced himself, tensing his body. For a moment, after the hook finished retracting, he thought they would fall for sure. But just as quickly, Mabel grabbed the edge of the latch that had begun to close with the ship’s ascent.

He also held on to it for dear life. With a grunt, he pulled himself over the edge, slipping inside.

Mabel managed to get in just as the hatch closed, engulfing them in darkness.

He rummaged his pocket for the orb he was looking for, shook it, and let if hover over him, illuminating his surroundings. Ford allowed himself to catch his breath now that he was finally aboard the ship. He’d spent a good hour running, and he hadn’t been able to catch a break until this point.

Mabel sat down with a deep sigh, wiping her brow. “That was close.”

“Indeed,” he said. He cleared his throat. “It seems I owe you a thanks.”

She waved it off. “Don’t mention it. Bill’s gonna be pissed, and that’s all the thanks I need.”

“That’s an…admirable, if not foolish mindset to have, but I share the sentiment.”

She raised her eyebrows, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “But, you could tell me your name, at least. I have to call you something.”

I was Ford’s turn to raise his eyebrow. A part of him said that he shouldn’t risk speaking to this stranger, but something else, perhaps his instincts, told him he could trust her. At the very least, he saw the benefit of an ally that was capable of fending for themselves, and one that had a common goal.

“…Stanford.” He made to extend his hand so that she could shake it, but hesitated. He hadn’t seen another, non-hostile human in years. He was aware how people felt about his six fingers, and while he still wasn’t sure how he felt about this woman, he also didn’t want to risk spooking off a potential ally, assuming she was truthful about her intentions.

Apparently, he needed have worried. She gripped his hand and gave it a firm shake of her own (the woman had quite the grip). When she did look down at his hand, she didn’t skip a beat when she said: “Whoa, a six-finger handshake? It’s a full finger friendlier than normal.”

He sat there, stunned, as she pulled away and settled against a storage bin. “So, Stanford. Wanna trade cool outlaw stories while we wait to get to the next planet?” Her tone remained as light and casual as it’d been the entire time, as if Ford was an acquaintance she was taking the time to catch up with.

He laughed, something he hadn’t done in months. Mabel didn’t care. She didn’t say anything about him being a freak, despite clearly being from some version of Earth. She held no trace of malicious intent towards him at all.

Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be a bad idea after all.

#portal pines au #mabel pines #portal ford #portal mabel

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 2 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n: thank u for being so lovely to me about this rewrite! this chapter was tricky to rework but i solved it in the end wOO! as always love will always be appreciated so if it’s ur first time reading (or even if it’s not!) feel free to shoot some my way!! here we go with chapter 2 of strictly au 2: electric boogaloo (yes i will be making that joke every time i resubmit a new chapter xo)

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

26th September 2020

Vanessa checks herself out in one of the full-length mirrors, her outfit a blur of red sequins and fringing and the flecks of glitter she’s spread across her collarbones and shoulders popping under the lights of the dressing room. She blinks slowly and carefully once, twice, then gives a little flutter of her immaculately-applied fake eyelashes.

“Makeup did a great job tonight,” she smiles appreciatively at herself. Akeria appears from behind her, squeezes her in a hug.

“Mm. Although I guess it helps when they get a canvas like mine to paint on,” she flutters her own falsies whilst framing her face with her hands, and Vanessa bats her away playfully. Suddenly they are nudged out of the way by Aja.

“Do you clowns mind? Some of us have to actually use these mirrors.”

“Yeah, let Aja in. She needs all the help she can get,” Shea calls from across the room, the girls giving a laugh and Aja giving a faux-wounded cry and dashing back across the room to whack Shea. Vanessa has missed this- the dressing room camaraderie, the gossiping and the occasional catfight. She’d marked out her territory in the long, white-and-metal room a few years ago when she’d befriended Akeria and Monique, and the three girls sit at the same three white vanity tables in the same three only-slightly-uncomfortable tan-stained white chairs, with their crushed water bottles and makeup bits and bobs and packets of dried fruit snacks scattered over the area like a bomb has gone off. The blast of hairdryers, hisses of hairspray cans, excited chatter and the playlist the dancers have all cultivated together combine to create one chaotic, noisy sound that Vanessa thinks is a little bit magical. It’s even more magical, more exciting and thrilling, now that she’s actually going to be partnered up with someone and have a proper Strictly journey.

“What’re y’all gonna teach as your first dance?” Monique asks, already touching up her eyeliner despite the fact she doesn’t need to.

“Hmph. Depends who I get,” Vanessa shrugs, a little thrum in her heart. “I wanna get some ballroom out of the way first though. Then it’s one less to choreograph.”

Monique hums in agreement. She knows Vanessa has limited ballroom experience, having competed almost exclusively in Latin competitions. Vanessa looks over at Jan and Jaida who are chatting excitedly with Plastique. They all knew each other from the ballroom circuit before they started on the show and Vanessa knows she’ll never be one of those dancers that exudes grace and poise, little paper dolls that float across the floor practically on tiptoe. Then again, those girls will never be a dancer like she is, all hips and curves, sass and fiery passion and playfulness. Well. Jaida probably could if she wanted to, but Vanessa remembers when the pros all did the Cell Block Tango number last year and Jaida kept getting the giggles at the sexiest parts and setting all the other girls off laughing. For one of the most attractive girls on the circuit, she balances it out with being a bit of a dork.

“You sure you don’t wanna lead with your strong suit? Arrive with a bang, that sorta thing,” Akeria muses, and Vanessa shakes her head.

“It’s a long game, girl, you can’t peak too early.”

“Well my plan is to peak on the first night and then plateau. Tens across the board right through to the final,” Monique pipes up, touching her lashes and pulling a face at the mirror. Vanessa and Akeria share a long-suffering look and roll their eyes.

“Of course,” Akeria indulges her. “I’ll maybe do a Cha Cha Cha or somethin’.”

“Hey! I was gonna do a Cha Cha Cha!” Monique cries, appalled. Vanessa bursts out laughing.

“Bitch! There’s only about four dances you can pick from at the start anyway, if you wanted to be the only one doin’ it then lower your expectations,” she laughs at her friend. Monique narrows her eyes, turns around in her chair and calls on Crystal, hairspraying her long, dark wavy ponytail in place at her own vanity table. “Crys! What’re you doing for the first dance?”

Crystal turns around excitedly, looks to the ceiling in thought. “Oooh…some sort of samba, maybe? Start out difficult.”

Monique pouts, halfway to satisfied. “You heard what any of the other girls are doing?”

“Jaida’s undecided. Aja keeps talking about this vision she’s got for this rhumba to Chan Chan…oh! Jan’s doing a Cha Cha Cha.”

Vanessa stifles a laugh as Monique gives a wounded groan. “Damn it, Jan!”

Crystal laughs, shakes her ponytail out and shrugs. “To be fair, I think Jan’s planned out all her dances until she gets to the final. Nobody’s thought to tell her she might not get that far.”

“Hey! Heard that, asshole,” shouts Jan, a few tables down.

“Love you!” Crystal calls back, her voice typically high and sweet and ensuring nobody can ever get mad at her.

Talk turns to partners. It turns out Crystal’s got her eye on Jackie or Gigi, and Vanessa swears she can see a bit more blush appear on her cheeks when she tells her that Gigi was gunning for her as well. As some of the other girls who’re finished getting ready around them join in, Vanessa sneaks a look at her phone and idly scrolls to Instagram to find a certain comment that’s been running through her mind for the past month. A photo of her in the studio, it’s not even that cute; she’s got her old dance school hoodie on and a pair of black Primark leggings paired with her obnoxiously bright blue trainers, and she’s sitting on the floor fresh from her warmup holding her phone up to the mirror. Vanessa scrolls down, feels her heart give a little excited jump when she reaches the comment she was looking for.

bhytes: 😍😍😍

It’s dumb and embarrassing how much she’s scrolled Brooke Lynn’s profile since the girl followed her all those weeks ago. Vanessa had felt something inside her burst when she’d first seen the notification, and she still tries to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed when she saw that Brooke had followed most of the other pros too. Vanessa is only hung up on the girl because she’d be such a good partner. It’s not like they really flirted when they met, anyway- Brooke had just been joking around, and Vanessa had followed suit. Some jokes between two girls that had just met and had hit it off with each other stupidly well. It wasn’t anything more than that. Vanessa can’t take her eye off the ball this season; she’s in it to win, just like all the other girls. Being benched for two years has struck a determination in her that she’s not ready to let die. She remembers how confident Brooke was, how easily the moves came to her, how she dipped Vanessa safely and carefully but with such skill and how close they were pressed together when Vanessa came back up-

Alright, bitch. That’s enough of that.

Akeria yelling her name makes Vanessa jerk her head up from her screen, the other girls laughing at the surprise on her face.

“What are you even doing, Jesus,” Akeria mutters, grabbing her phone out of her hand. Vanessa gives a little squeak of outrage, trying not to blush as a shit-eating grin spreads across her friend’s face as she looks at Vanessa’s phone and the other dancers ask what she’s seen.

“Well, let’s just say we know who Vanjie wants to be partnered with,” Akeria smirks, the other girls descending into excited squawks as Vanessa clamours for her phone back and Akeria relents.

“Don’t make it weird, bitch, God,” Vanessa murmurs, trying not to be stung with embarrassment. Crystal pulls a sympathetic face, reaches out to place a comforting hand on Vanessa’s arm.

“Aw, Vanjie! It’s normal to get a lil’ crush on one of the celebrities, they’re all so beautiful and airbrushed.”

“Is it, though? Or are you just hung up on a certain model that you’ve not been able to stop mentioning every five minutes since you danced with her?” Jan quirks an eyebrow, the girls all laughing and screaming again. Vanessa thinks about bringing up Jan’s obvious infatuation with Jackie but then decides against it, remembering that her Mom always tells her people in glass homes shouldn’t throw rocks. Or whatever the saying was. Even though they moved here when Vanessa was two and she probably should be used to them by now she still hates figures of speech with a passion.

“Okay I don’t mind admitting it- whoever gets Asia O’Hara, you’re a lucky son of a bitch,” Akeria throws her hands up, and Monique rolls her eyes so hard that Vanessa momentarily worries for her vision.

“My God, Keeks! Mention it one more time, maybe there’s somebody livin’ in a fuckin’…croft in the Scottish Highlands that ain’t still aware you wanna climb Miss Asia like a tree.”

Vanessa bursts out laughing, joining the other girls. Shea whips her head around from her own mirror, her high, sleek ponytail tossing itself over her shoulder as she fixes them all with an unimpressed glare. “Oh my God, will you all stop being so horny on main for like, two goddamn minutes? Jeez. When was the last time y’all got laid, two thousand and fuckin’ ten?”

Aja laughs in outrage as she points an accusatory finger Shea’s way. “Hey, not all of us could marry a contestant, okay? Let these girls get laid already!”

As the girls all hoot and Shea looks ready to fire a playful comeback at her, one of the runners comes into the dressing room and shouts up a five minute warning. The dancers all explode with excited squeals and they all rush back to their dressing tables to do a last touch up of their makeup and strap themselves into their dance shoes. Vanessa feels her heart thrumming so loud and heavy in her chest that she regrets the Red Bull she’d sank earlier, her nerves suddenly consuming her. She walks into the corridor where some of the other girls are waiting, digs her feet into the soles of her shoes and takes two big deep, calming breaths like her first ever dance teacher taught her to do when the butterflies got all too much. They’re not getting their partners straight away- they’ve got the group dance to complete first, but after that they’ll be changing into uniform little white sparkly dresses and standing on the raised steps beside the dancefloor, ready for the celebrities to come out one by one. The very thought of seeing Brooke Lynn again, in person and all fake-tanned with a full face of makeup, is making Vanessa’s hands shake a little.

“Hey,” Courtney smiles at her, coming out to stand behind her in the corridor. “Good luck. You’ll be amazing.”

“Thanks, girl,” Vanessa smiles. Courtney is the Mom of the dancers, always looking out for the other girls and keeping the peace. Vanessa is appreciative of her calm presence just now.

“How’re you feeling?” Courtney asks, a little frown of concern on her face. She rolls her eyes at herself quickly as soon as the words are out of her mouth. “God. Sorry. Silly question.”

“I’m nervous as shit right now, I ain’t gon’ lie.”

Courtney smiles, takes her hand and squeezes it. “You’ll be fine. I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous to be honest. I still remember my first show. Just remember the dancing is the easy bit. It’s what you know. You’ve done it for two seasons already anyway, all that’s changed is that you get a partner! And that’s the best bit!”

Vanessa swallows, takes another deep breath. She looks at Courtney again. “You know before you get partnered? You ever get your hopes up for one particular celebrity?”

“God, obviously. It’s like when teachers say they don’t have favourites, but you know they do. Why?” Courtney gives her a wink which makes her blush out of embarrassment. “You got your eye on anyone specific?”

“Nah. It’s my first season competing, I’ll be happy with anyone! Can’t get too choosy.”

Courtney cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at her. “Hmm. You’re a bad liar, Vanjie, but I’ll leave you alone. Have fun out there! Break a leg.”

Vanessa’s stomach gives a dip as she throws Courtney a supportive smile and turns around in the line. Monique reaches back, squeezes her hand and whispers a good luck to her, and before she can get a chance to compose herself they’re all off snaking their way in single file through yellow strobe-lit corridors, then through a dark maze of black curtains and cables and electrical tape, and finally out into the muffled excitement of the audience and the hot glow of the stage lights from the rigging overhead. As the producers and runners dash about like panicked mice, Vanessa takes another shuddery deep breath and takes her place beside Vixen, thanking God the show isn’t live but also knowing they’re about to do the dance in one whole take. She’s done this before, it’s not new. She can do this. It’s what she loves.

“Right, ladies and gentlemen! Are we ready to make history? First same-sex series of Strictly Come Dancing?” a producer yells out, the audience whooping and cheering and stamping their feet. “And five…four…three…two…one…”

The lights go up, the smile is plastered onto Vanessa’s face, and when she starts to dance everything she has been worrying about melts away. It sounds cheesy, Vanessa knows it, but when she dances her mind literally cannot think about a single thing other than the music and the rhythm and the moves unfolding as if she’s telling a story. Vanessa remembers days spent on the couch with her Mom and a bowl of popcorn watching Billy Elliot, Dance With Me, Dirty Dancing (even though that one was a 12 and Vanessa’s Mom always told her not to tell her Abuela she was allowing her to watch it) and falling in love with dancing. As the pros finish off their dance to rapturous applause, Vanessa wonders what eight-year-old her would make of it all. She’s on the biggest dancing show on UK TV and she’s about to actually compete in it. Jesus.

Backstage, Vanessa’s hands are shaking so much that they fumble with the zip at the back of her costume change. She is a bundle of nerves now that the dance is done- that’s the only part about tonight she can control, and it’s over. Shea sees her struggling, bats Vanessa’s hands out of the way firmly and hoists the zip up her spine. Vanessa feels like a six year old who’s just had to ask their teacher to help them get dressed after a P.E. lesson.

“Thanks,” she mutters, Shea giving her a tight smile in return.

“Stop worrying. You’ll just get yourself in a flap. What’re you scared of?” Shea asks her, her stern voice turning soft at the end of her sentence. Shea doesn’t have a lot of time for nonsense, but the time she does have is precious, so Vanessa sighs.

“I’m just…God, I don’t even know. Worried I get a dud on my first year, I guess. I want to showcase myself just as much as I want to showcase my teaching abilities, if that makes sense,” she shrugs, looking in the mirror and making sure none of her dark brown baby hairs are breaking free from their hairspray prison.

“If I can give you any advice for your first year, I’ll say this,” Shea continues, checking her own reflection out until a runner shoos them back into line with the other girls. “Don’t take it too serious. Establish yourself, yeah, but it’s more about having fun with whoever you’re partnered with. When I let go and did that I ended up winning. Now, shit, don’t tell anyone I’m giving you advice.”

Vanessa tries not to focus on the fact Shea has just mentioned winning. The thought makes her heart give a thud she’s convinced could land her in hospital. She thanks Shea, gives her a squeeze on her shoulder before the girls are led out onto the stage again. Vanessa is positioned on one of the upper levels in between Akeria and Jan. They give each other a smile of encouragement, and Vanessa reaches over to take Akeria’s hand.

“I hope you get who you want, Keeks,” she whispers, as the producers look ready to begin. Akeria squeezes her hand as a thank you and drops it just as the lights go up. Vanessa feels her stomach churn as she looks down. There’s Michelle, contestant-turned-presenter ready to look into the camera and start reading from the autocue, and she’s beside the table of four judges. Vanessa hasn’t had many dealings with the judges before- she hasn’t had to, but the four friendly-ish faces she’s only so much as smiled at backstage now seem so scary to her.

“Ready to go in three,” a producer calls out, and a hush falls over the audience. Vanessa feels herself wobble in her shoes, wonders if she’d get fired if she fainted on the first take. Before she can think too much about it, the lights flood the stage and Michelle is announcing the first celebrity to be partnered- Heidi Cheek, or, to her listeners, Heidi Nina Closet. She’s dressed in a black sparkly dress which contrasts those of the dancers, and Vanessa realises the costume designers’ vision straight away. Vanessa remembers Heidi- she’d been one of the girls she’d danced with after Brooke, and she was sweet and funny and approached learning with a cheerful sense of enthusiasm, even if it had taken her a couple of tries to get the moves right. Michelle asks her how she’s feeling.

“Excited! It’s so different to doin’ my radio show, you know? I’m not used to bein’ on camera. They didn’t tell me I’d be goin’ through makeup at all. Everyone wore their joggers and gym clothes in rehearsals so I just thought we’d all be wearin’ the same things,” Heidi begins, the audience laughing already. “Also these heels! I barely even wear shoes at work, Lord. I can’t walk in these so how I’ll dance in them I’ll never know. Least I don’t need to fake tan like some of these other girls. That whole dressin’ room smells like a pack of biscuits.”

As the audience give another laugh, Vanessa can feel her heart hammer frantically as Michelle turns to Heidi. “Okay, Heidi. This…is…it.”

The lights go down, and Vanessa wants nothing more than to squeeze her eyes shut but she knows the cameras will be giving close-ups and so she stands, poised and ready, practising her not-looking-disappointed face in case she gets partnered with her.

“Your Strictly Come Dancing 2020 pro is…”

Breathe, don’t forget to breathe. Don’t close your eyes. Stop clenching your fists.

“Antonia ‘Vixen’ Taylor!”

Vanessa lets out a massive sigh of relief, her smile huge and genuine as she claps for the newly paired couple. Vixen races across the stage and lets out an excited squeal, Heidi crushing her in a tight hug. Both girls are clearly happy about who they’ve been partnered up with. They give a short post-pairing interview where they both squeal about how enthused and excited they are and Michelle sends them up to the auditorium. Vanessa claps them again then lets out another sigh. One couple down, eleven to go.

Michelle, a seasoned professional, copes well with the stop-start way that pre-recorded TV is usually filmed. Vanessa, however, stands and frets and wobbles in her heels through the next five pairings. Blair St Clair is paired up with Courtney next, and both girls are content with their partner. Blair just seems happy she’s got somebody who won’t eat her for breakfast if she makes a mistake.

“I’m so happy I got paired up with a winner!” she beams in her interview, her arm linked with Courtney’s. “And we had so much fun on the induction day, she put up with me so well. Even though she had to re-teach me the steps about twelve times.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself! It wasn’t twelve!” Courtney soothes, then gives Michelle a cheeky smile. “More like ten.”

A clearly satisfied Peppermint is given to an equally happy Shea and, to her obvious delight, Akeria is paired with Asia. Jan gives an over-the-top display of sheer unadulterated celebration when she’s paired with Jackie and almost gives Vanessa tinnitus with the amount she screeches, and Vanessa finds herself beaming with joy when Gigi is paired with Crystal, both girls behaving like Care Bears when they reach each other, all soft cuddles and squeezing hands.

Michelle takes a quick drink of water, announces some special guest singer that nobody cares about to perform at the halfway point. The girls who’re waiting to be partnered are called off the stage and the fiftysomething country singer last relevant in 2006 begins setting up. Vanessa scans her eyes over the pros that are left. There’s her, Monique, Plastique, Aja, Phi Phi and Jaida.

“Who’s still not been partnered up?” Phi Phi hisses urgently, her face determined as she addresses the other girls.

“Yvie Oddly hasn’t got anyone yet,” Plastique mentions calmly. “Or the Love Island girl.”

“Farrah,” Aja corrects her, then pulls a face. “Scarlet Envy’s not got anyone yet either.”

“Has Brooke Lynn been given anyone?” Vanessa asks rhetorically, as if she hasn’t been waiting with every embryo she possesses for the girl to come out onto the stage.

“No,” Jaida shakes her head, oblivious to the fact Vanessa already knows the answer. “And there’s Monet and Willam. So there’s three…maybe four girls still left that we can win with.”

“Hey, Scarlet has potential,” Monique shrugs kindly. Plastique snorts.

“Potential to what? Earn the lowest scores ever recorded?”

Phi Phi covers her hand with her mouth as she giggles, and Vanessa frowns at them both.

“Nobody’s winning with Willam either. The woman’s treating the whole thing as a huge joke,” Phi Phi continues.

Vanessa can’t help but send a barb her way. “I don’t know, girl, she seemed pretty clued-up when she was with me. But I guess a bad teacher always blames her students.”

Plastique and Jaida let out a squeal which they muffle behind their hands. Monique grabs Vanessa for support as she splutters a laugh, and Phi Phi scowls at her. “Well I’m not the one that was-”

“Would y’all just shut the fuck up for, like, two minutes?” Aja hisses, lowering the rapidly escalating volume of the conversation. “Unless we wanna be picked up by the mic and get round two of the half-decaying Darius Rucker impersonator that’s out there.”

Aja is friendly and funny but she’s scary when she wants to be, so the girls take a telling and fall silent as the song is finished. It’s not long until they’re led back out onto stage and are assembled onto the same podium as last time, and the cameras are rolling again. Next out is Willam. It says a lot that the stage makeup manages to tone her down, the gentle grey smoke across her eyelids a far cry from the riot of glitter that had been scattered over them on induction day. Michelle begins the interview.

“Now, Willam, you starred in Brittania High a few years ago, that was a bit dance-y - do you think that’ll come in handy during your Strictly journey?” Michelle is asking her. Willam brushes a stray hair out of her face and shrugs.

“I mean, I didn’t do too much of the dancing? I was a leading lady so I got most of the ballads. And most of the lines. More a main character than a backing dancer, really. No shade to any of my ex castmates, of course. Except Detox. Rotted bitch.”

“CUT!”

Vanessa bites her lip hard to try to stop a laugh coming out. Willam looks amused, if a little perturbed. “Is that not allowed? It was just a joke, she knows I love her really. Family show? Oh, okay.”

Vanessa can’t help it and lets out a laugh along with some of the audience. Phi Phi’s face doesn’t move.

“Okay Willam, time to see who your partner will be.”

The lights go down again. Even though it’s now the seventh time this has happened, Vanessa still feels as if she’s surviving a near-death experience every time someone new is paired up. It would be good to be paired with Willam. She’d be fun. She’s got potential. She’d work hard. She wouldn’t be disappointed at all.

“…It’s Phi Phi O’Hara!”

Oh, fuck. Vanessa sucks her lips into her mouth, tries not to laugh as the fake smile takes hold on Phi Phi’s face like a mask as she runs over to Willam, gives her a polite hug. She is raging. Serves her right for being mean.

“Willam Belli! What an enormous…” Phi Phi tails off, gesturing at the woman beside her as she searches for the right word. “…pleasure…it is to be paired up with her!”

Vanessa catches eyes with Monique, almost splutters a laugh. Phi Phi’s delivering everything through gritted teeth. Willam is smiling beside her, although her gaze keeps darting up to someone in the auditorium. Vanessa wonders if there’s someone she would rather have been partnered with.

Phi Phi is led off smiling demonically, and then Yvie appears by Michelle’s side to be paired up next. She is given to Jaida, and both girls seem happy with their pairing. Next out is Farrah. Vanessa’s heart lifts. She didn’t get paired up with Farrah at all on induction day- they’re both too small to be each others’ partners and so far there’s been at least a little bit of a height difference to each pairing. Still, though…Vanessa can’t get too complacent. She puts her hands behind her back and crosses her fingers and hopes she won’t get chosen, feeling like she’s on her first day at Hogwarts and Michelle is holding the sorting hat.

“…Aja Rivera!”

Vanessa is almost sick with relief, but as Michelle interviews the new partners she can’t help but feel almost a little dizzy with nerves. There are only three celebrities left: Scarlet, Monet and, of course, Brooke Lynn. The producers stop filming and arrange Vanessa, Plastique and Monique on the same level so as they’re not too scattered across the stage.

“You look like you’re about to throw up. Or faint. Or maybe die,” Monique whispers to her, concerned. Plastique rolls her eyes.

“Leave her alone, Mo, it’s her first partner,” she chastises her. Vanessa is grateful for the sympathy and doesn’t acknowledge how right Monique is. She does feel as if she’s about to do all three of those things, possibly all at the same time. Just as she thinks things can’t get any more nervewracking, the lights go up, Michelle announces the next celebrity, and Brooke Lynn appears.

Vanessa feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. Brooke’s hair is tousled and swept over one shoulder, the black smoke of eyeshadow the makeup department blended onto her eyelids makes the green of her eyes pop, and the character heels and the fringing on her black sparkly dress means that Vanessa’s eyes can’t help but be drawn to her legs. This is the girl she’s been waiting for. If she gets Brooke, she knows she can go far, she knows she can do a lot. She hardly hears a word Brooke says in her interview, all Vanessa is doing is repeating prayer after prayer- she’s not even that religious but her Mom, Tia and Abuela combined have probably said enough Hail Marys on her behalf to garner her a decent amount of favour with whoever’s up there, so she gives it a go.

“Okay, Brooke, let’s see who is going to be partnered with you for your Strictly journey.”

The lights go down. Vanessa swears her heart stops beating. She casts her eyes to the ceiling, not daring to meet Brooke’s. Her palms are way too sweaty to be normal. She clasps them together but they’re still shaking like crazy. The room is silent save from the single drum beat that’s serving to build tension. It’s doing its job too well, Vanessa thinks. She swears this pause is longer than all the others put together. She can hear the catch in Michelle’s throat as she’s about to speak, her heart soaring high with anticipation.

“It’s-”

“Cut!”

There’s a groan from the audience. Vanessa is going to faint right here, right now, filming be damned.

“Sorry, we’ve got a problem with the lights, it’s hitting Plastique’s face all weird. Can we sort that?…Okay. Thanks.”

Vanessa is no longer nervous. She’s now just impatient. As she taps her foot frustratedly and sweeps a glance over the room, she’s determined not to look at Brooke. She wonders if she’s looking at her already. Unable to help herself, she sneaks a look and instantly meets Brooke’s eyes with her own. Her heart leaps as if someone’s just turned the key in its ignition. Brooke unsuccessfully stifles a smile, sends her a wink as if they’re the only two people in the room. Vanessa waggles her fingers in a wave, then snaps her gaze away as the producer silences the audience again. Michelle repeats her line, the lights go down again, and Vanessa’s not scared this time. She’s thinking it into existence. She knows it’s going to be her. Michelle just has to say it.

“…it’s Vanessa Mateo!”

Vanessa screams. She knows her face must be an absolute picture as she sinks to the ground in shock, gripping her face with both her hands. She can hear Monique and Plastique laughing and clapping above her, and she can barely walk in a straight line as she rises back up and dashes across to hug Brooke. Brooke’s smile is almost splitting her face, and she breaks away from Michelle and runs towards her, picking her up and twirling her round in a tight hug that Vanessa never wants to break free from. She’s done it. She and Brooke are partners. She gets to work with her for as long as they’re in the competition together. Maybe Vanessa will start going to mass after all.

“Oh my God,” Vanessa eventually says, as Brooke carries her in the hug for as long as she can manage then deposits her down beside Michelle who is laughing so hard Vanessa wonders if they’ll have to do another take. They do not. Instead, Brooke drapes an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder and pulls her close. Without knowing what possesses her, Vanessa takes her hand. She looks up at Brooke who’s looking down at her and they laugh together, sharing a ridiculously huge smile.

“Sorry. That was too much,” Brooke says apologetically. The audience laughs along with Vanessa.

“Uh, Vanessa,” Michelle starts, laughing a little through her question. “It’s your first year with a partner, I probably- well I don’t- need an answer, but I have to ask…how do you feel about being partnered with Brooke?”

“Listen,” Vanessa composes herself. She’s out of breath and her voice is hoarse from screeching, but she’s getting this out. “If you knew what this girl can do, you’d be screamin’ like a banshee too, Michelle. She’s so talented, I know she’s gonna be incredible…God, I can’t wait to win this whole thing with her.”

Everyone laughs again, but Vanessa’s only looking at Brooke. The girl’s eyes crinkle up when she smiles, and it only makes her look ten times more beautiful than she already is. Not that that’s weird. Just an observation.

“Brooke, how do you feel?”

Brooke looks back down at Vanessa, still smiling. “No, I’m the exact same. I know we kind of look like a bar chart together, but we just work. I knew I wanted to be her partner since induction day.”

Vanessa gives a happy sigh. She wants to wrap both her arms around Brooke and to not let go. Part of her feels like she’s lifting the glitterball already. Brooke is a trophy and Vanessa feels like a winner.

“Well, congratulations to the pair of you. One last time, give it up for Vanessa and Brooke Lynn!”

Vanessa drops her hand down and Brooke catches it in hers, the pair of them running past the audience and upstairs to the auditorium where the other girls are ready with excited squeals and hugs for them both. Vanessa accepts them all gladly, and when she is finally released she is positioned at the bannister beside her new dance partner. She turns to her and smiles, Brooke easily returning it, and Vanessa is suddenly bashful.

“Hey,” Brooke smiles at her cheekily.

“Hey,” Vanessa grins, looking to the floor awkwardly. “Sorry. If I freaked you out. Guess my reaction was kinda too much.”

“Girl, did you see me? I was spinning you round like a fucking windmill. If anyone should be apologising it should be me.”

They both laugh softly. Vanessa shrugs a little. “Least we know we’ll be good at lifts.”

Brooke raises her eyebrows and concedes, and Vanessa tries not to get too excited about the fact she can say the word we. They fall quiet as the producers call for hush and Scarlet is led out. As Vanessa listens to Scarlet’s interview, she can feel Brooke’s eyes on her and she turns to face her, unable to stop the smile creeping back onto her face. Brooke looks caught out for a second before she leans in close to Vanessa to whisper to her.

“I meant it, you know. I’m so happy I got you. I wasn’t just saying it for the cameras.”

Vanessa gives a happy sigh, places her hand over Brooke’s that’s clinging to the bannister. “Me too, girl. This is where it all begins. Let’s win this damn thing.”

They don’t let go of each others’ hands until the final pairing is announced.

25 notes · View notes

beetlebitchywitch · 5 years

Note

Ya know what I’m horny on main for? Angry!Beej. I have this constant fantasy of coming home much later than I said I would, a lil bit tipsy, having walked home in the dark and Beej fucking railing me against the wall for worrying him so much.

UGH ok y’all really got me going with these and I for real cannot complain at all

Also, let it be known now that I typically write from a cis!female perspective, given that I am a cis female. I would be willing to write from a more gender neutral perspective if asked, but I’m hesitant to write Beej with a cis!male, not because I wouldn’t want to, but because I wouldn’t want to contribute to the fetishization that MLM couples so often go through. Not to say that any other female writers that write Beej with a male are doing so, I just had a major problem with that back in the day when I first started writing fanfiction and I don’t ever want to do that again, because fetishizing gay couples simply for being gay isn’t cool my dudes.

CW: Name calling, light BDSM, general dirty things!

It was a coworker’s birthday at work on Friday, so you were all invited out for drinks to celebrate. Beetlejuice, of course, wanted to go with you. “To protect you from creeps,” he said, but really it was to keep a hand on your hip, ready to make it very clear to all in the club that you were spoken for, if only you’d say his name.

As much as you’d love to take Beetlejuice with you, you somehow think that being dragged away from any hopeful suitor by an unseen specter would not go over well. So, you begged him to let you go out on your own, promising to be home by 10, untouched and unharmed. Reluctantly, he agreed, so long as you wore his tie with your outfit- if he couldn’t go with you, he wanted his mark on you while you were gone.

You chuckled in amusement and slipped off to your bedroom to find an outfit to pair well with his striped tie, which you washed a few times in the sink for good measure given its…hygienic state. You eventually met Beej once more in your living room, a white button up and tight black skirt paired with his tie and the glittering sandworm bracelet he had made for you in the Netherworld.

Dear sweet God/Satan, you looked fucking delectable. He wanted to tear that fucking skirt, if you could even call that measly piece of fabric a skirt, off of your thighs and leave his mark on every inch of that smooth, delicious skin. But he knew how much you wanted to get out and enjoy some time with your friends, so he reluctantly attempted to shoo away his impending hard-on and stood up to greet you, whistling lowly.

“Damn, sweetness, you look good enough to eat,” he drawled, leering at you darkly. “And with my tie, mmm, fucking impeccable. Now, are you gonna behave for me while you’re gone, doll?”

You nod with a sweet smile, understanding how much stress this was likely to put your boyfriend under. You appreciated his willingness to fight his insecurities so you could have time with your friends- and you wanted to make sure he knew.

“I’ll keep to myself, I promise, babe,” you say, drawing your fingertips down the side of his face. “Until I get home, of course. Then I’m all yours, as a thank you for what you’re doing for me tonight.”

The tips of his hair flashed pink as he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “No need to thank me, babes. Just…don’t make me wait up. I want you to come back to me, safe and sound, alright?”

You answered with a simple kiss, rubbing your thumb over his cheek before pulling away and rushing out the front door with a wave. He sighed happily, drunk on even the softest of your kisses. God dammit, he was whipped…and he fucking loved it, damn you, you and your soft eyes and your warm smile and your beating heart. He stared after you for a moment before sighing and plopping down on your couch, already counting the seconds until your return.

2:00 AM, 5 hours later

Too many seconds. Too many fucking seconds. You were supposed to be home 4 fucking hours ago and he wasn’t sure if he should be worried for your safety, worried about your relationship, or angry at your lack of care for your promises. He’d spent the last hour debating on finding whatever bar you’d gone to and checking up on you, but the deep voice of anxiety in his mind warning him that he might find you in the midst of breaking his heart kept him glued to the couch, watching the front door anxiously. The minute he heard the knob turn, the pit of his stomach filled with a slurry of emotions.

You stumbled into your living room, reeking of alcohol and sweat and…who the fuck got close enough to you to leave their scent in your hair, on your skin, on your clothes? Beetlejuice rose from the couch, arms crossed with eyes of cold steel. You freeze- fuck, what time is it anyway?

“Where. Have you. Been?” he asked coldly, slowly, as if a perfect storm was brewing inside his lungs and ready to explode past his fanged teeth and lips worried raw.

“Baby, I’m sorry, fuck, what time even is it? I had too much to drink-” Without another word from you, Beetlejuice snaps his fingers, and you feel the intoxication flee from your brain, your senses coming back to you as your body voids itself of the remnants of your night out. Suddenly, it’s all clear- he’s been waiting 4 hours longer than you promised he would, all alone, thinking God knows what about what you were up to. “Oh…oh my God. Beej, honey, please, I’m so sorry-”

“Whose scent is on you right now?” he growled, crimson beginning to crawl his way from root to tip in his hair, his eyes flashing dangerously with barely-restrained rage. “Who the fuck did you let close enough to you that I can smell him from here?”

Oh fuck. You were in for it, and you knew it. Despite the constant coldness of his body, you could feel heat radiating from him, as if the anger was truly burning deep inside him. But there was something else- the tips of his hair were a deep, rich blue. He wasn’t just angry- he was sad.

“Baby, it was no one, I swear. There’s not much room in bars, people are pressed up against each other all the time! No one touched me like that, nothing happened.” God, you just wanted to fix this.

“Nothing happened, huh? Then where the hell have you been?” he yelled, his fists clenching at his sides. “You promised me you would be home at 10, yet here you are, dragging yourself in at 2 AM, and you don’t smell like me anymore, you just smell like booze and other men and all the fun you had without me. Tell me, babes, did you have fun without me?” His voice broke a little at the very end of his sentence, his eyes trailed on the ground. God fucking dammit, you fucked up so badly- he was willing to challenge his insecurities for you, willing to let you go out on your own despite how scared it made him, and you took that trust and you practically spit on it.

“Beej, please, I’m so sorry. Just…let me make it up to you,” you plead. Those last few words make his ears perk up, as if they’ve sparked an idea in his mind. Suddenly, he shoots you a snarling sneer, his hair deepened with streaks of magenta and his eyes locked on his tie around your neck.

“Oh, sweetness…trust me. You will.” In an instant, he has you pinned against the wall, lips crashing against yours, all teeth and tongue and wet heat. He hoisted you against the wall, his hands clutching your hips so tightly you knew you’d have bruises in the morning. You kissed him back ferociously, letting your hands drape over his shoulder and clutch at his suit jacket as your guilt is muddled with lust. He pulled away, smirking darkly at you. “I’ll tell you what’s about to happen, baby. You’re going to take my cock, nice and deep, and I’m gonna fuck you against this wall until the scent of whatever ugly breather got too close to you is gone. And if that takes all night? Well, I hope you’ve got it in you to cum more than once, because I’m not stopping, not unless you safeword. Is that fucking clear, or do I need to repeat myself?”

You gulped, feeling your panties grow wetter and wetter as he growled against your lips. Dear fucking Jesus, you still felt bad for what you did, but if it led to this…no, you weren’t gonna justify how you hurt him, but you were certainly gonna catalog this little escapade away for future exploration. You nodded feverishly, trying to lean in for another kiss, but he fisted his hand in your hair and held your head firmly against the wall.

“Stay still, Little Red, before the big bad wolf comes knockin’,” he drawled, placing your feet on the floor before tearing your skirt and your panties from your body. He whistled lowly, letting his fingers dip between your folds and gather your wetness on his finger tips. “Damn, darlin’, maybe you want the big bad wolf to come eat you up. Tell me, is that what you want? You want my mouth on you?”

A whine built in the back of your throat as you nod, biting your lips as his fingertip circles your swollen clit. “Fuck, Beej, please-”

“Oh no, I’m not your Beej tonight,” he snarled, letting his hand smack harshly against your ass. “Try again.”

“Fuck…Sir, please, please, your mouth!” you cried out. He chuckled darkly, gripping both of your thighs in his hands.

“Good girl, babycakes,” he said, letting his tongue trace along your folds, dipping in to circle your clit and reveling in the way your thighs trembled under his fingers. Your breathing quickened, your hands scrambling to find purchase in his hair as he tortured you with light traces of his tongue on your clit and down to your entrance. He let two fingers slip inside you as he sucked on your clit, growing harder at the sound of the long, deep moan it drew from you. When he felt you were properly prepared for him, he pulled away, despite your babbling protest. He unzipped his trousers, letting his cock spring out as he hoisted you back up against the wall, the swollen head dragging against your already sensitive pussy.

“Sir, please, I’ll be good, I promise, just please fuck me-” and oh was it good when he slid into you in one smooth thrust, his face buried in the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent. He growled, giving you a quick, deep thrust.

“You still smell like him,” he snarled. “Beg me, slut. Beg me to show you who you belong to, beg me to make you mine.”

“You, Sir, I belong to you, please, God, show me!” you cried out, grinding your hips down onto him. Something in him clearly snapped as he began to thrust into you wildly, his teeth sinking into your neck. You threw your head back against the wall, seeing stars and not giving anything even close to a shit because he felt so good, so warm, so strong. His cock hit that special spot inside you that made you clench around him, a hoarse scream wrenched from your lips.

“Yeah, right there? Right fucking there? Tell me, slut, that does that feel good?” he growled.

“Fuck yes, fuck, fuck, I’m so close, please please let me cum!”

“My, ngh, sweet little slut, you can beg harder than that can’t you? Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, so wet around my cock baby,” he groaned, pounding into you with such intensity that you weren’t sure how much longer you could wait for his permission.

“Sir, please, fuck, I’ll be so good for you, I’ll never come home late again, I need to cum, holy shit, fuck, harder, let me cum!” you cried, your nails scratching down his shoulders in ecstasy. He laughed, taking pity on you and he reached down to play with your clit, and one, two, three thrusts later you were cumming around him, arching your back away from the wall as he too spilled inside you with a quiet groan into your neck. Finally, you slid to the floor in his arms, both sweaty and spent and high on adrenaline and dopamine and whatever other chemicals your love triggered inside you. After catching your breath, you opened your eyes to see him staring back at you, with his vibrant pink hair drooping down over his forehead. You smiled softly, shyly, and ran your fingers through it.

“Beetlejuice, I mean it. I am so, so sorry that I came home so late. I knew how big of a challenge this was going to be for you, and yet I was entirely careless and that wasn’t fair to you. And as absolutely mind-blowing as that sex was, I don’t want this conversation to end there. You deserve better than that. I want to know how you’re feeling,” you murmured, pulling him next to you against a wall and laying your head on his shoulder. You felt him heave a heavy sigh.

“I’m better now that you don’t smell like some fucking sweaty ass breather,” he said. “But…I was questioning everything. I wanted to come find you, make sure you weren’t hurt or worse, but I just…I thought maybe you’d decided you didn’t want me, met someone else that made you happier, and that if I came to find you, I’d just see that it was all true.”

Fuck it all if that didn’t stab you right in the gut. You can see the tips of Beej’s hair fading to a soft blue, tinged with sadness, and you can’t resist the urge to lean up and leave soft, loving kisses across his face.

“There is no one that can make me happier than you do, Beej,” you asserted, meeting his gaze intently. “You really think some random asshole in a bar could ever live up to you? I mean, you’re the Ghost with the Most, you rock my world, you hold me steady when I’m weak, you make me laugh when I want to cry, I just…no one-night-stand in a bar would ever be worth losing your love, losing you. I love you, Beetlejuice. I love you more than you know, and that’s OK. I understand your fear, and I promise, I’m going to be more cognizant of how my actions affect you from now on. And if I mess up…well, sometimes naughty sluts need punishing, hm?” You added that last bit with a less-than-innocent wink, pulling a laugh from Beetlejuice’s lips despite the tears shimmering in his eyes.

“I love you too, babes, you know that? I never thought some fragile, living girl could ever hold me down, but I don’t regret it for a second. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I know I don’t remember that a lot but…I’m tryin’, babes. You know I’m tryin, right?” he asked, unsure. You smile, leaning forward for one final kiss before pulling him to his feet and towards your bedroom- a very long cuddle session is in order.

“Yeah, Beej. I know.”

AAAAAAAH I really need to go to sleep but W O W

Also I know I got a little possessive!beetlejuice going in there but come on, can you blame me?

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice hc #beetlejuice headcanon #beetlejuice headcanons #beetlejuice/reader #beetlejuice x reader #beej #beej hc #beej headcanon

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imnotcameraready · 5 years

Text

chivalry is dead (8)

A/N: PLEASE READ ALL THE WARNINGS!!! — also if i’ve missed any warnings, please please please let me know!!! this chapter’s a doozy, and i don’t know everything that could be construed into something that might upset someone, so please let me know if you think there’s something i’ve missed so i can update this chapter and make sure it’s tagged in future chapters! or if i've worded any of them wrong!

anyway, im so stoked for this chapter y’all wouldn’t even bELIEVE. you also finally get to see how much i adore the em-dash, ‘cause there are 33 in this chapter Alone

WARNINGS: Sympathetic Deceit, panic, panic attack!!, scarring/scars, past fights, loneliness, isolation, self-hatred/self-deprecation, self-isolation, swearing/cursing, curses, death threats, thoughts of ducking out, public torture (implied), argument (no yelling but Hardcore Debates)

WORDS: 9752 (it.,,.s,.s so su fkcing l ong .,,. ,. ., akshdlgasf sorry im so proud of myself bc i rarely ever write single chapters this long and im screaming)

PAIRINGS: I. am so fucking proud to say. that there’s a lil’ Prinxiety, Anxciet, and Roceit. more Prinxiety than the other two, but that’s because Roman’s doing all the legwork in this chapter

MASTERPOST

AO3 link!

@starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda@askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil

enjoy!!! love y’all so much <3 <3 <3 <3

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Virgil didn’t think the first quest he’d have through Roman’s Imagination would involve trudging through a sewer line.

He pulled his hood tighter around his face, trying to block out the scent but leaving a hole just barely wide enough to see Deceit and the Thief walking in front of him, leading every step with the ball of his foot and basically tip-toeing through the cobblestone tunnel. The Thief had led him and Deceit around some roads too fast to follow, instructed them to put their hoods up and hide as much of their faces as they could until they breached the town’s defense wall, and to do that, they’d have to follow one of the paths beneath one of the two river branches. Underground and not seen. They were on the run from the guards, after all; Virgil agreed that getting caught would throw a wrench in absolutely everything.

Deceit was a little more careless. Virgil kinda wanted to kick him for it, actually. For someone so concerned about what was best for Thomas the real person, Deceit seemed very nonchalant about the whole “Roman, Creativity, might be gone forever” situation.

Roman was NOT gone forever.

Holy shit, Roman was gone.

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled, covering his mouth with his hood. The realization was coming in waves, slapping him with the ice cold knowledge that they’d demoralized Roman so much he’d basically ducked out. He’d done more than ducked out. He was fucking dead.

Calm down time, he could hear Patton’s voice in the back of his head start counting one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

“Virgil. Are you coming?” Deceit said.

Virgil looked up to see Deceit and the Thief both stopped and standing a few paces in front of him, waiting. While Deceit just watched with his mouth pressed in a line, the Thief looked more concerned.

Was that concern? Virgil couldn’t tell. He just nodded, not removing the hood from his mouth or taking any further steps forward, but it seemed that his approval was enough to placate the both of them.

The Thief turned back around, continuing to lead. “Sorry. I know it’s dismal down here, but this’ the safest passage out of the city,” his fingers trailed along the right wall, making a soft scraping sound as the leather rubbed against the stone. “We’re almost out.”

Deceit was trailing right behind the Thief, close enough that his cloak’s flapping was gently hitting his shins. It seemed best to stick close to their guide, especially in as confusing a situation as this one. Plus he may be able to learn some more about the Pandora’s box that they’d opened when interrupting this death fight nonsense. He actually kept trying to grab the Thief’s hand, something to guide (not comfort), but he kept missing. Or the Thief was dodging. But no, no way would he be doing that.

They turned another corner and the Thief held up a hand, stopping Deceit and Virgil behind himself. Neither of them opened their mouths, but he still shushed quietly and turned to face the wall. It looked like dirt and stone like all the rest of the walls. The Thief said something, not to either of them but himself. Deceit leaned forward, hand outstretched, but Virgil swatted it away.

He also ignored the glare Deceit shot him. “What?” Deceit taunted quietly, “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Fuckin’ liar,” Virgil grumbled into his hood, muffled enough that neither of the others could hear what he said.

Deceit heard that he said something, though, and smirked. It was always rewarding to watch Virgil squirm, especially since….

His smirk fell and was replaced with a sigh. The path to hell was paved in good intentions, after all.

The Thief stepped back, causing Virgil and Deceit to jump. They hadn’t noticed that he’d set a few fires — there were a few wicks embedded in the stone — and the glittering golden flames formed a circle in the wall. In the circle, where there used to be wall, was a hole leading to the outside world. Virgil could definitely see grass out there.

He followed the Thief as he stepped through the opening and out into the grass. “C’mon. And stop arguing, I can hear your eyebrow muscles moving,” he said.

Both Deceit and Virgil stopped, casting wary glances at each other before following again. The Thief didn’t look at them at least, but that just made it even more confusing as to how he knew they’d been shooting each other death glares for the whole sewer trip.

Ah, well. Nothing in this realm made much sense, anyhow. Virgil looked up, squinting at their surroundings. They were definitely out of the city. Behind them was the looming city wall, definitely over four stories tall and seemingly impenetrable. The hole they’d exited from was closed, small wisps of smoke rising from where the Thief had extinguished the spell’s flames.

And speaking of which, apparently there was a Roman who was a witch or something. Logan was right about the magic in this world, then. That was another thing he’d have to be wary about. Are you ever so stressed that you’re calm? Oh, worm.

Virgil snorted to himself and rubbed his face. The memes, they’d ruin him one day.

Deceit cast him a curious look, but disregarded it before Virgil noticed. They didn’t have the time nor expendable energy for animosity. Not here, and not with the stakes so high. He was trying his best to not antagonize Virgil — okay, but come on, it was just so easy!

To their left was the river, though it was more like a stream as it cut through a grate in the wall and along the grassy expanse towards the forest. The Thief seemed to be following it, humming a tune as he pushed around reeds and tall grass. To his credit, the Thief seemed less stressed now that they were out of the city; he was swaying, even, to the song he was humming.

“Thief,” he stopped humming when Deceit interrupted him, “You live in the tree, in the forest, correct?”

“I do. You’ve seen it?” the Thief looked over his shoulder at Deceit quickly.

“Yes. When we arrived in this world, we were in a patch of grass in the forest. Your tree was our first checkpoint.”

Deceit moved the reeds in front of him away with his hands. Crickets were chirping out here, the water glittering golden as the sun lowered behind them. Sunset would be happening soon.

It seemed everything shone gold, here.

“Like a video game?” the Thief asked, humor laced through his voice.

Deceit sighed. “That was Virgil’s idea.”

“Hey—!”

“It was a good one,” the Thief cut him off, waving a hand at Deceit without looking at him. “The concept of checkpoints isn’t just a video game thing. Any story has constants, things that’re always there to help the reader place themselves into the story and understand how things flow. My tree’s always been that, so we’ve always got somewhere we’re…,” he trailed off, then chuckled. “Rooted to.”

“Booo,” Deceit groaned, ignoring Virgil’s quiet snickering, “Patton would approve.”

The Thief winced. He stopped walking — they were halfway to the forest, following the river — and pointed two red fingers at them both. “I should warn you, watch out whose names you say. You never know who’s listening.”

Deceit shot a panicked and confused look right at the Thief’s back. He turned to Virgil and found his expression mirrored on the anxious side’s face, both not liking the implications of that statement.

They turned back to the Thief, who had just turned around and continued walking. Virgil cleared his throat first.

“What do you mean by that….?”

“There’s a curse on your guys’ names. Logan, Patton, Virgil, Deceit,” the Thief’s voice was light, airy, as though he didn’t particularly care. “If you say it, everyone hears it, knows where it was said and who said it. I don’t really care but, well. I would prefer not having too many uninvited guests tonight.”

“O….kay.” Deceit cleared his throat and shook out his hands, a little more frustrated now with that knowledge. He would have to ask more about that later — there were so many things they didn’t know about, that they needed to approach, but he couldn’t keep dropping things for others. “But….more on the tree. How old is it?”

Make the Thief finish a train of thought. Virgil raised an eyebrow at Deceit, who nodded. That was their gameplan. Milk him for information, on anything, because at this point, anything was helpful.

He clapped happily, Deceit noted, walking with a slight pep in his step as his thoughts were redirected toward his tree. “It was formed before this challenge. Roman made it, actually, back when Thomas was a kid and wanted a treehouse he could escape into. When….we feel like we want to be alone, it’s where we go, so it was fitting that I’d move into it once this challenge started.”

Virgil sped up a little, to catch up enough to walk inline with Deceit. No point in bringing up the rear the farther they got from the city. “You see this whole situation as a challenge? Like, the battle royale situation.”

The Thief waved a hand as the incline changed, entering the forest. “Something like that, yeah. Mostly we’re all fighting about what we think is best for Roman.”

Deceit and Virgil shared a look. They remembered the Playwright’s words, about maintaining order. It was easy, in the euphoria of finding Roman, to forget that all of these forms had ulterior motives.

Briefly, Deceit considered what the Playwright’s ulterior motive was. He hadn’t mentioned having one, but it was in his nature to not trust that sort of silence.

“What do YOU think is best?” Virgil asked as they both turned back to the Thief.

He didn’t turn to look at them, holding out a hand as a small bluejay — where the fuck did the bird come from?! — landed on his hand. The Thief whistled quietly at it, and it chirped back, and flew away.

They could see a sliver of his face, drawn up in a small smile, expression strained even as they couldn’t see it.

“....Stay in the Imagination. For forever.”

There was a pause.

Deceit was watching the back of the Thief’s head, eyebrow raised and glare frozen. That was a twist. No, no it wasn’t. He should have seen this coming — the others’ letting him stay locked in his room would definitely send the message that they didn’t care if he came out. Of course.

He glanced at Virgil, only to find the anxious side glaring absolute daggers at the Thief’s head. He wanted to duck out (quack). Son of a bitch, there was a part of Roman that wanted to duck out (quack).

Virgil was gonna scream.

Deceit made a gesture, and Virgil’s hand clamped over his mouth. He shot daggers at Deceit, who did his best to only focus on the Thief.

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” Deceit said, voice quiet.

“I don’t remember asking your opinion, little white lie,” the Thief grunted as he climbed over a particularly thick root.

He shot Deceit a quick glare before disappearing around it. His hand stuck out and motioned them both to follow. Virgil punched Deceit’s arm with his other hand and Deceit sighed, letting up so Virgil could speak.

“That wouldn’t benefit anyone,” Virgil hissed, dread laced through his voice as he held back as much of his panic as he could. He and Deceit both cringed when his Tempest Tongue slipped out, though.

They climbed over the root, Virgil first and giving Deceit a sharp kick in the side as he did so. Deceit hissed, and slapped Virgil’s back.

The Thief watched them both with a glare as they appeared over the root.

virgil could definitively say that the Thief was one of the parts of Roman that he didn’t like. He was squirrely, too ready to judge and too eager to cut ties, and Virgil didn’t see what a center-stage hog like Roman would gain from losing his audience. It was counterintuitive.

But maybe it was tied to ducking out. Who fucking knows.

The Thief’s expression seemed to let up, but he looked away again, continuing up the hill. “You, too, Dark Knight.”

They followed for while in silence, until Deceit asked, voice softer, “And what if you’re wrong?”

Now the Thief stopped. His shoulders were stiff, as though he had half a mind to tell them to shut up, or even to turn them back. Virgil opened his mouth, but Deceit held out a hand, shaking his head. Let him think.

Eventually, he slumped, tilting his head back and exhaling. “That’s the point of breaking Roman apart,” his voice was strained, “We need to piece him back together into something more, ah….I’m bad at wording, but something more indestructible.”

That was what he had suspected. Deceit sighed, lowering his arm and approaching the Thief’s back. Carefully, he rested his hand on his shoulder, giving him one tug to turn around and ignoring how stiff the Thief turned. The forest around them was darkening, and red light from the setting sun streamed in around them.

A harsh breeze swept through the opening. Virgil held his cloak tight around himself and looked around. The fear of bears was definitely more real now. But Deceit was unfazed. He held the Thief’s arm tight, even though it was limp in his grip.

He wasn’t going to lose Roman over something so….well, for lack of a better word, trivial.

“No one’s perfect, Thief. Everyone’s got flaws and denying yours might result in,” Deceit paused, trying to phrase this without revealing his exact thoughts, “Unwanted consequences.”

The Thief’s eyes were cast down, at the ground. His entire body was rigid, as though Deceit’s hand had frozen him upon touch.

Had he always looked so defeated? Held a darkness in those eyes just as bright as the shine that comes when spinning a yarn or acting in a play?

Deceit glanced at Virgil, then back at the Thief. How had they let this happen?

He shrugged Deceit’s hand off with a sharp shake, still refusing to look at him. “Yeah. It probably will. And, once you’re all out of here, you won’t have to deal with those flaws again.”

Deceit’s eyebrows shot up, hand curling into a fist at his side as he argued in the only way he could. The Thief didn’t care?! “It’ll hurt HIM, and it doesn’t matter who wins this stupid challenge. You understand that, right?”

“Yeah,” the Thief barked out a laugh, “I’ll take your word for it, Silver Tongue.”

He continued forward, not checking that they were following.

Deceit’s hands were curled into tight fists at his sides, shaking slightly. That went against all of his work. All of his and the other Sides’ wor, too! Trying to save Roman, for him to snap back and self-destruct like this.

It was going to hurt THOMAS, didn’t Roman understand that?

Did he WANT that?!

He huffed, eyes fixed on a dandelion growing in the grass. It did make sense, it was a long time coming — of course, what an oversight on his part, to allow this isolation to extend for so long—

“Hey, breathe,” Virgil’s whisper brought him back to focus, “C’mon.”

Virgil’s hand wrapped around one of Deceit’s, coaxing his hand open with practised understanding and gripping tight. “Don’t panic. That’s my job.”

Deceit cast him a sidelong glare.

Virgil shrugged, lips pursed, but a thin smile still present. He swung their arms up, then down again, and tugged him along. Deceit could feel him taking away some of his anxieties. There was no doubt that it was unhealthy, for Virgil to be roiling in everyone’s panic, but he couldn’t help but also being thankful as Virgil squeezed his hand in small pulses, tugging him along after the Thief.

After about a minute, he exhaled.

“Thank you,” Deceit murmured, eyes downcast.

Virgil glanced at him.

They could do this. Deceit swung their arms, and Virgil let out an exasperated sigh.

He was definitely still high strung, but they could do this.

But the Thief still wanted to leave.

Deceit pressed his lips together as he felt Virgil physically stiffen, the thought kicking him back into the reality. Which, in and of itself, was ironic, because the Imagination was super duper not reality.

“Thief,” he didn’t turn towards them, “You want to duck out.”

It wasn’t a question. Virgil was glaring at the Thief’s back, eyes a little wide.

Something was ringing in his ears. That’d been his fear — that’d been Virgil’s actual, personal fear for this whole endeavor. It’d just been confirmed.

The Thief stepped over a particularly large root, waving his right arm out towards the forest. “Of course. You’re necessary. Anxiety needs to have a seat at the table, yeah. You keep him out of trouble.”

He kicked a rock and hopped over another root. “We don’t. Uncreative people’re out in the world everywhere. Thomas can live without us, or with us muted.”

Oh my goodness gracious, Virgil was so glad Logan wasn’t there to hear that leap of logic. He couldn’t help the growing disgust on his face.

Deceit squeezed his hand again, but the Thief continued. “Getting to spend all our time here, in a world of our own creation? Win. You all get to go about running Thomas without getting annoyed by us all the time? Win. It’s a double win. A win-win.”

Virgil stood up straight, finally letting go of Deceit’s hand to gesture angrily at the Thief’s back. He seethed, throwing his arms into the air and shaking his tightly-gripped fists at the sky. It was like talking to a brick wall! An incredibly stubborn and narrow-minded brick wall who didn’t seem to have any critical thinking!

Maybe he should call it quits. He squatted, wrapping his arms around his head to block out the sunlight, trying to calm down again.

“Virgil.”

No, no, that wasn’t what he did. If Roman was stubborn, then Virgil was immovable, and he was gonna get his idiot back.

A hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him upward. Virgil swatted away at it, growling quietly into his own arms.

“Virgil, get up,” Deceit’s voice was barely audible over the blood pounding in his ears, “Or he’s gonna walk away.”

He nodded, exhaling into the ball he was curled into.

Let go. Let go of the damn worries.

“Virgil. Listen to my voice. Perhaps we cannot convince him, not alone and not tonight, but we can at least stay with him. Give him options.”

He’d trained himself to not listen to Deceit, who’d lied and manipulated his way around Thomas’ head. But, just this once….

Virgil nodded again and stood upright slowly, knees creaking and popping. They could do this.

Deceit patted his shoulder and motioned forward. The Thief was already a few yards ahead, but not out of sight just yet.

They both hurried after him.

Until he stopped.

The Thief’s shoulders slumped in relief as he finally spotted his tree in the distance. His pace quickened, jogging himself across the few meters between where he stood and the tree, and was followed by the other two Sides. Once they reached the tree, the Thief placed a hand against its side, running it along the bark slowly. As though greeting a friend.

“Welcome home,” he hummed, smiling up at the canopy.

He searched in his pocket and pulling out a lighter — a regular modern lighter, wasn’t there supposed to be a medieval theme or something?! That was MULTIPLE ITEMS— Deceit squinted at it, opening his mouth in an offended fashion. He was going to say something about that, because it was pretty unfair that he got to have something so modern while everyone else was relegated to objects that were period accurate, but Virgil elbowed him in the side.

The Thief, who was pressing the lighter to the black chalk, swirling the flame along the “door” opening, didn’t seem to notice. Virgil honestly just wanted to see what this magic was all about. Once he was done drawing the circle, he stepped back and held a hand out, pushing Deceit and Virgil back, too. “Open sesame,” he said with a grin.

All of the black chalk was alight, glowing gold from the flame. The Thief held a hand out for the drawn-on handle, and as soon as his hand got within an inch it glowed golden itself. The chalky text lit up red. He slowly turned the handle, now filling his hand with an amorphous golden light, and pushed the door open.

It swung easily, as though on invisible hinges.

The Thief smiled as the scent of home wafted over him. He took a deep breath, it’d been a long day, he was home, he was safe, and he turned to Deceit and Virgil.

Both of the other Sides were staring at the thick hole in the tree, mouths open slightly and eyes open much more. There wasn’t much to see inside the door, as there was a small staircase leading up to the actual living quarters, but the fact that the fairly solid tree opened was something. Neither of them had seen the magic in Roman’s kingdom, after all, and while they knew this was what happened….seeing it was a much different experience.

It was kind of humorous, actually. To think that he’d be bringing other Sides into his little sanctuary.

It felt….nice.

Shut up, shut up with that romantic bullshit.

“Are you coming?” he asked, cocking his lips into a smirk as he waved them in.

Virgil snapped out of it first, surprisingly. He shook his head and nodded. “Yeah. ‘Course.” He elbowed Deceit, who jumped and nodded so vigorously his hat fell off.

The Thief caught it, hand shooting out, and blinked at himself. And then he laughed.

His demeanor had flipped almost at the exact moment they got to the tree. He wasn’t curled inwards, dancing around words and ideas. No, here he was, his laugh light, airy and carefree, something that he didn’t seem capable of prior. A few birds in the forest even chirped along. One cardinal landed on his head, whistling with him, and he didn’t seem to mind.

Virgil and Deceit shared a look, both equally blushing. This was a stark change and their glum guide was kinda cute.

The bird thing was textbook Disney prince too, like, how did he even —

“Alright,” the Thief brushed off the hat, lips quirked in a small smile, “Enough fucking around, c’mon.”

He put the hat back onto Deceit’s head, hands carding through Deceit’s hair as he did so. If the Thief noticed how much redder he got, then he didn’t let on, because he turned around as soon as the hat was on snug.

Virgil noticed, though. He pressed the butt of his palm to his mouth, stifling a laugh as the snake spluttered silently at the Thief’s back.

The Thief, still unaware — maybe unaware, maybe not? — went into the tree and climbed the stairs without waiting for them to follow. Virgil went first, then Deceit quickly, not wanting to be alone in the forest for long and not wanting to think about that incredibly gentle and not-at-all pleasing interaction.

No sir. Not pleasing. Not what he absolutely wanted for the rest of his life.

For once, he cursed the existence of gloves. How much softer would the Thief’s hands be without them?

Deceit would die before acknowledging that he absolutely definitely didn’t not have a crush.

Virgil stepped up to the top landing, beside the Thief, and looked around. It was small, but cozy. Before them was a sitting area with a thick couch, identical to the one Thomas actually had in his living room but without the bend. In front of it was a wooden coffee table, beneath was a rug with circles, almost like the rings of a tree, Virgil thought. Atop the table was a vase of red roses in full bloom.

To the right was a small kitchen alcove, separated from the sitting area with a counter peninsula that had two toasters sitting on it. Two toasters. This Roman must like his bread, apparently. Floating around between the kitchen and sitting area were some candles, all lit and casting the room in a comforting warm glow. On the left was a stairwell, wooden and spiraling up in such a way that Virgil could only see the first few steps.

Besides the stairwell was a second door. As Deceit stepped up into the room, the Thief went to the second door and opened it. As soon as the door touched the back of the hall it opened to, it disappeared, leaving an uninhibited opening down to a curving hallway that seemed to wrap around the tree’s trunk.

“Make yourselves at home,” the Thief said, waving his hand at the living room, “Do you want me to take your cloaks?”

Deceit put up his hand dismissively, turning in a circle and examining the room.

Virgil also shook his head, holding his cloak around himself more. The Thief shrugged at him, taking off his own cloak. “Suit yourself.”

As he moved to hang it up, Virgil could see that the gloves went to the middle of his forearms, and his shirt seemed to be tucked into them. No part of him was exposed other than his collar, neck, and head. Interesting?

When Virgil turned back to Deceit, to maybe, you know, indicate that this Roman was taking some pages out of his book, he found that Deceit was wandering through the kitchen. He pointed to the two toasters, made a judgemental face at Virgil, and continued opening the cabinets and drawers. Virgil slumped a little. Figures.

He sighed, walking over to the couch and flopping onto it. Oh. It even smelt like Thomas’ couch. The tension left his shoulders as he rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the cushions and taking in a deep breath. It was dizzying, how quickly this lowered his heart rate. Virgil hadn’t realized how stressed he was with the fast-paced changes of this situation.

The hardwood floor creaking indicated that Deceit had moved from the kitchen to the hallway. His footsteps echoed away down the hall.

“You want some tea?” Virgil heard the Thief ask.

He shook his head. He just wanted to lay down for now.

“Deceit? Tea?”

“I’m fine, thank you. May I go upstairs?”

“Intrusion doesn’t seem to be something you worry about, given how you went through my kitchen.”

Deceit didn’t grace that with a response, and Virgil heard his footsteps tapping up the stairs.

Silence again. He hummed into the pillow and rolled over into his own cloak. He just needed some time.

“....Do you want something to eat?” the Thief tried and, again, Virgil shook his head.

“‘M good.”

“Mhm.”

The Thief went around the kitchen calmly. Virgil could hear it. His steps were soft, though not as quiet as Deceit’s. More just….comfortable. Not as heavy as Romans typically would be, either.

Virgil sat upright slowly, still hugging one of the cushions, and looked up. The Thief’s gloves were sitting on the counter, as was the Thief himself, cradling a mug in heavily-scarred hands. Virgil actually did a small double-take upon seeing them.

The Thief raised an eyebrow, questioning.

“....Your hands’re fucked up,” Virgil stated.

He got a nod back. “Wow, I had no idea ‘bout that. Not like they’re on my body or anything.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. Roman always was a smartass. “No shit. Were….Roman’s hands aren’t like that, right?”

The Thief took a sip from the mug and did a so-so motion with his hand. “Yes and no. All my scars are definitely real. It’s not like we get out of every scrap with creatures, monsters, villains, the like without any damage. But Roman just sorta conjures flatter skin on top of it.”

Virgil frowned. There were a lot of questions he had for that, but he didn’t want to bombard him just this second. “That’s pretty weird, not gonna lie. So they normally heal into scars?” he gestured to the Thief, who nodded.

“Yeah, and it’s better to conjure up new skin than make you all worried.”

He must have recoiled, because the Thief laughed a little at him and took another sip. He wiped his mouth with the butt of his palm, shaking his head and speaking into his hand. “C’mon, you can’t tell me Patt wouldn’t flip if he saw this shit.”

Patton….very much would. All of them would, if Roman ever came in with that many scars. He was scared of what they’d say.

Virgil was getting a clearer image of the Thief’s intentions every minute. Still, for now, he just shrugged and conceded. “You’re right, I guess.”

The Thief nodded, opening his mouth to continue, but Deceit’s footsteps hopping down the stairs interrupted him. The snake in question popped out around the spiral staircase’s bend, and Virgil saw that he’d removed his hat and cloak somewhere. He had a hand raised, too, to get their attention.

“Thief, question. Well. First, the top floor is beautiful — marvelous work,” the Thief raised his glass, but otherwise didn’t react. Must not be so susceptible to flattery, Deceit noted. “I saw a city. A modern looking one, behind the mountains.”

“Oh, yeah.”

The Thief took another sip of his drink and motioned for Deceit to sit by pulling out a stool from beneath the counter, with his leg. “That’s just another setting. We don’t always adhere to a medieval theme in here, but right now we’ve kinda fallen back on the Disney royalty theme because it’s something we’re familiar with. That, and we can all agree it’s marvelous.”

“I see,” Deceit sat beside Virgil, crossing his legs on the cushion. “So you’re never going to change the setting, though?”

Deceit thought it was a fair question, but the Thief let out a short laugh. “Are you kidding? We’d have to flip everything around! God, we’d need new names, too, and new hiding places. It’s all too much work.”

He took another sip, then set his mug down. Deceit then noticed his hands, brow furrowing. He opened his mouth to bring it up, but Virgil elbowed him in the side and waved his hand.

He’d explain later. Best not interrupt, because the Thief rubbed his mouth and continued. “I don’t even think we can. It’d need to be a unanimous decision, like a coherent thought, and we’re not really capable of that right now.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Virgil asked.

The Thief looked at them both. He seemed to be debating something.

This Roman took his time with his words. That must mean he had a lot to hide, Deceit thought, or he didn’t want to expose certain ideas.

“For one. Dragon would kill us.”

Ah. “Dragon?” Deceit asked, “Care to elaborate?”

The Thief looked at his knees, then hopped off of the counter. “I’m going to make dinner,” he said, voice a little more airy, clearly trying to deflect from this conversation, “Spaghetti okay?”

“Tell us about Dragon,” Virgil pressed harder.

The Thief shot him a squinted look and relented as he set up the pot of water. “He’s another one of us, another Roman,” his voice held so much disdain. “He’s dramatic, loud, all that good stuff, but the biggest thing about him is that he really likes being right.”

“You don’t like him,” Deceit stated.

“Can’t say I’m a fan.”

He opened a cupboard and took out a box of pasta. He cleared his throat, glancing up at the two expectant faces before relenting again.

“He’s a bit of a sadist. Like….he moved into the castle. He controls the guards. They all listen to ‘Roman,’” here, the Thief did air quotations, “But they aren’t sentient enough to notice that there are seven of us now, so they listen to the guy who took charge. Dragon.”

A villain part of Roman, apparently. One who would attack the others, if the way they found the Thief being chased by guards was any indication. Virgil stood up, going into the kitchen. “Where’re the plates?” he asked quietly, “‘M gonna set the table.”

The Thief nodded to one of the cabinets and Virgil opened it, taking out some plates. He set them down on the counter only for them to be picked up by Deceit and dispersed around the peninsula, where the three counter stools were.

“Dragon,” Deceit reminded, and the Thief sighed.

“Before you guys showed up, he caught another one of us. Another Roman. And, God….” his voice trailed off.

The pot was boiling. The Thief put the noodles in, taking a wooden spoon and easing them into the water. He seemed to roll something around in his head, lolling back and forth, before grimacing and continuing. “He….he did a lot of bad things to Damsel, the other Roman. Beat him publicly, in the village’s central square so all the characters got to see. So that we could all see. It was horrifying.”

A chill swept through the glassless windows of the tree.

“That’s….” Virgil and Deceit spoke at the same time.

“Dark.”

“Awful.”

They shared a look before turning back to Thief, who was churning the noodles, eyes glued to the rising steam and boiling water. It was surprising that the steam didn’t put out any of the candles, actually.

He looked forlorn, lost and defeated. “It was like a warning, to the rest of us. Don’t get caught, or else.”

Deceit picking up the conversation. “I didn’t realize there was a part of Roman willing to do….that. And for what?”

“For approval. And what can I say? He lives for validation, would kill for it, too. We all know you’re in here, so he’s definitely hunting you guys, maybe to gloat and probably hoping you all will tell him he did good,” the way Thief said it sounded almost too nonchalant, like it were forceful.

He turned off the stove top’s heat — hang on, Deceit thought, a stove?! Well, fuck the theme-ing then. This was a neverending hell of inconsistencies — and pulled a strainer out from another cabinet. Slowly, the Thief strained out the water, talking all the while.

“He probably wants to….” his eyes flicked up at them, quick as a flash, and he let out a small exhale. “I dunno. He’s a bit of a dice roll. One second, he’s talking about how much he wants all of you to love him, brushing his hair in the mirror and painting his nails, just being harmless, and the other second he’s talkin’ about how much he wants to dismember you and throw your bodies into locked boxes in the river.”

Virgil and Deceit exchanged a look, one worried and one determined. They were safe, knew how to defend themselves, and had the means with which to defend themselves, but….

Virgil’s brow furrowed. Logan and Patton were out there somewhere. And there was a bit of Roman that seemed happy to kill literally anything.

He looked up at Deceit, who was watching him with squinted eyes. Logan and Patton must be fine. They must be.

What if they weren’t? Virgil squinted right back at him. They could be hurt.

No, they were fine.

The Thief cleared his throat, cutting through the tension like a knife and drawing both of their attentions back to him. He was heating up some sauce now, mixing in some herbs with what looked like a tomato-paste base, eyes shifting between Virgil and Deceit.

The staredown lasted for a minute or two before he relented, exhaling and hitting his spoon on the side of the pan.

“Let’s….pause, for a hot sec. Dinner’s almost done and, after that, you both should sleep,” his voice carried like a whisper around the small kitchen.

Neither of them responded, and the Thief just kept cooking. He slowly poured the noodles into the sauce, mixing up a little before gesturing to the pasta.

He couldn’t honestly expect them to just drop the conversation like that. Could he?

“We are going to have to confront Dragon,” Deceit raised an eyebrow at him, “You know that, right?”

The Thief shrugged. He picked up a plate, took out a pair of tongs, and began putting pasta on the plate. “Probably. I can’t help you there, though. I’ve just been setting off all the booby traps in the castle, so he gets stuck in them. And stealing his jewelry. He’s got a hoard of it.”

Like a dragon, Virgil thought. And with scales, probably, and claws. And wings. Maybe he breathed fire.

He was frightened to all heck, but if they wanted Roman back, they’d have to….what. Talk with him? Probably talk with him.

He looked at Deceit, who was looking at the pasta, and then he heard his own stomach growl. The Thief had sat down at one of the peninsula stools, pointedly ignoring them for his noodles.

Then, he giggled. The Thief covered his mouth with a hand, but they both could see that a broad smile was behind it.

“What?” Deceit asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The Child just said the Social Nerd-work’s name. That means Dad-ton Abbey and him’re safe at the Artist’s house,” he explained, waving a hand and swirling his pasta on a fork, “Wow.”

Wow indeed. A little bit of the tension in Virgil’s shoulders released. Patton and Logan were safe, fine, hidden away with another less-murderous Roman. That was some good news.

….Well. Virgil sighed, more at ease now, and relented to the pasta. As he sat at the counter, Deceit went to make himself a plate.

They ate in nearly absolute silence, none of them wanting to mention the lack of a plan and the looming fear of this villainous Roman who apparently wanted to kill them all.

Deceit finished first, and he ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it back. “We’re sleeping here, correct? I also don’t suppose you have a shower or something?”

Thief pointed down a hall. “We might have an aesthetic going, but I’d die without a whole bathroom set up. Down and to the left, there’re towels in the side closet,” he took a final bite and set his fork down, standing up

“Thank you,” Deceit said, shooting Virgil a small look as he ducked toward the bathroom.

Deceit probably wanted him to ask more about the situation. Virgil tiredly continued to eat, but the pit that was opening his stomach was taking up more room than the pasta could fill. It was clear that the Thief — both of the Romans they’d interacted with, but right now, the Thief — trusted Virgil a lot more than Deceit. At least it showed a certain awareness on Roman’s part of Deceit’s trickery?

And it wasn’t like Virgil could help how upset he was by all this. It was a stressful situation and had a stressfully silent week before it.

“I also,” Virgil looked back up at the Thief, who gestured to Virgil’s plate, “Forgot to thank you all. For coming after us. Honestly didn’t expect it.”

Virgil nodded and carefully stood up from his stool. The Thief smiled and took the plate, but his brows were pinched. He wanted an explanation, didn’t he? It felt like a weird thing to need to explain. It was obvious. Wasn’t it?

“We were worried,” it sounded lame aloud, but the Thief just nodded in response.

“Thanks,” he put the plates into the sink and pointed down the hall, too. “You should go check out a room, too. Maybe change into some pajamas or something more comfortable? There’re, uh, pajamas. I’m just going to do the dishes then head to bed myself.”

Again, Virgil nodded. He was at a loss for words, honestly, and that was all a lot of information to process.

Take one thing at a time, though. That was what the Thief was suggesting, wasn’t it? “Sure thing,” he said, dashing away immediately.

The hall was dark, long, and curved. There were candles floating along the walls, same as out in the living area, and there were doors on either side. One already had Deceit’s double-snake-head logo shining yellow. Besides that door was another, unmarked door, but Virgil could hear a shower coming from inside.

He needed to get a room, first. Across from the bathroom was another unmarked door, probably a bedroom, and Virgil ducked into it, closing the door quickly.

He immediately threw himself onto the bed and rubbed his face. That probably smudged his eyeliner. It was already smudged.

No, no, he didn’t have the time to care about that. Virgil sat upright and looked around. There was a small open-fronted wardrobe pressed against the wall, with some pairs of pants and some shirts hanging on the wall. Surprisingly, they all looked to be various combinations of purple, black, and grey. He stood up, against his desire to curl into a ball and sleep on that bed for all eternity, and checked out the clothing. Yep, everything was about his aesthetic, and some even had his logo on them. Neat.

There was the bed and there was a mirror on top of the wardrobe. Around the room were some floating candles, but none were lit, and there was a light switch by the door. Virgil squinted. How the fuck did that work?

He flicked the switch and they all turned on, lit by flames. Alright. That was cool.

Virgil had to talk to the Thief. He couldn’t dance around it.

Or he could stay in here and admire how the wardrobe auto-filled with clothes that fit his style. Or he could admire the cool candle lights. Those would look sick in his room, actually. He should talk to the Thief about that, instead of literally anything else he actually had to talk to him about.

He just wanted Roman back, goddamnit. He wanted the Roman who would do outrageous things just to see Virgil smile. The one who would put on Black Cauldron for the millionth time, without complaint, when Virgil was having a bad day. He wanted the Roman who worked to improve himself and worked to include him, and didn’t shy away, and didn’t want to hide, and didn’t make him feel like he himself had overlooked something so disastrous as a crumbling self-image and gnawing concern that no one loved him.

The guilt weighed heavy in his stomach. Yeah, guilt. Virgil had felt Roman’s anxieties growing, but did he bring it up? Well, okay, he did. But every time that he did, Roman had deflected it with a witty quip or incredibly stupid comment or even that dumb, dashing smile. And then Roman would catch that he was nervous about something. He would never guess that it was himself.

Virgil could almost imagine what he’d do. Roman would take him by the hand into his room, always with the lights dimmer, more simplistic than was usual. He’d sit him in his squishy armchair, stand behind him, rub his shoulders and let him just vent.

Or maybe Roman would lead him down into the kitchen, sing a merry tune and make Virgil some peppermint tea. Swirl around in the kitchen, making jokes or telling stories, on those days where Virgil didn’t want to talk.

Ever since they’d shifted to accepting him, Roman had done his best. Extra, frivolous, occasionally over-the-top, but his fucking best. Virgil owed his best right back.

Virgil had to get him back. He had to face the music.Virgil’s fists balled at his sides as he whispered to himself, “Fuck it,” and threw open his door.

He hurried out of the hall and stopped in the entryway into the living area. The Thief was cradling another mug, sitting on a stool and staring at the flower vase sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey, Roman,” the Thief jumped and some liquid splashed out of his mug. Virgil winced. “Sorry, Thief?”

Virgil felt a little more guilty as the Thief sighed, rolling his shoulders and casting him a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, Virgil? You need anything?”

“Not really,” Virgil leaned on the wall as the Thief pulled out a roll of paper towels and tore some off. “I just wanted to say thanks. For keeping us safe. I don’t know what we would have done if you didn’t let us sleep over.”

The Thief pressed the towels to the spilt tea and matched eyes with Virgil. He gave him a reassuring albeit crooked smile, hair falling out of whatever order it’d been. It fluffed up around his face and, almost, looked like a crown. One of his hands reached up and ran through his hair, pushing it back into the messy but suave side-part Roman always had.

Hey, stop staring. Virgil blinked slowly and focused on the Thief’s words. “....probably safest place in the setting.”

He nodded, then shifted his weight, putting his hands in his pockets. Here goes. “Also, I don’t really understand why you want to be alone so badly. Like, I do, I get that feeling too sometimes, but….”

The Thief sighed, frustration laced through his breath, and Virgil added. “You know we’d miss you, Roman.”

That got him to falter. He stared at the countertop, then lifted the flower vase and cleaned beneath that. “I can’t say I wouldn’t miss you all, too,” he said. “I wish I wouldn’t. That’s more what I want. When we are all together, the best moments are so good. Nothing brings us more joy than seeing you smile and laugh at memes with us, or hearing Logan’s gasp when he reads something enticing, or watching Patton fuss around the kitchen. Heck, even Deceit’s dumb smirk makes us happy.”

Virgil could hear the “but” hanging in the air, especially once the Thief scrubbed the counter with extra vigor.

“But the lows. We can’t always handle the criticism, the shouting, the arguing and belittling. Being told we’re not enough,” he sighed, then added in a much softer voice. “That I’m not enough.”

He tossed the paper towels away into the trash bin, beneath the sink, and leaned his back on the sink’s edge. “Sometimes, I can’t help but wish I wanted to be alone. And if we self-impose that loneliness, then it might make it easier. To be alone.”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, watching. He’d known that they were less than supportive, on the best of days, but that was their job. Especially Virgil’s. He was the guy who was supposed to spot possible problems, things that the audience might not like, things that might endanger Thomas. He’d thought that Roman understood that he was doing it out of….

Alright, there was the L word again.

His internal monologue was interrupted when the Thief stood up straight and faced Virgil determinedly, wearing a tired smile.

“If you can convince the others, then I’ll come quiet. I just think that being alone’s….easier to handle,” he laughed a little to himself, a quiet chuckle that Virgil thought sounded hollow. “Besides, if Roman isolates himself, then it doesn’t matter if….”

His smile faltered a little, eyes seeming to watch something distantly away from Virgil. As quick as the expression came, though, it went as he looked back down at the counter. He reached up and ran his hands through his hair, settling it back.

There must be something Virgil should do or say. There must be, because sitting in silence like this — god, the Thief was gonna start crying, wasn’t he?

What wouldn’t matter? The question burned in his mind.

“....Haven’t I been through enough heartbreaks?”

The Thief’s question was so quiet, so desperate, that Virgil thought he just imagined it until a floorboard creak behind him indicated that someone had approached. He glanced back to see Deceit, hair still damp, clothed in a simple cream shirt and dark brown trousers. Pajamas, clearly, maybe taken from the room. Deceit nodded to the Thief, who was hunching over the counter, eyes stuck on the counter.

Virgil pursed his lips and made a so-so hand motion. He didn’t know exactly what was motivating the Thief, but they were getting inklings. Deceit nodded again in response and stood behind Virgil.

Who turned back to the Thief, still staring at the table. “We need you,” was how Virgil started, trying to piece together the best way to phrase what he wanted to say.

The Thief looked up at him and Virgil saw some wetness glittering in his dark brown eyes. They locked with his, not necessarily a glare nor anything aggressive. You could have convinced Virgil that the Thief was pleading. But for what, he couldn’t tell.

And then he smiled. He smiled and shook his head, looking away again.

“I…” He covered his mouth with a hand and reconsidered, shaking his head, “Nah, it’s dumb.”

“You’re not dumb, Thief.”

Virgil pushed off of the doorway to stand besides the Thief as he sank into one of the counter stools. Gently, like Roman had done for him many times, he put his hands on the Thief’s shoulders. “Can I?” he asked, voice quiet.

The Thief nodded, hand holding his mouth tight. His other hand, resting on the table and not gripping anything, had a slight tremor. Deceit stepped into the dining area, lips pinched in worry. He certainly wasn’t the one silencing the Thief, if it was anyone at all.

Virgil began rubbing the Thief’s shoulders, leaning closer and watching as his shoulders hiked up a little more. He was so tense, stiff as a rock.

“Listen. Thief,” Virgil glanced at Deceit, who was shifting his weight lamely, and nodded toward the mugs.

Deceit seemed to get the idea, because he nodded and got to work immediately. The Thief’s hand slid upward, covering his eyes now, and he shuddered as Virgil put more pressure on his shoulders. “Is this okay?” Virgil asked again, quietly, and the Thief nodded.

“Thanks,” his voice was so quiet that Virgil could barely hear him.

“You know,” Virgil hummed, quiet but determined. “I tried the whole lone-wolf thing. Thought it’d be good to keep myself separate ‘cause it would protect you all. Thought that was for the best. None of you seemed to want me back then, either.”

The Thief whined, and Virgil let up. But as his shoulders stiffened again, Virgil felt his anxiety mount. “No–uh, sorry, no that just–that was a good spot,” the Thief tried to explain, face turning redder under his hand.

Deceit snorted behind him, and Virgil kicked his heel out, managing to hit him square in the shin. He let out a chuckle when Deceit hissed in pain.

“I’m sorry. That we made you feel like that,” both of the other Sides looked at the Thief, whose hands were now both on the counter.

Virgil’s were still resting on his shoulders, so he exhaled and pressed down again. “We-We shouldn’t have—” the Thief tried to continue, but Virgil cut him off.

“Not saying you shouldn’t have, but you’ve been apologizing for it. You….all accept me, now. I’m working on getting used to that, you all work on making me feel included, and we work together. Maybe there’re highs, maybe there’re lows. That’s how everything goes, but we always get through it when we work as a team. ‘Cause teamwork makes the dream work, right?” Virgil smiled when the Thief snorted, “And we can’t make the team work without the dream.”

The Thief sat up a little more. Virgil didn’t want to pressure him or anything, so he rubbed a particularly tight knot near the base of his neck before letting go. It seemed that the Thief came to some understanding, though.

“Hot chocolate’s done,” Deceit said.

He leaned down beside Virgil and set a full mug down on the counter in front of the Thief. He then nudged Virgil’s hip with his own, holding out a mug for him but eyes not meeting Virgil’s.

That was the first bad sign. Virgil pressed his mouth into a line. Before he could make a move, though, Deceit picked up his own mug and stepped away. “I’m going to sleep,” he announced, “I can only assume tomorrow will be just as taxing as today was. Goodnight Roman. Virgil.”

Deceit’s eyes were still cast lower as he nodded once toward the Thief and once toward Virgil, and he stared at the floor as he hurried to the hallway. He disappeared down the hall, into the darkness, and they both heard his door close sharply.

Damn. So much for that truce.

Yeah, sure, Virgil wasn’t fond of Deceit. Much.

He used to be. They used to be thick as thieves — Patton would be proud of that pun, Virgil thought — and while time and responsibilities have wore down that relationship….Deceit was still important to him. Yeah, he was a bad influence, but, like….

Whatever. He didn’t care. He didn’t.

The Thief leaned back a little, head resting on Virgil’s shoulder. “You should sleep, too, Paramoody.”

His head tilted back and he smiled up at Virgil, who squinted at him. “If you fall backwards on that stool, I’m gonna laugh.”

“In fact, I’m the owner of Roman’s single braincell,” the Thief’s smile softened, “Thanks for earlier. I’ll think about that.”

His eyes were so soft. Had Roman always had that little beauty mark? Virgil really only noticed it now, with his face so close and with that weird scar pointing at it.

Not that he endorsed Roman being damaged in any physical way, but the scar was also. Pretty hot.

The Thief chuckled quietly, one hand reaching up to patt Virgil’s cheek.

His hands were a little cold, but they were soft, despite the scars. Virgil could feel him shudder a tiny bit as the Thief gently ran his thumb along his cheekbone.

Virgil felt….comfortable.

Why didn’t he want this, again? The Thief watched Virgil watching him, and saw him slowly lean his head into his hand. He must be tired, that was why Virgil was so open with him. There couldn’t have been another reason.

Still.

“Alright, you actually need to sleep, ‘cause your eyeshadow’s all over your face,” the Thief pulled his hand away and sat upright again.

As he slid off the stool, saying something about sleep and grabbing his hand, Virgil tuned him out, letting himself be pulled around.

What the hell was THAT moment? This was the absolute worst time to be reminded that he was a disaster, and the Thief must be so creeped out by how he was just staring at his goddamn face.

“And my room’s upstairs. If you go up the stairs, take a left, you’ll find me, okay?” Virgil blinked, looking up.

They were at the entrance to the hallway now. The Thief smiled kindly at him, though his brow was pinched in worry. “Have a good night, Virgil,” he whispered, hand still holding Virgil’s.

Virgil nodded, not trusting what he’d say if he opened his mouth, and met him with a small smile.

He wished had retained more of the romantic parts of Roman. Then, maybe, he’d be able to find the right words to describe how willing he was to throw this whole challenge away just to see that smile for the rest of eternity.

The Thief leaned in and pecked Virgil’s cheek. Then, he darted away, waist sash trailing up after him as he escaped up the stairs.

Virgil stared into nothing, eyes stuck to the empty staircase. Slowly, his hand lifted to his cheek, fingers grazing where the Thief’s — Roman’s — lips had been.

What the fuck.

Don’t even consider it.

He found himself walking back to the room he’d chosen — it was easy to find, his storm cloud logo was glowing a soft purple on the door — and collapsed onto the bed.

Virgil was absolutely sore from how fast his thoughts had been running today. It felt like years ago that he’d found Deceit in the hall and slammed him into the wall.

Oof. Maybe he wouldn’t sleep tonight, now that he’d remembered that. Virgil groaned into his pillow, crossing his arms over his head and pressing into it as his breathing’s erraticness increased

Deceit had been truly upset. Frustrated, angry, yeah, sure, that was the point — Virgil hadn’t expected that flash of betrayal. He couldn’t get that stupid snakey hurt expression out of his goddamn head. Plus it was just poor instincts to immediately strangle someone. And the way Deceit had slunk out of the kitchen just now, not daring to look at either of their faces.

He screamed into the pillow, pressing down into it even more. Calm down. He had to calm down.

What, why calm down now? You’d been holding this panic attack in all day, Virgil.

The pillow grew damp beneath his face; he hadn’t noticed that he was crying a little.

Virgil flipped over, now pressing the back of his head into the pillow, and wrapped his arms around his head, wiping at his eyes with his hand. He began tapping his left hand on the back of his arm, counting quietly as he inhaled, held, and exhaled.

It helped that it wasn’t completely silent. Virgil’s room had a window, a circle in above the bed. A gentle breeze wafted in, as did the sound of the trees rustling, frogs croaking, and bugs buzzing — a solid background noise to focus on, rather than the day’s events. Virgil mentally counted the frogs’ croaks as he felt his chest loosen. Maybe it was a product of being in the Imagination and, by extension, Roman’s room, but he got a grip of himself faster than usual.

As he calmed down, though, he also regained the feelings of absolute exhaustion. Calm quickly turned to drowsiness, and Virgil was asleep within seconds.

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embracehappy · 6 years

Text

Falling. | Summercamp!Shawn AU

a/n: In honor of my last night here at summer camp, AND hitting my 1st big follower milestone: I present, a summercamp!Shawn AU!!! I’ve been a camp counselor for a creative writing camp all week long and this has been my “big project” I’ve been working on. It’s 5k and honestly was a beast to write. I hope y’all like it because I’m really proud of it. (also it’s 3am on my last night here, so if there’s some blatant gammar/spelling issues, I’m sorry I did my best) ALSO: I tried out a new style so that was exciting.

word count: 5,220

warnings: cursing!!

The italics are flashbacks and ‘thoughts’.

You lock eyes form across the field. He’s playing some stupid game with his campers. The boy campers never followed the rules, so their games always ended up being a little bit crazy.

“That’s a stupid idea.” You said to him.

His face fell slightly, but then ignited again with arrogance.

“Says you! I bet my campers’ll love it” He snipped back to you.

“OKAYYYYY, let’s just calm down for a minute, counselors. I’m sure all the campers will enjoy whatever introductory games you have planned.” Your boss said to you and him.

He shot you a look that told you, if you weren’t sitting in a pre-camp meeting right now, he would have stuck his tongue out at you, like a child.

You roll your eyes and look away. Scoffing at the memory of his stupid game. You didn’t even know who he was then. All you knew was that you didn’t like him.

When you had first arrived at camp, you overheard him making fun of the girls’ camp for being too “frilly”.

“Fuck him” you whisper to yourself.

“Dude. The girls camp is lame” You heard a voice say. It sounded like one of the boys’ counselor.

“Oh come on, they’re not that bad” You had heard another voice say.

“No dude! They’re SO… ugh…frilly!” The original voice said, sounding almost disgusted.

You stopped dead in your tracks. You were about to round the corner to go tell those exact guys that your boss needed them. But NOW, you just wanted to eavesdrop.

The original voice kept talking: “Seriously dude! Did you see that one counselor moving in! She had all those supplies! Like the glitter balls and the pink stuff!! I mean like... This is summer camp! Not a slumber party!!”

That’s when you’d had enough. “That counselor” he was talking about was you.

You violently threw your body around the corner. You cocked your eyebrow and stuck out your hip at the guys in front of you.

You let them take in your angered appearance, squaring your shoulders and folding your arms over your chest.

“OH Shit” you heard the original voice guy whisper. You were quick to direct your look to him.

He starts stumbling over his words. It sounds like he might be trying to apologize but you could tell it was only because he had gotten caught.

You refused to give him any wiggle room, standing your ground, despite the fact that he is drop dead gorgeous. His jaw must have been chiseled by Adonis himself.

You see his eyes flash at your challenge to his authority.

Then he cleared his throat, collected his composure and said, “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Well that’s a shame, because I did. So, I’m glad to know your thoughts on my camp. I’ll be sure to spread the word to the other counselors that you don’t like the girls’ camps.”

He looked stunned. Almost like he had never been stood up to before.

He took a deep breathe before replying “well it’s not my fault that the boys’ music camp is the best camp”

And with that you allowed yourself to break your stance. You leaned forward as you sarcastically laughed before snapping yourself back up to meet his eyes.

“WOW that was funny.” You rolled your eyes. “That was the worst comeback I’ve ever heard… Anyway, the boys’ counselors are needed in the boss’ offices.” You say before you flipped your hair and turned to walk away. You smirked to yourself hearing the stunned silence behind you.

You turn back to your campers, hoping none of them heard your comment about him, to explain the introductory game.

Unfortunately, you see one little girl staring up at you with wide eyes.

Her voice was so small, you almost don’t hear her say, “What did you say?”

You can feel your hands go clammy as you are quick to think up a response.

“OH! I said... ummmmm DUCK HAND! Yes! The game we are about to play is duck hands. I don’t know why! But this game’s name is duck hands!” You go on to explain the game you had originally planned to play, except changing a few small details to include ducks… to sell the lie. The last thing you need is one of your 12 year olds telling your boss that you said, “fuck him,” about another counselor, of all people.

The flames are flickering against the black of the night. As per tradition of camp, it’s the first night bonfire. You’re frantically counting your girls trying to make sure they do not run off too far, as your preparing your marshmallow stick.

You hear someone approaching you from behind and let out a deep sigh, mentally preparing to answer whatever silly question the camper behind you has. You turn to face the small person behind you with a grin on your face, doing your best to fake some happiness in your eyes.

You are worn out and cannot wait for the campers to go to bed, so you can relax. Today has been stressful.

However, you were not met with a camper. When you turn you find yourself smiling at a chest, that is a little too close for your comfort. You look up and see his face and immediately your expression drops into an angry glare.

“What the hell do you want you?” you say, mimicking the disgusted tone he had used a few days ago when talking about your camp. You turn you back on him and go back to your marshmallow

“I just came to ask you what ‘Duck Hands’ is…” He smoothly replies.

You roll your eye, even though you know he can’t see them. He is clearly trying to get under your skin, again.

“It’s the introductory game I played with the girls this morning.” You respond shortly.

“I thought you had some other game planned? Or did Ms. ‘Your Game Is Stupid My Game Is Better’ decide to switch games!?!?” He faked shock.

You spin back around and poke a finger into his chest. “For YOUR information, it was the same game that I had planned on playing. I just changed the name.”

“Well why’d you do that?” He sounded genuinely interested and dipped his head a little to get a better look at you.

You hated that. He needs to just leave you alone. But you can’t help it when your stomach flips a little. You hate that too. He may be beautiful, but he sure is an asshole.

You take in a deep breath to let him know how annoyed you were becoming. You retract your hand, letting it fall to your side as you glare at him.

“I had to change the name because I mayyyy have cursed a little in front of a camper and had to cover it up.”

His eyes go wide as he looks at you. You can see the gears in his head turning.

“Wait… what did you say? And HOW does ‘duck hands’ cover it up?” He says as he scurries to your side so he can prepare a marshmallow stick too.

“I don’t really want to tell you.” You say flatly.

“Oh come on!” He bumps you hip against yours.

You have to focus extra hard to contain the smile that you feel trying to bubble up on your face.

“Are you seriously not going to tell me all that, and then not tell me what you said?” He eggs you on, bumping hips again.

“OKAY fine!” you hush your voice, “I said ‘fuck him,’ and then to fix it, I said ‘Duck Hands.’”

His mouth drops open a little bit. “well fuck” he whispers to you. You can see the gears in his brain turning, again. He’s not very good at having a poker face, but you don’t mind. His thinking face is pretty cute.

You shake your head to get the thought out of your mind.

‘You hate him, remember, Y/N?’

“WAIT!” He suddenly says. “who were you talking about?!”

You look off the side, away from him. “There’s no way I’m fucking going to tell you. Now if you excuse me, I need to go roast this marshmallow.”

You walk away leaving him stunned and speechless, again.

“Did he really say that?” Κatie asked.

“Yes way!” You responded to your roommate.

Katie rolled over on her bed to get a better look at your face.

“I don’t believe you.” You heard her say.

“Well, sorry to break it to you, but Sam, er Shane, or whatever he said his name was, definitely said that. And then had the fucking audacity to be a dick about it.” You said back to her.

You heard her shuffle in her bed and she goes quiet. You make a mental note not to curse around your roommate. She’s younger and this is her first year at this camp as a counselor, you probably shouldn’t make her more uncomfortable then she already is.

You sat in silence for a while, until you heard her speak again.

“I think he said his name was’ Shawn.’” She said.

You rolled your eyes. “I honestly don’t really care, he’s not a very nice person.”

It’s been a few days since you’ve had to interact with ‘Shawn’. However, because you are trying not to curse around Katie, the memory of your conversation with Katie burns in your brain constantly.

Which wouldn’t be a problem, except that you were talking about Shawn.

So, you have thoughts of Shawn constantly invading your brain.

Off in the distance, you see Shawn running up to you. You try to ignore him and turn to walk to the dining hall with Katie.

“Hey!” he calls, sounding a bit annoyed at your blatant attempt to ignore him.

You turn around to see him standing right behind you.

He takes another step closer to you, causing you to take one back.

“What do you want.” You say to him, more of a statement than a question.

“The boss wants to see us.” He says. He seems embarrassed to be talking to you in front of Katie, who looks absolutely terrified. “I don’t know what about... but I think it might have something to do with-”

Your eyes go a little wide. You cut him off, “ugh fine let’s go then.” You say as you start speed walking away from Katie. You turn your head and yell “I’ll see you at breakfast!” to Katie, noticing that Shawn is hot on your tail following you.

Your eyes meet Shawn’s and his annoyingly arrogant look returns to his face.

“Eager to be alone with me, I see?” he says.

You scrunch your nose at him and shoot him daggers with your eyes.

“Shut the fuck up! Katie is young and new. She’s uncomfortable with cursing. I didn’t want you to scare her!” you respond. You are not enjoying having to go anywhere alone with the asshole behind you, so you pick up your pace as you both make your way across camp.

“So now you’re a mama bear?” Shawn calls after you.

You bite your lower lip in frustration, trying to hold back the slew of words you want to say to him. You’re glad that he is behind you and can’t see that he’s successfully getting under your skin.

You finally arrive to the office cabin. But before you go inside, you feel a firm hand wrap all the way around your forearm, pulling you back.

You can feel your heartrate pick up and your breaths becomes short. You don’t want it to, but you can’t help it as Shawn is pulling you closer to his body.

He releases your arm, only to place both hands on your shoulders, holding you steady. He bends his head down a little and looks into your eyes.

You try pull back slightly, only to find that his grip on your shoulders is a lot stronger than you thought it was. You raise an eyebrow at him and give him your best confused look.

For a split moment, you find yourself lost thought,

‘How much muscle is he hiding under that shirt?’

His grip on your shoulders snaps you back to reality as he gives your shoulders a small squeeze.

He takes a breath, “I don’t know what’s going to happen in there, but I just wanted you to know that if you lose your job or something… I’m sorry.”

He releases your shoulders when try you pull out of his grip again.

You make sure your voice is silent, because you’re right outside of your boss’ office.

“Dude, no. I doubt that is going to happen. They probably just want to talk to us about some problematic campers or something.”

Shawn’s glace falls to the ground. You can see his jaw clenching up under his cheek. He eyes pop up to yours and you see his lips turn down into almost a frown, but angrier.

“Sorry, if I offended you, your highness, just thought I should try to be nice to you, in case things go sour”

You can hear the sarcasm dripping from his mouth.

You flip around and walk into the office, steam coming out of your ears.

Your boss is staring at you, waiting for one of you to respond.

“Y’all good?” they say.

Shawn is the first to speak.

“So, you want…” he points to you, “Her…. Camp to work with my camp?... for the upcoming showcase?”

Your boss looks him dead in the eye with no emotion.

“Yes? That is exactly what I just said.”

You feel your stomach tying itself in knots.

‘How the hell am I supposed to work with him? He hates me. I hate him. No fucking way are we going to be able to do this, I can’t even be near him without him doing something stupid.’

“Y/N?” Your boss is waving his hand in front of your face. “you ok with this?”

You shake your thoughts away. “Yeah sure, I guess.”

Your boss’ face lights up with excitement. “OK! Awesome! And just so you know, I will be expecting something from y’all as well! You two could kick off the showcase, be the opener!”

Both yours and Shawn’s mouth drop open as your boss begins pushing you out the door. “Ok! Your camps can start working together today! During their break! I’ll see y’all later”

Unfortunately, the day went quickly. After the regular beans and rice lunch, you find yourself counting your campers on the field.

You notice out of the corner of your eye that Shawn has begun leading his campers over to you. You can see the neck of his guitar case popping up from behind his head.

‘Of course this fucker plays guitar too’

It takes all of your concentration not to gag at the thought of having to work with Shawn.

You feel his hand touch your arm lightly to alert you to his presence. You and Shawn do a quick introduction of the project your boss wants the campers to do and then allow them to pair themselves off.

After seeing that all the campers are have a partner and are beginning to work, you see Shawn move to stand in front of you.

“hey..” Shawn says. There’s almost a hint of nerves in his voice.

You let out the breath you were holding and force yourself to look at him, hiding the annoyance behind your eyes. If you’re going to have to do this, you might as well pretend to be pleasant.

He lifts his hand up behind his neck. “So, um, we can sit over there, under that tree. For shade?” He says as he motions towards a tree off to the side of the field with his head.

“Yeah sure.” You respond, beginning to walk over there.

He follows right behind you and then promptly sits down into the grass.

“Ok so the project I have in mind is that your creative writing camp (motioning to you) and your music camp (motioning to Shawn) can work together to write songs!” Your boss said. “I think it would be good for the creative writers to try to work their skills in a new way, and for Shawn’s campers to learn how to write to someone else’s words. Obviously, it will be very difficult for them, but you both can help them along throughout the process.”

You’re staring down at Shawn now. Watching him, as he pulls his soft guitar case off his back and is pulling out his guitar. He’s lost in his own little world while checking the tuning of each string. Once he’s done he looks over to where you’re standing, suddenly looking confused. He motions to the spot on the ground next to him.

You fight back your instinct you scoff at him. Instead trying for a confused look, but pretty sure your face looks more like RBF.

“You just had to pick the only spot under the tree that is mostly dirt? Why don’t we sit over there? Where the grass is?” You say bluntly.

Shawn’s eyebrows fly up and as is now frantically looking at the ground, letting out a grunt when he seems to understand what you’ve said.

He suddenly starts tugging at his hoody by the neck, pulling it over his head.

“Here-” He says as he lays it out on the ground next to him. You notice that he places it closer to him that you probably would have sat.

“I’m not going to sit on your hoody, Shawn.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N! You need to sit and I don’t want to move.”

“Why did you even have a sweatshirt in the first place? It’s the middle of summer!”

“It’s cold in the dining hall, so I grabbed it before lunch.” He says matter of factly. “Just sit down, we need to get this song done.

“Ok fine whatever.” You say throwing your hands up in defeat.

You plop down next to him. You notice that your legs are only inches apart. You try not to roll your eyes, because you don’t want him to ask why you’re rolling them.

He pulls his guitar onto his lap and starts doing some random strumming. Playing through a couple chord progressions.

He looks up at you and a curl falls into his face. “What type of stuff do you usually write? Like do you have any poems or something we could use?”

You shift uneasily. You love your work and love sharing it, but something about revealing it to Shawn makes you hesitant.

Shawn senses your nerves, “I mean, like, um, if you want to. Well, we’re… supposed to let the writers write the lyrics, but I mean I could always write up something real quick. I write music all the time.”

And it’s when he offers to write it that you snap back. Part of you think that he actually might care about your feelings, but another part, a louder part, is telling you that he’s just trying to steal all the glory. There’s no way you’re going to let him write the music and the lyrics. And then take all the glory.

“Oh no! I have plenty of poetry we can use. Let me just grab my journal…”

You turn your back to Shawn as you dig through your string bag for your beat up old composition notebook. You smile as you pull out your familiar friend. The front is almost completely destroyed from the one time you spilt juice on it, which you’ve tried to fix with multiple layers of mod podge, which has turned into you mod podging your favorite photos and inspirational things onto the front.

You pull it out of your bag absent mindedly. But as soon as you see his eyes on your most prized position, you become anxious. It’s not like you haven’t shown people your writing before, you’ve shown who knows how many people this journal.

But showing it to Shawn? Your camp enemy? The boy that has somehow managed to sneak into your thoughts? You feel your chest tightening up.

Shawn is no longer staring at your journal, but at you. He’s waiting permission.

You shove your journal towards him. No point in stressing about this, you might as well rip off the bandaid.

Your mouth falls open into a ramble, “here look through it, I guess. Tell me if anything sticks out. It’s mostly all poetry, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find something.”

Remaining silent, Shawn reaches out and begins to flip through the pages. You busy yourself by pulling at sparse grass around you.

You notice a good amount of time has gone by, so you look over to Shawn. He is almost at the end of the journal, with various fingers marking pages in the book.

“Have you been reading them all???” you basically gasp, controlling your instinct to snatch your journal from him, because of his marked pages.

“um….. yeah….. I…. yeah….” He says, refusing to lift his eyes to you.

You can see a blush rise up his neck and touch his cheek.

He tries again, “I um… I’ve holding some pages, I wanted to mark them, but I didn’t want to doggy-ear your journal. I think one of these might work to turn into a song. Honestly, it’ll be really hard to choose just one. You’re a really talented writer.”

Now it’s your turn to blush. You’re told all the time that you’re talented, but to hear it from him is different. It’s almost like he’s admitting defeat.

You look off into the distance. But look back at him when you feel him shuffle closer to you, closing the gap between your sides. He leans over and is flipping to the pages he’s bookedmarked with his fingers.

Shawn speaks, “So um.. a lot of my favorites you probably won’t want to perform with me, so I should probably just forget it.”

You frown at him. “Well, let’s not narrow it done just yet, which ones did you like?”

You’re leaning into him now, trying to see your journal.

“Well, the problem is… you seem to write a lot of poetry about love and stuff…. And um I think some of your best stuff is on love….. and….. well…. You probably don’t want to do a love song with me… so, yeah…” Shawn relies.

Your face is now bright red. You hide your eyes from Shawn as you pull away from him, so that you both are no longer touching. You’re practically not even sitting on his hoody anymore.

“forget I said it.” Shawn frantically replies to your actions. “I can pick something else. I think I saw one I liked over here in the back,” he says as he’s flipping towards the back.

You notice that he’s kept one of his fingers between the pages. You also can’t help but notice that his finger bookmark is dangerously near your favorite poem.

‘You know what? Why the fuck not’

You take in breath, “Well, which one did you have in mind, they’re not all that bad. Which one is this?”

You grab the notebook out of his hands, making him completely lose his spot as he flips through the back pages. You’re careful to open the book to where his finger was.

You gasp.

‘Well fuck’

Shawn bookmarked your favorite.

Out of our peripheral, you can see Shawn blushing.

He opens his mouth, “um…. I really like that one…” His blush is becoming an even darker shade of red. “I like its flow… and it’s also just really good, in general”

You can see your own hand writing staring back at you:

FALLING: Sunrise with you on my chest No blinds in the place where I live Daybreak open your eyes Because this was only ever meant to be for one night Still, we're changing our minds here Be yours, be my dear So close with you on my lips Touch noses, feeling your breath Push your heart and pull away Be my summer in a winter day, love I can't see one thing wrong Between the both of us

Fast forward a couple years Grown up in the place that we live Make love, then we fight, Laugh because it was only meant to be for one night I guess we can't control What's just not up to us

You sit in silence as you and Shawn both reread it.

Shawn is clearly anxious. He has started fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

You can hear Shawn let out a breath and then start plucking his guitar. You pick up the pattern that he is playing, and you read your poem out loud to his guitar.

“Sunrise. With you on my chest. No blinds. In the place that I live.”

Shawn begins to harmonize with you, altering the original sound of your poem. He throws some words up high, and elongates some words, to give more of a melody.

Soon, you are all the way through the poem. You force yourself not to be the first to look up.

You can feel the heat on your cheeks. Then, you hear Shawn speak.

“well, that’s amazing. But it’s not quite a song yet, I think we need a chorus and bridge still.”

You look up and see that his face is red. You allow yourself to let out a small smile, knowing that it’s your words that had that effect on him.

“OK then, music boy, what do you suggest?”

“That’s not how it works, I can’t just pull a chorus out of my ass.” He says snarkly back to you.

And just like that, any magic that was built up in those few moments prior, is squashed. He killed them.

The next day you are preparing for another music writing session. Your boss has decided that for now, a part of your camps’ breaks will be used to write your songs.

You bump into Shawn walking out of the dining hall after lunch. The blush still spread over your cheeks and carrying across the top of nose.

“What’s so funny?” Anna had said.

Everyone seated around you was laughing, including Shawn. Shawn was belly laughing, throwing his head back.

You had been sitting at the long table full of camp counselors, as usual. Except this time, you noticed that Shawn was sitting fairly closer to you than normal. Usually, you and he were on complete opposite ends of the table. But this time, he was sitting closer to the middle on the opposite side as you, just close enough that if you spoke loudly, he might hear you.

You gave your attention to your friend that counsels the girls theatre camp. “Oh! Katie just made a really funny side comment! How did you not hear it? Even Shawn heard it, and he’s further down the table than you are!” you giggled.

You made eye contact with Shawn. Anna turned to Shawn. She asked, “What did Katie say?” in hopes that he could enlighten her.

Shawn looked away from Anna and back to you. He held your eye contact as a blush crept up his neck, reaching his ears. He said, “Oh, I didn’t actually hear it. It’s just she has this smile she does. When she’s about to laugh. And it was making me laugh.”

Anna looked disgusted and you dropped your face into your hands.

Katie and the others were still giggling at the previous joke, hadn’t even noticed the small conversation that just took place.

“I’m never smiling around you again.” You mutter to him.

You watch his face shoot red again.

“NOOooooo! I love your smile!” He whines as he bumps your shoulder.

After you get your campers settled, you walk over to the tree you sat under with Shawn.

Shawn is already there, in the same spot as yesterday, plucking his guitar and humming along.

You notice that he’s in the same spot as yesterday, and he has already laid out his hoody for you to sit on. You giggle as you plop down next to him.

His eyes shoot up to you with excitement, “I think I figured something out! I think it’ll make a good chorus!”

He starts plucking and strumming. Then, he looks up at you, staring directly into your eyes:

“You know I've been alone for quite a while

haven't I? I thought I knew it all

Found love but I was wrong

More times than enough

But since you came along

I'm thinking baby

You are bringing out a different kind of me

There's no safety net that's underneath, I'm free

Fallin’ all in”

______________________________

A few days pass and eventually the day of the showcase arrives.

You and Shawn have what you both think makes a good final product. You’ve completed the chorus, added harmonies, changed the name from ‘Falling’ to ‘Fallin’ all in’.

You’re very nervous to go on stage and perform. Especially because you will be performing one of your poems, and even more so because you will be SINGING one of your poem’s… with Shawn.

You’re trying not to shake, but you can’t help it. You’re nervous.

You feel Shawn place his arm around your shoulder, “You ready?” he says with a grin plastered across his face.

“No.”

“Oh, come on now. Don’t be nervous! You’re going to be amazing! You wrote the damn thing! And you have an amazing voice. So honestly, I don’t see why you’re worried.”

You lean into Shawn’s side and scoff.

“So, Mr. hotshot, you’re not nervous at all?” you say sarcastically.

“HA are you kidding me??? I’m Τ Ε R R I F I E D.”

You and Shawn are laughing now, while standing just off stage. You can hear your boss giving the final thank you introductions.

And then you hear your names.

“And up first, as our opener, we have our very own Camp Counselor Shawn and Camp Counselor Y/N!”

You can hear the applause but it doesn’t register, because all you can feel is Shawn’s hand grabbing yours, pulling you onto the stage.

Epilogue~~~

You are tearing up, watching your daughter board the bus.

“It’s only 3 weeks” you tell yourself. “she’ll be home in no time. She’ll be fine. She’s 12 years old now.”

You feel his strong arm wrap around your shoulders like it did all those years ago at camp.

You smile up to your husband, fighting back the tears.

As you walked off stage, you couldn’t believe it.

You had just performed your poem, adapted into a song, in front of at least two hundred people.

Mostly 12 year old campers, but still, people.

And they were cheering. Loud.

You had never heard such a loud cheer at a showcase. And you’d been doing the whole “camp” thing for a long time.

You turned around to see Shawn. But as you did, you felt Shawn grab your shoulders like he did the day you were assigned this project by your boss.

Only this time, instead of feeling him squeeze your shoulders, you felt his lips crash against yours.

138 notes · View notes

silkkpopbonnet · 5 years

Text

Teenager

“Is she here yet?” Areum asked as she paced the living room.

“Soon, she said 10 minutes.” Jaebum smiled as he placed the last of the food in the oven to keep warm.

Grabbing the remote, he turned the music down that Areum was playing.

“Apa!” Areum gave him a look. “I like that song.”

“It’s my song.” Jaebum shook his head. “I can only hear it so many times before my head pops.” If he never heard Just Right again, it wouldn’t be soon enough.

He rushed around making sure everything was okay, before sitting down on the couch next to Areum fixing her hair. She had decided that two puffs were better than one, and he twisted a curl around his finger.

“Excited?” Jaebum asked as she sifted through youtube.

Areum turned to look at him, her lips poking out. “Yes.”

“Me too.” The doorbell rang, and his heart fluttered as he went to answer it.

Amina smiled, kissing his lips as she stepped inside. “I am way too nervous.”

“She might be too.” Jaebum looked down at a small bag she had in her hands. “What’s that?”

Amina held up the bag smiling, “A gift for Areum, I hope she likes it.”

Leading her into the living room, Areum sat on the couch facing them. Her eyes went to her father and then to Amina, and she remained seated as she waited for someone else to make the first move.

Clearing her throat, Amina came forward. “Hello Areum, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Areum didn’t move, looking at her father, she only got up when he gave her a stern look. Giving a polite bow, she answered. “Nice to meet you too eonnie.”

Amina rubbed her cheeks. “You don’t have to call me that Amina is fine, or just Mina, my little sister calls me that.”

“You have a sister?” Areum asked, sitting back down on the couch.

As Amina walked over, she took the box out of the bag and sat next to her. “Yes, she’s 18.”

“Oh,” Areum answered thoughtfully. “Is this for me?” Pointing to the box, she wasted no time in trying to take it from Amina.

Laughing, Amina let her take it. “Yes, actually. I hope you like it, it’s a token of friendship between me and you, at least I hope we can be friends.”

As Areum opened it, she smiled, squealing at the bracelet with a unicorn charm. One was pink, and one was purple, the ivory colored beads solid in her hand, she put it on her wrist. “Apa look!”

Coming over Jaebum fingered the tiny gold unicorn smiling. “It’s so pretty, one for you and one for Amina.”

Amina put her own on and smiled at Areum. “Friendship bracelets, because I am hoping that we can be the best of friends.”

Areum puckered her lips, her eyes looking at father then back at Amina. “I can be your friend, but you have to make me a promise.”

“What’s that?” Amina asked, putting the box away.

“Leave Apa, you can’t hear this.” Areum got off the couch, pushing JB out of the room.

“I’m going to the bathroom anyway,” Jaebum grinned, leaving them alone.

Areum turned around, her arms crossed over her chest, her back was straight as she stood in front of Amina. “My daddy likes you a lot.”

“I hope he does.” Amina smiled at her, feeling just a little afraid of what she would say next.

Areum looked over Amina’s features, making different faces of her own as she examined her. “You are pretty, so that’s good.”

“You’re beautiful too.” Amina reached out a hand and gently touched her puff.

Sitting down Areum took a deep breath. “I love my daddy, so if you make him smile, you can stay. If he cries, then you have to leave, and I will make you leave, I’ll call Uncle Jinyoung.”

“Oh really now?” Amina tried to keep from smiling. “Uncle Jinyoung will tell me I have to leave?”

“He will! He says he isn’t above snatching wigs.” Areum shook her head matter of factly. Areums’s demeanor changed as she continued to speak. “A long time ago, Apa would cry at night. I think he was sad, but I haven’t heard him cry anymore. Maybe because he likes you now, so be nice to my daddy, ok?”

She held out her tiny hand, waiting for Amina to shake it.

Amina looked down at Areum’s hand. She had told Jaebum that she was ready for anything with him, she was prepared for Areum and him being a dad. After being threatened by a nearly five-year-old, nothing could stop her now, except maybe Jinyoung.

“I promise.”

Amina wasn’t sure how exactly things would go now that Areum was in the picture. She was thinking family-like outings where they went on picnics or something. To be honest, she wasn’t exactly sure. Sometimes, they went out to the movies or to eat, other times they went bowling, or the zoo, sometimes over to one of the guy’s house. She grew fond of Areum and was always laughing at her relationship with Yugyeom and BamBam because they acted like older brothers with their baby sister. She quickly learned what Areum meant when she mentioned Jinyoung, he had side-eyed her at first, not saying much but keeping an eye on her. It seemed that he was warming up to her now, he understood that she was here to stay, she wasn’t playing any games with Jaebum, and for him, that seemed enough. Sometimes, they were at Jaebum’s house watching movies with Areum in between them or playing one of her board games, when she finally went to bed is when Jaebum pulled her into his arms and kissed her, laying her down on the couch.

The one thing she hadn’t done yet…spent the night.

“You can stay, it’s ok,” Jaebum said to her one night as she tried to leave out the door.

“No, I want to make sure it’s ok with Areum, we’ve seen each other what? 4 months?” She giggled as he kissed her face.

“Areum won’t mind, she knows your, my girlfriend.” He said the last word slowly and still hearing it made her stomach clench and flop. “Just stay.”

“Jaebum.” She pulled her hand from his. “My taxi is waiting.”

“Amina.” He closed the door, pressing her back against it. “One night, one time, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Not yet.” She poked his chest opening the door again.

As he walked her down to the cab, he kept his arm around her waist. “Areum’s birthday is on the 15th, she’ll be five, which means she’ll start school this year. It’s a big thing for her, but I’m going to have her birthday party here. Will you come?”

“Of course,” Turning towards him, Amina kissed him one last time. “What’s the theme?”

Jaebum raised his eyebrow at her. “Glitter and unicorns, the normal. I hired someone to take care of it, I have no idea what to do with that idea.”

“I’ll be there, and I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch?” He opened the door to the cab for her.

“Yes. Text me when you get home.” Closing the door, he didn’t move from where he was until the cab disappeared from his sight.

He was in love, he knew that. In four short months, he was feeling something for Amina that he had only felt for one woman before. He touched his chest and wondered what he should say, or rather when he should say it. As he walked back inside, he started to clean up the living room and wondered what the guys would say when they knew he was this serious about her. As if on cue, his phone started to ring, it was BamBam.

“Hyung, what’s up?” He heard music in the background and then Yugyeom.

“Cleaning up a little. Where are you guys?” Jaebum stepped on a game piece and silently cursed as he heard BamBam move somewhere quieter.

“My house, it’s me and Yugyeom and some girls he knows. Listen, I was thinking about you, and I wanted to call. I’m happy for you. I’m glad that you’re…you know.” Jaebum smiled, nodding his head.

“Yea, I know what you mean, thank you. Actually, I have to thank you, guys. You stayed by my side and helped me this whole time. I owe you guys a lot.” Sitting on the couch, Jaebum moved the phone to his other ear and turned the TV off.

“No, you owe us nothing. How long have we known each other? Been in each other’s lives? We are brothers.” BamBam opened the door, yelling at something at Yugyeom before he came back on the phone. “So, are y’all vibin? Getting to know each other better? I mean Valentines Day was a success.”

Jaebum laughed. “It was. I think I love her, or I’m falling in love. She makes me feel like I never got my heart broken, she just fits in my and Areum’s lives.”

“Love. Oh my god!!!!” BamBam yelled for Yugyeom. “Hyung says he thinks he’s in love.”

The two began to yell in the phone so much that Jaebum moved it away from his ear. As they finished, Yugyeom had the phone now.

“She’s beautiful hyung, and she’s sweet. Perfect for you, you deserve happiness after all this time. Does she know?” BamBam yelled the same from behind Yugyeom.

“No, I haven’t told her.” Jaebum stuck a finger in his ear, hoping he wasn’t deaf now. “I think I will sometime after Areum’s birthday, I figure I should do something special.”

BamBam came back on the phone. “I’ll tell you what to do, wait until after you guys had sex, I mean the best, pull out all the toys, then before she passes out, tell her.”

“Or!” Yugyeom said in the background. “Make love, not sex, like the kind where she’s calling your name and whisper it in her ear ask you’re long stroking her.”

Jaebum was about to say something when BamBam cut him off. “You should see Yugyeom he’s humping a pillow, I hope your stroke game isn’t as bad as his.”

“What! I know what I’m doing!” Yugyeom replied.

Jaebum laughed. “Yea, I’ll figure something out, but thank you. Have fun guys, I’ll see you Friday?”

“Yes, sir!” Hanging up, Jaebum looked down at his phone and shook his head, age didn’t calm them down at all.

He had a text from Amina, telling him she was home and about to get in the shower, he was going to ask her for a picture but decided against it. Going to his room, he peeked in on Areum making sure she was still asleep before sitting down in his place. Looking at some pictures the party planner had sent, he saw an e-mail from Nia. Instantly his heart raced, anxiety crept into his veins, why would she e-mail?

Hey Jaebum,

Areum is turning five this year, and I thought maybe I should bring her a gift, instead of just sending one? Do you still live in the same place? I know we haven’t talked in awhile, I do hope you’re doing well though. I’d like to see our daughter and you if that’s ok? Right?

No! It wasn’t ok, and the fact that she sent an e-mail and didn’t call just made him angrier. After all this time she was just going to say hello and no apologies out of the blue? She had never seen Areum after that day what made her think that Areum would know her? Clenching his jaw, he wanted to hit something.

No,

Just send a present and let that be that. You gave me full custody, didn’t even fight me and it’s been how long? Nia, don’t pull that stuff, just send a present and let’s keep it civil.

He wasn’t about to let her ruin Areum’s day. Forwarding the e-mail to Jinyoung, he got up to shower and then sleep, there was no way he was going to let her ruin his good mood now.

“Jun, I am not going to tell you again.” Amina smiled at her client as she applied his foundation.

“I’m just saying! I mean, it’s true right?” Jun closed his eyes as she dabbed his face.

“Leave Sungchul alone, he’s the maknae and Y'all are too mean to him.” Amina cooed at Sungchul as he pouted his lips at her.

“Thank you Noona!” The blue-haired boy stuck his tongue out at his hyung.

As Amina finished up Jun’s face, she stepped back and smoothed his eyebrows. “I told you getting them done with a microblade was worth it.”

Jun grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “There’s nothing you can’t do is there Noona?”

Amina shrugged, “Probably not.” She took her hand from him, turning around to put her tools back in her bag when she saw Jaebum standing at the door. “Hey.” She waved him over.

As Amina moved away from the boys to wipe up her station, Sungchul stood next to Jun. “Noona has a boyfriend it seems.”

Jun glared at the younger boy. “He might just be her friend.” Jun looked in the mirror at his face and pursed his lips. “Besides, how many time a day does she say that she loves the shape of my face?”

“It might just be a compliment. Look.” They both turned to watch Jaebum wrap his arms around Amina and kiss her forehead.

“You’re here early, I’m not really done yet,” Amina said to Jaebum.

He was looking past her and towards the younger men who were staring at him. “Who are they?”

Amina looked over her shoulder. “Sungchul and Jun. Doyoung and Bong are getting their hair done. They’re a new group, they debuted a month ago. Want to hear something crazy? You know Dean right? I might be working with him.” Amina covered her mouth, squealing a little. “Exciting right?”

“Very.” Jaebum was more interested in the one dark-haired one who had kissed Amina’s hand as that one was currently staring him down.

“Jaebum did you hear me?” She followed his eyes back to the guys. “Are you a fan? Want to say hi?”

Without waiting for him to answer, she took his hand and lead him over. At the same time motioning for Sungchul to sit down. “Fellas, this is my boyfriend, Jaebum, Jaebum this is Jun, the leader, and face of the group; and this is Sungchul, adorable maknae and main dancer.”

Sungchul got up from his seat, bowing politely. “Hello, nice to meet you, Noona takes good care of us. Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking him?” Amina pushed at his shoulder. “I do all the work, now sit, so I can start.”

Jun said nothing, just a cheeky smile on his face. “I know you. Im Jaebum, JB, leader of Got7, yea, I like some of your songs.”

Amina didn’t feel the tension that Jaebum and Jun were making, she applied a BB cream to Sungchul as she spoke to JB. “Oh, you have a fan, how nice. Who is your bias Jun?” She laughed at that last part.

“Sorry,” Sungchul said in advance. “I always liked Jinyoung.”

“He’d be happy to hear that,” Jaebum replied.

Jun could be cheeky when he wanted to be, he had a knack for finding sore spots and pushing on them. It annoyed him to finally figure out that the reason Amina ignored his flirting was that she was dating some old idol. He leaned back in his chair, one arm over the back.

“Got7, are you guys going to tour soon? Or maybe make some new songs? Or were you always just more popular overseas?” Jun watched as Jaebum narrowed his eyes at him, sizing the younger male up.

“How old are you?” Jaebum asked.

Sitting forward, Jun put his elbows on his knees. “23.”

Jaebum spoke loudly as he addressed him. “Speak to me like it then.”

Turning around Amina looked from Jaebum back to Jun. “Calm it down, guys. Jun don’t be an ass. Go see where Lara is, she’s supposed to be doing Bong and Doyoung. I’m leaving now, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Amina walked off to grab her bag, as Jun told Sungchul to go do what Amina had asked of him. When she came back, she collected the rest of her brushes and powders, talking to Jaebum. “You ready to go?”

“Wait, noona.” Jun grabbed the back of her shirt. “Tomorrow, we have a photo shoot, you’re going to be there right?”

“I think Lara and Kim are. I’ll be with you guys the next day though.” As Jaebum was about to grab one of her bags, Jun hefted it up, handing it to Amina.

“What if I want you? You know I’m picky.” He smiled at her, showing off pearly whites as he moved to stand near her.

“You’ll be fine.” Amina fixed a strand of his hair before walking off. “See you later.”

As they got outside, Jaebum shook his head, placing her bags in his car. “Things never change. I hope I wasn’t like that at his age.”

Amina chuckled. “At his age? I’m a year older than him.”

“Yes, and he loves calling you noona doesn’t he?” Holding the door open for her, he couldn’t help but mimic Jun.

“How mature.” Amina shook her head, she had thought that he was joking, but now she wondered if he was serious. “Please, don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

As they pulled off, Jaebum had to muse over the thought.”Not really, he’s younger than me, and that annoys me because he shares more with you.”

Amina cut Jaebum off. “How? Because of our age? Please don’t start this.”

“Start what? I’m just saying, at 23 he shares more with you than I do at 36.” He didn’t mean to stop the car so hard, but when he did, Amina crossed her arms over her chest.

“Don’t make me upset, I was having a good day.” She stopped talking, looking out the window.

Jaebum made a noise in his throat. “Don’t let them touch all over you, and call you noona like that.”

Grunting, Amina put her hands up clenching her fists. “Like what? It’s respectful to do so, right? They call me that because they are comfortable with me. They call everyone else Ms this or Mr that.”

“He does it because he’s flirting with you, you don’t hear how he says it. It’s the difference between you saying dad, to your father and daddy to me.” Jaebum turned towards his home, he had prepared food for her.

“It is not. I really don’t want to argue with you over a guy I’m not even interested in.” As he parked, she got out of the car slamming the door.

“Doesn’t mean he’s not interested in you, but whatever, I’m done talking, I’m just an old man, right? What do I know?” Pushing the button for the elevator, he waited for her to go inside, making a motion with his hand.

Amina tapped her foot as he waited, he had to stop the door from closing twice before she stepped inside. “No one called you old, if you’re going to do that Jaebum, I swear to god…”

“Swear what?” He rolled his eyes. “Not getting in the damn elevator, I wasn’t really annoyed then, but now I am.”

As the lift stopped on his floor, she stepped out. “We are arguing over a guy who doesn’t matter to me in that way. You realize that right? I’m not dating him, I’m dating you so why does what he does matter?”

Jaebum put his hand on his forehead. “Because what he does irritates me.” Opening the door, he let her walk in first. “Because it seems when you’re at work, you flirt with little boys and that was proven by how he was acting today. What if I want you? He said that shit to annoy me.”

“Wow.” Amina shook her head at Jaebum. “Little boys. Ok. I flirt at work. Alright.” She smiled, but he knew she was just as angry. “So now I’m somehow cheating on you, right?”

“I’d hope not.” He walked into the dining room, pointing at the takeout he brought. “I’m done, let’s drop it, eat.”

“Does it look like I want to eat?!” She raised her voice now, and he turned quickly to look at her.

“Don’t yell.”

“Is Areum here?” Amina pretended looked around. “No, so I’m going to say whatever the fuck I want because you pissed me off.”

Sitting down at the table, Jaebum sighed putting his head in his hands. “Amina. I am sorry. You don’t flirt at work, now sit down and eat with me.”

She scoffed. “Now you’re giving me some shitty apology.” Walking towards the front door, he heard her put on her shoes.

“Where are you going?” He didn’t move, not until he heard the door close. “Fuck.”

Chasing after her, he grabbed her arm as she waited for the elevator. “Amina, stop and come inside.”

Snatching her arm from him, she hissed at him. “So now you want to talk to me like you’re my father?”

“You’re irrational!” Jaebum tried to keep his voice low as he looked around the hall. “Come inside, I don’t want to have this conversation in the hall.”

“I’m leaving, I want to be alone.” She shrugged him off as he attempted to touch her. “Stop, I said I’m going.”

Jaebum got in the elevator with her. “Just come back inside, I said I was sorry.”

“No, you aren’t, and I don’t want to be told what you think I’m doing at work. You don’t think that hurts my feelings? Little boys, you don’t know them. Then you’re acting like I’m too young to know what’s good for me, or what to do. Fuck that Jaebum, I want to be away from you right now.” As she called for a cab, he stood inside the building and watched as she just stood there.

His mind went back to what Nia said to him that night, that she just had to be away, and Jaebum found himself trying to dispell those thoughts from his mind.

“When are you coming back?” He watched her get in a cab, only speaking to him before she shut the door.

“When I feel like it.”

Going upstairs, Jaebum sat down in his dining room picking over the Japanese takeout. He moved the food around on his plate but didn’t really eat. He knew he was out of line and at some point it just went too far. He was jealous, he could admit that, but in his mind, he really thought that maybe…one day, Amina would get tired of him. He was 36 now, and she was going to be 25 in the summer. When he was 40, she would still be 29. He would be old, and she would still be in her prime. Maybe she’d want someone her own age. He had wanted more children, growing up an only child, he didn’t wish Areum to be the same way.

Would she want a child at 25 or even 26? When he could still make them and young enough to chase them? Maybe he just thought he was older. Looking down at his phone, he realized it was time to go pick up Areum, and he sighed, getting into the car as he headed towards the daycare center.

As Areum got into the car, she looked at his face. “What’s wrong Apa?”

“I had a fight with Amina.” No need to lie to her.

“I hope you weren’t you mean to her?” Areum was taking Amina’s side? That surprised him.

“I was, and I didn’t mean to make her mad at me.” He pulled into the little shop that they often went to after daycare to get ice cream.

“Get her a present. BamBam said that one time, he made a girl mad, so he got her pretty clothes to try on. After that, she loved him again. Presents work. I like presents.” Areum got out of the car, smiling.

Jaebum laughed. “That’s because you’re spoiled.”

“And Uncle Jackson said that was your fault.” Areum shook her head as she marched into the shop.

That night, Jaebum sat on his sofa phone in his hand, he hadn’t texted Amina yet because he didn’t know what to say. Taking Areum’s advice, he didn’t buy clothes, but he bought chocolates, he’d stop by her house tomorrow when he knew she was off and give them to her. He should just call, say something, but as soon as he was about to hit send, someone knocked on his door.

Looking at the screen it was her, and his stomach dropped in relief.

“I’m only here to get my things,” Amina told him as he opened the door.

“What stuff?” He looked back into his house.

She wouldn’t look at him. “In your car, my makeup bags, I need them.”

“Come inside, I want to make sure Areum is asleep and get my shoes first.” He opened the door for her, his hand dropping as she went by he had wanted to at least try to hug her.

Walking back to the room he made sure Areum was sleep, before going back to the living room. “You don’t want to talk to me ok, but listen-”

“I want my stuff,” Amina said, finally looking at him.

Jaebum sighed. “Ok, but listen, please.”

She said nothing, sitting down on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, she folded her hands in her lap. “Hurry up.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaebum got on his knees in front of her. “I really am, I was out of line, and I was speaking out of jealousy.” He watched her face soften. “I was wrong to say what I did, I know you don’t give them the time of day. I just-” He put his head on her knee. “I thought about maybe you getting bored of me, of us.”

“Jaebum.” He felt her hand touch his head.

“Let me finish.” Looking up at her, he held her hands. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck with me because you’re here now and Areum is here, you know? Like you’re wasting your youth or time with me. I just want you to be happy, yea with me but in general.”

Amina sighed, she pulled his hands so that he was sitting on the couch with her. “I am happy with you, stop thinking like that. Live in the now. I am with you because I want to be. I thought about this, I know the responsibility and understanding of being with a man with a child. If I didn’t want anything to do with that, I would have said no to you. Just trust me.”

“I do.” Jaebum reached out to touch her curls.

“Then act like it. I trust you, so give me the same ok?” She sat up on her knees leaning into him. “Now give me a kiss.”

Jaebum smiled. “So, we’re making up?”

“Too late to ditch you now, look at you all sappy and sad, like you love me or something.” She laughed as their lips connected, Jaebum pulling her into his lap, he kissed her lips, and her nose before saying what he had felt.

“I do love you.” He watched her face as she reacted to the realization of what he just said.

Amina pulled herself closer to him, her nose against his as she spoke against his lips. “Jaebum, you love me?”

His hands rubbed her back as she straddled his waist. ��I do, I was going to wait until the right time to tell you. I guess that’s now.”

“It is.” She cupped his face, thumbs rubbing against his stubble. “Because I love you too.”

Jaebum nipped her bottom lip. “If I tell you that I want to make love to you now will you stay the night?”

Holding onto his neck, Amina leaned back and groaned. “Yes, I’ll stay the night.”

Carrying her to his room, he laid her down on the bed, his lips pressed against hers as she removed her clothing. Bodies against each other in the darkness, Amina lifted her legs, rubbing them on his back. She moaned when his lips touched her collarbone, his hand skating to grip her thigh, stroking the junction of skin where leg met pelvis. He moved slowly, whispering in her ear as his lips sucked on her earlobe. Amina’s hands rubbed up and down his back, stroking his shoulders. His form was all over her, the room should have felt cold, but with his body on hers, the heat was nearly overwhelming. As his length finally touched her, he slipped in easily with how wet she was. Holding onto her waist as he pushed home, ignoring her pleas as he lifted his body and rolled his hips into her.

His hands holding onto hers, he put them above her head, watching her turn her head from right to left as he brought her to orgasm.

In the darkness, Jaebum held Amina tight. Her back against his chest as he kissed the back of her neck softly. “I love you.” Speaking into her curls.

Turning over in his arms, Amina placed her head against his chest. “I love you more.”

Chapter Four

#teenager #got7 #got7 im jaebum #im jaebum #got7JB #kpop for POC #kpop for black fans

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alchemistc · 7 years

Text

The Price 3/?

Summary: As Killian settles into the Swan’s castle, he finds no comfort in it’s extravagance, and yearns for more creature comforts. The Swan provides Killian with a few unwanted revelations.

tagging @kmomof4 @the-captains-ayebrows and also @jadeddiva and @artielu even though they didn’t ask because I super enjoy it when they scream at me and also I haven’t watched the episode but from what I understand about the last five minutes, I’m guessing all y’all need something to yell about.

Chapter List: One/Two

Chapter Three

Killian has never had a room for himself. In the cottage near the edge of the forest, there’d been no separate spaces, only a cot by the window where he’d curled up to sleep, and on Silver’s ship he’d closed his eyes and rested to the sounds of a few dozen snoring men, often in the same cot as Liam - even aboard The Jewel he’d refused to let the men think there was any sort of favoritism being played (First Mate status notwithstanding) and he’d kept to the berth there, as well.

The room he finds himself in is sprawling, extravagant, and so large he’s quite certain the Jewel would fit right inside of it.

It’s far too much space.

The door he’d closed behind him is sturdy and thick, with a heavy bolt to bar it shut, and a key besides to lock it up. It’s a small comfort to him, when he’s seen the Swan materialize out of nothing - surely there’s no lock that could keep her out, should she feel the need to be anywhere she pleases - and yet, it feels a bit like a promise. Of some small bit of privacy, at least, or an attempt to set boundaries.

He returns his thoughts to the room, taking in the wide windows and the heavy curtains draping the walls beside them, the tapestries along the walls depicting scenes Liam might have been able to explain to him, but were lost to Killian- he’d never once taken the time to learn the history of Misthaven, too caught up in his desperate desire to explore the rest of the world instead.

Off to his left there is an archway where another, smaller chamber houses what looks to be a small library - in the dim light he sees a few shelves of books, a small desk tucked into a corner, but there’s a fine layer of dust over everything, the musty smell of a room in disuse, and Killian realizes with a start that he has no knowledge of whomever had come before him. He couldn’t say whether it had been a man or a woman; a courtier or a peasant; a farmer or a merchant. There was nothing in these chambers that could tell him, either, no personal touches, no items left behind. To the right was a four poster bed, made neatly, and a trunk at the foot of it propped open and emptied. On both sides were small carved stands, devoid of decoration, and all about the room were scattered bits of finery - a large wooden table sitting before the windows, a chest against one wall, two separate wardrobes, empty shelves dotted here and there about the walls. It was as though someone had spent a small fortune creating a living, breathing space, and then left it, forgotten to time, without a single personal touch.

Not a single lantern or candlestick decorates the room, the only light coming from the windows along the far side of the room.

Killian digs into the pocket of his vest, fingers grasping at the ring he’d tucked there before he’d left the ship, at the delicate metal work, and the small gem, taking comfort in it.

If he closes his eyes, he can imagine the fringes of her smile, and the quiet clarity of her laughter, the smell of the oils she pressed into the skin on the inside of her elbows and the hollow behind her ear.

Killian takes a deep breath, shucking off his jacket, and decides that at the very least, he will explore these chambers for any hidden clues of his predecessor before he is forced to meet the Swan again.

-----

He’d discovered, in his searches, that the wardrobes were filled with a great assortment of fine clothes, jerkins and waistcoats and doublets in fine brocade, heavy and stiff, with gold and silver buttons, some of them glittering with gems, even one of which would have paid for the Jewel twice over. There were jabots made of fine lace, and even the shirts felt fine and smooth under his fingertips, as though they might snag and tear against the callouses he’d earned sailing his entire life. The breeches, too, were ornate and showy, the whole mess of it seemed made for some silly princeling more worried with his appearance than his kingdom.

He’d scoffed at it, and rather than making himself presentable for the lady, he’d given himself a quick glance in the looking glass beside one wardrobe, with his linen shirt missing it’s top two buttons; the worn, sun-bleached vest; the scuffed boots and loose fitting trousers, he’d deemed himself tolerable enough.

The Swan seems now to find him as distasteful as she had hours earlier, and yet, of every willing participant in the entire kingdom, Killian had somehow had the misfortune of being her choice. He means to bring it up, but before he can be bothered to remind her that his presence is entirely her doing, she has spun from him, weaving her way through a haphazard pile of books stacked high beside an ornate chair, past a table that is home to a scatter of parchment and scrolls held down by strangely shaped glass, or by yet more books.

The disorder prickles at his skin, and he rubs his thumb over his knuckles, wondering, hoping, that he will not spend the next fifteen years of his life finding nothing but frustration in everything in this castle.

She settles on a shelf a fair distance from him, frowning at the leather bound tomes she finds there. He watches as she raises a hand, long, delicate fingers sliding across the bindings, that same, infuriating head tilt twisting her neck to the side.

For the first time, he takes in her appearance fully.

Her neck is elongated by her posture, the pale of her hair stark against the dim light, her shoulders pulled back. The clothes she wears are strange to him - the heavy, stiff leather of her coat, close fitted trousers showing long legs, heeled boots that gleam strangely in the light from the flameless lanterns along the walls as she crosses one foot over the other, shifting slowly down the length of the shelf as she continues her search. She is solid and real here, in the low light, and he imagines this must be as close as he will get to seeing her for what she truly is. It’s startling, to think that she once must have been something like him, more human than...whatever she has become.

With no crackle of fire, no breeze in the seemingly windowless room, he hears the quiet rasp of her fingers against the books, finding himself nearly mesmerized by the subtle movements of her hands, and he sees the glimmer of a ring on her finger - just the one, and so at odds with the rest of her appearance that he narrows his eyes to see it better, the gentle shine of a light gem, the thin, delicate silver of the band - before he can see more of it, she is curling her hand around one of the books, a thick, heavy tome that looks twice the age of any other book in the library.

She hefts it with ease, despite it’s size, and doesn’t spare him a glance as she takes it to the table, and Killian watches her as she sets it down, watches as she makes a gesture over the thing, as though turning a page, watches as the book flutters open and shifts three quarters of the way through, paper ruffling until the pages settle silently into place.

Finally, she looks up at him, pale eyes staring at him. “Well?” she says, impatience in her voice. “Are you going to stand there all evening staring at me like an idiot?”

Hackles rising, he stays exactly where he is.

“Oh, for gods sake. Do you need a written invitation?”

He makes his way slowly to her side, hoping his careful, measured steps aggravate her at least half as much as her moue of annoyance exasperates him.

The book is old, full of yellowed paper that looks a strong breath away from crumbling to dust, but when he reaches out a hand curiously at the sight of so many different hands littering the pages, they feel as sturdy as new parchment.

Names.

They are all names, signed in a deep, rusty brown color, and as he takes them all in, they seem to hover over the page, dancing across it, each one of them different not only in the shaping of the letters, but the feel of them too. They are foreign and strange, and yet, each and every one of them calls to him, wrapping him in their warm embrace, calling him home. He shakes off the feeling, horrified that for a moment he’d been happy to join them.

Below the last one, there is a blank space, and Killian stares at it, knowing without needing to be told what name should go there.

Perhaps, if he refuses to sign his name - if he sits here in indolent silence for days, weeks if necessary, she will grow tired enough of him to let him go.

“It doesn’t work like that,” is all she says, her fingers rolling over her palm, producing a quill from thin air.

He takes it with a soft sigh, careful not to touch her in the process, and she stares at him expectantly.

“There’s no ink.”

Rolling her tongue over her teeth, she gives him one crisp, firm nod, which only manages to infuriate him more. Her lips press into a thin line as she holds his gaze.

“How the bloody hell do you expect me to sign away the next fifteen years of my life without ink?”

Her shoulders roll back, her jaw clenching. “The book has no need for ink.”

“That’s all good and well, but the quill might call for it.”

“The others never had an issue.” Her voice has never once wavered, the same calm, collected tones, a bored nonchalance that sets Killian on edge - the only sign of her displeasure the line of her mouth and the flash of her eyes.

“Well perhaps you’d like to call one of them back to explain to me what it is you’re asking of me.”

The calm seems to snap. “Just sign the damn page, sailor.”

“My name is -.”

“The only thing in this room that gives a damn about your name this moment is the book.” There is a hard glint in her eye, her fist clenched against her thigh now, and Killian takes a small measure of satisfaction in realizing he’s riled her.

He shoots a baleful glance her way and presses the quill, dry and inkless, against the page, readying himself to point out the severe lack of signature, but instead watches as his own name, in his wide, looping script, slides across it. As he dots the ‘i’s of Killian, he can feel prickles along the skin of his arm, gooseflesh rising while his forearm tingles up to the elbow, as though he’s held it in the same position too long and must now shake feeling back into it.

He finishes his surname in a rush, uncomfortably aware of the magic coursing across his skin, and the deep red of the ink. His eyes dart up to the dried names above his own, recognizing now the look of long dried blood.

The quill vanishes from his hand, and when Killian turns to snap at the Swan, ready to release a stream of vitriol about his distaste of magic, the book snaps shut, just barely avoiding closing in around his fingers, and flies by itself across the room and back onto the shelf she’d pulled it from.

The Swan turns away from him without another word, retiring to the chair next to an empty fireplace, her long legs curling up, one over the other, her back still unnervingly straight and her arm thrown out to reach for the book on the very top of her teetering stack.

“There’s a stew in the kitchens, if you find yourself in the mood for supper. You seemed to enjoy it, in the tavern this afternoon, although I’m sure if you ask it nicely you can have whatever you desire. We’ll start your lessons in the morning.”

There is so much to unload in that, he doesn’t know where to begin, but he settles on “Lessons?”

------

He tosses and turns over the course of the night, unable to find a comfortable position in the too-soft bed, unable to calm his mind with the revelations of the day. He thinks of Liam finding his letter, and of the crew having a good laugh at the irony of his situation. He thinks of what danger Murtagh is about to send them into, and how he will not be there to help assess the situation - no matter his brothers calm in battle, Killian had always had the greater mind for strategy.

She’d been tight lipped on what, exactly, it was that he was meant to be taught, and he found it just as infuriating as the rest of her, mumbling under his breath as he followed the twisting staircases down towards the kitchens.

The stew sitting warm in the fire of the ovens had distracted him for only a short time, and he’d been wary of it, trying to figure out what on earth she’d meant by “asking it nicely”. He’d barely taken more than a few cautious bites of it before deciding he had no desire to eat, but there’d been no comfort in retiring to his rooms - the breeze drifting in from the windows was warm, but missing a certain bite he’d grown used to; the stone floors were too solid and steady; the room had grown dark while he’d been in the library, and since there were no sconces or lanterns along the walls, no candles to light a flame, he’d used the low moonlight drifting in through the windows to navigate his way. He’d lain in the four poster, not bothering to do more than remove his boots and vest, eyes staring unblinkingly above him, wishing for the ship, and the crew, and his brother.

He wakes well before the sun, and wanders the chambers in dim but growing light, hands drifting over the tapestries depicting wars, and champions, and gods knew what else. When weak bands of sunlight finally spread out over the chambers, he turns finally to the small room he’d seen the evening before.

The thick layers of dust are unchanged, and Killian finds himself irrationally displeased by the state of the room, and returns momentarily to the wardrobe, reaching with no small sense of defiance for one of the silk shirts hung there, balling it up without a care for the fine craftsmanship of it before returning to the dusty study.

He spends an hour or so cleaning the place, ignoring the embossed titles of the fine leather books while he scours the place. He tosses the silk aside quickly enough - whatever small pleasure he’d gleaned from destroying one of the Swan’s fine things, silk was no use in truly cleaning a room.

After the study is to his satisfaction, he moves on to the main chambers, pulling down tapestries he does not care for, dragging tables and chests to areas more suited to his taste, pulling open the rest of the heavy curtains to let the low, warm sunlight drift into the rooms, using the small basin of water he finds on the sideboard to scour the floors, as best he can.

The sun continues to slide across the morning sky, and Killian’s body aches pleasantly by the time he realizes that he’s nothing left to clean, except himself, and the Swan had most assuredly expected him hours ago.

Strange, that she hadn’t come to find him. He darts a glance to the door, still barred shut, and to the key he’d slipped from the lock the night before, still resting carefully where he’d lain it.

There is nothing left in this room that might help him avoid her, however, and so he returns his rags and the basin to the sideboard, wipes at a sweaty brow with the damp sleeve of his shirt, and unbolts the door to his chambers to meet the Swan.

------

He’s halfway to the library before he realizes he isn’t actually certain that is where she’d intended them to meet, and he’s suddenly starving, too, having eaten nothing substantial since the morning before.

Killian changes course, wandering the halls slowly, careful to keep his boots on the rugs to avoid letting his steps echo, taking in the suits of armor and the paintings lining the wall.

Once, this castle might have been grand. It might have housed a king and queen, a host of lords and ladies, any number of servants and courtiers, ambassadors and councilors, all the sorts of people who went into running a kingdom, but the castle itself had long since fallen into disrepair - from the windows of his own chambers he’d seen a crumbling tower far across the courtyard, and the forest seemed to be growing into the castle itself, small saplings sprouting here and there within the yard and the gardens, out of place amidst the wild hedgerows which might have once been shaped by the best gardeners in the kingdom; there were vines twining and weaving their way into the battlements, and the mossy earth had moved in beyond the gates, almost as though it had been too long since man or beast had tread there.

Still, the suits of armor gleam, and the portraits on the walls seem carefully preserved - in fact, the only two places he’d seen so far that did not seem spotless were his own chambers, and the library.

However, it seemed unlikely that this had anything to do with whoever had come before him. His rooms alone had taken him hours to clean, and from what he’d seen so far of the actual castle, his chambers were only a small portion of it. More likely it was magic, unseen but still present, that preserved the quiet stillness and the cleanliness.

Alone to his thoughts, he enters the kitchens to find the Swan sitting atop a table that does not look strong enough to hold her weight, one leg crossed over the other, an unpleasant curl to her lip as she takes him in, eyeing his dust covered face and still-damp shirtsleeves, the wild mess of his hair, which he’d forgotten to tie back when he’d woken.

“I suppose it’s asking too much to expect timeliness or some semblance of order. You are, after all, not a naval man.”

The dig is meant to hurt him, and perhaps a few years ago it would have, but despite his disappointments in that regard, he’d had a good life so far, even without the commission he’d so yearned for.

After all of this was said and done, he’d leave with the same purse of coin all the ones before him had - be able to buy his own ship, if he so desired, and begin to create the fleet he and Liam had always dreamed of having.

“There’s bread and meat waiting for you in the library,” she tells him, when he glances past her to the stove, as though he has tried her patience enough for one day. “If you’ll follow me.”

She holds out her hand expectantly, and Killian forces himself not to recoil from it. She’s changed outfits, this jacket with crisp, pointed shoulders, and sleeves made of some shining animal skin that looks somewhat like a fish scales - the shirt below made of delicate lace, the buttons climbing up her chest to the neck. Her hands are covered in thin leather gloves that end just below the wrist, the only glimpse of skin that of her face, still glittering ominously against the artificial light of her lamps.

“I’ll walk,” is all he tells her, not yet ready to deal with the great gasp of nothingness he’d felt the last time she’d used a spell to transport them both.

“You’ll do no such thing.” When she stands, she unfurls herself like a bird taking flight, gliding across the room to stand before him, gloved hands grasping at his own, and he can feel the power coursing through her, even through the leather. “Close your eyes, and think of the library.”

There’s something gentle in her voice - not the same quiet indifference from before, but almost reverent, ebbing and flowing like a low tide on the shore. Her touch beneath his palms is cool, and without meaning to, he feels his irritation begin to slip away. He can hear the beat of his heart in his ears as they stand there, his eyes slipping closed as he imagines the room in disarray, the stack of books next to the chair, the musty smell of parchment, the delicate blown glass pieces working as paperweights, and beneath it his heartbeat fades away to the rush of the ocean, waves crashing in on each other, the noise of a slack sail catching a new wind, and when he blinks again, he is standing at the foot of the desk in the library, though he can still almost smell the salty sea air around him.

She hums, low in her throat, something almost like approval on her face, though for what, he does not know. He is only grateful that whatever spell she’d used to get them here, it hadn’t torn at his gut like the first time.

“An interesting choice. Water and air. Effective, though.” She says the words more to herself than to him, already scanning the shelf closest to him, fingertips tapping at titles while she bites at the inside of her lip. She continues this way for a few minutes, searching for something, and Killian feels the irritation that had left him for such a short, blissful moment return double. She hadn’t even chosen the subject of his lessons until just that moment, it seemed.

“Oh, calm down, Jones. I may be centuries old, but even I need a moment to learn your elements.”

“My what?”

She turns to him, the book she’d slid from the shelf a moment before grasped in her hands. “Are you daft or just hard of hearing?”

“You’re speaking in tongues, milady.” Her expression flashes darkly at the epithet, and he stores the reaction in the back of his mind for when he next feels the need to irritate her.

“Your elements. The foundation on which you build your workings. The tone of your - oh for gods sake, you idiot, your magic.”

Not a single thing she could have said would have been more unwelcome, but she looked as though she were providing him with some great gift. For Killian, however, he’d felt the world shift beneath his feet for the second time in half as many days.

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Better out of it than completely without, Jones. Do try to pay attention.”

“No - you’re barking mad. I don’t have magic. You’ve made a mistake.”

Her eye roll is enough to make him want to throw the closest piece of glass against the far wall. “I’ve known you and your magic since you were a child, Killian Jones. And I don’t make mistakes.”

A feeling of dread washes over him, his mind whirring to keep up with the threads of this conversations, but there are too many strands, too many things to try to keep straight.

“Of course it’s been years since we last met. When you stopped returning to woods, I wondered if you’d been lost. I spent years attempting to find someone else, but then, a few years ago, there you were, in the same tavern where I’d last seen you.”

He remembered the night. The storm that had rolled in behind them lashed at the beach, and though Killian might have been content to spend the night soaked to his bones, Liam had insisted they find an inn for the night.

The only one left with a room to spare had been down at the far end of the lane, the bar already crowded, and something about it had prickled at Killian’s memory.

It was the inn his mother had worked in, the inn where she’d collapsed the night before the Choosing, the inn where he’d held her hand and listened to her hum quietly, where he’d begged her to stay with him, tears rushing down his face.

He stares up at the Swan now, his face darkening, his eyes a little wild. She looks - pitying, at the very least, and he imagines if he looks hard enough he might find some small bit of sorrow, but it gives him no peace.

His voice, when he can manage to speak without a waver, still cracks. “Did you take her from me?”

Shocked, her eyes widen. “No. What took her was…” She sighs. “It wasn’t my doing.”

“Then why didn’t you save her?” He can feel the anger rising within him, fierce and wild, ready to burst from him.

“She was beyond my help.”

“But you didn’t bloody try, did you? You sat there, watching my grief, watching me as my mother faded before my very eyes, while they sang your praises down below!” The storm beneath his skin continues to brew, dark and heady, crackling in his bones. “And then you didn’t even have the courtesy to take me then! Fifteen years could have come and passed for me here already, and you didn’t even take me!”

Her mouth opens and closes as she struggles to find the right words, and Killian realizes with some small sense of wonderment that the air around them has begun to crackle with static, the crips, sharp taste of lightening settling around them. “You weren’t ready,” she finally settles on, not meeting his gaze now, but as he watches, she raises her hand to hip height, her fingers twisting as though reaching for the snarl of a rope, and the air grows thinner, stilling, the electricity draining from it like it’s being siphoned away.

Without the drum of his anger, he stumbles across the room to a chair far away from her, and they sit in silence. It could be hours, for all Killian pays attention the passage of time, as he tries to muddle his way through the slow trickle of his thoughts. Without the tempest to fuel his rage, he is left hollow and tired, angry without a means to make his thoughts into words, and so he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes and tries to will himself out of existence.

“I needed you to be ready.”

He looks up to see her watching him, something echoing like concern across her features, and though he is drained of words, of energy, of will, he stands. The muscles of his legs tremble under the effort, like she’d taken more from him than just the anger.

She had, he reminds himself. She’d taken everything.

“You and your lessons can hang.”

“Killian -.” The way she says his name is almost lyrical, soft and so different from everything else she’s said, achingly familiar, and he fights the memory of it, straining at the back of his mind, like a comforting hand curled warm into his own - he spread the fingers he’d curled into a fist wide, flinging away the though.

“Come near me again, and I’ll spend the next fifteen years doing nothing but searching for a way to destroy you.”

She doesn’t fight it as he stalks away, shoving open the heavy door of the library, and it’s only once he’s reached his rooms that he realizes he’d never had the chance to eat.

But the bed, so univiting the night before, calls to him, and without another thought he slips into it, his eyes drooping closed, his hands curling into the downy pillows, and moments later he falls into dreamless sleep.

When he wakes, the room is dark save for a single, bobbing light next to the bed - one of the Swan’s creations - and there is a plate of food sitting on the stand below the light. He eats it greedily, fingers digging into the wing of meat, the vegetables melting in his mouth, and if he’d cared to notice, it would have been a wonderful meal, but the food tastes like ash in his mouth, and when he is done, he flings the plate across the room in a fit of pique and returns to his dreamless slumber.

#i would apologize for this #but i'm not terribly sorry #cs ff #leiutenant dark!swan #the price

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imnotcameraready · 5 years

Text

chivalry is dead (7)

A/N: y’all ., ., .,,. . .. we’re finally getting to the Good Shit. my hand was literally Over the “post” button and then i remembered “oh shit this is supposed to be touchstarved roman”, so, uh, that’s not reflected in this chapter at ALL. but it’s still filled to the brim with angst. but like, hurt comfort angst. i think i can call this a hurt comfort, right? right

WARNINGS: cursing, arguments, yelling, like a lot of yelling, Complex Emotions, self-hatred (implied) — if I missed anything, please let me know!!! <3 <3

Words: 6575

Pairings: im proud to say that this has some Logicality. only 20,000 words into the story and we’re finally getting small tastes of ships. still DLAMP endgame but by god.

Part 1 (chivalry is dead) — Part 2 (i’m wishing) — Part 3 (the bells of notre dame) — Part 4 (honor to us all) — Part 5 (i’ve got no strings) — Part 6 (god help the outcasts) — Part 7 (go the distance)

AO3 link!

@starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda@askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil

i hope y’all like this one!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

______(tumblr’s not letting me put a line so ive manually created it)______

It seemed that, without Roman’s focus, the Imagination sustained a regular day/night cycle. Logan made a mental note about it as they watched the sun go down behind the forest hills, perfectly in tune with his internal clock’s knowledge of the real world’s time. The sky, however, was darkening more rapidly than it would normally. While walking through the forest, he hadn’t noticed any incline changes, so perhaps the forests were thicker than he’d originally thought. The map didn’t indicate that, anyway.

It was a fascinating place, the Imagination. It seemed semi-sentient — at least, based on how the Playwright described it and from what they’d seen so far. Logan regretted not asking to see more of it when Roman was….

No. He’d ask Roman to show him once Roman had returned. His chest hurt a tiny bit to think of it. Nothing was out of reach.

He faced forward again, marching silently. Patton was humming, had been for the whole trip, humming Disney songs.

The Child was staring at Logan still. It was unnerving, for many reasons (A child? Roman was a fucking child? Why was he staring so much? How much less formed were each of the Romans? How did they select what they looked like? Who was the Child based upon? What did he believe?) so he looked away.

“Stop,” the Child patted Patton’s back, “Stop here.”

“Ooookay,” Patton stopped, and Logan stopped behind him.

They’d been walking towards the castle this whole time, away from the sunset. It was clearly huge now, with multiple large spires with red and glittering gold flags. Patton thought it looked straight out of a medieval movie, almost too grand to just be based on Disney alone, though it did bear some resemblances to the castle in Disneyland. It was incredibly pretty.

Oh, sure, he’d seen the Imagination before. Patton and Roman had sat at the window in his room and Patton would listen to Roman as he talked about the various worlds he created. Sometimes it was a balcony with seats and a tea set, but he liked the window sofa more, since he and Roman could sit in each others’ laps and bundle up beneath a pile of blankets. Patton could recognize this castle from a distance. He’d seen this setting before, with the forest and large lake and glittering dual rivers that Roman’d named and then renamed and named again, though Patton couldn’t remember what names he finally chose.

Logan seemed surprised by it all, though, and Patton didn’t want to make it seem like he was rubbing his friendship with Roman in his face. Plus, he’d never been inside. Things were a lot bigger up close.

Yeah, he could see how Logan kept frowning around the world. How he’d been glaring at the Child for the whole walk. Patton’d made a pun — “This sure is a magic kingdom, eh?” — and he hadn’t even groaned!

Patton shifted his weight on his feet, casting Logan a worried look as the logical side inspected the building before them. Whatever was eating at him, he hoped it’d settle soon, because Patton knew they’d need Logan thinking properly to get Roman put together.

“We’ve gotta go in here,” the Child pointed to the building.

It was an unassuming door with two steps leading up to it, attached to a building that looked exactly the same as the others. Besides the door was a wooden sign, fixed to the stone wall, that read “Art Museum (Ages 3–6)”. It was a fairly unassuming building, similar to the other stone buildings to the left, right, and other side of the road.

“Okay,” Patton reached out and touched the door’s handle, just to be interrupted by the Child waving his arms up.

“No! No, no, not yet!” he put his hands out.

“Not yet? Well, what’re we waitin’ for?” Patton put his hands on his hips, watching the Child with a small smile.

“The sun is lowering. It will be night soon,” Logan added, giving the sky a quick glance again.

“But the Artist can’t know that you’re Dad and Mister Logic,” the Child said, mirroring Patton’s hands-on-hips position.

Logan, on the other hand, crossed his arms in thought. “Why can’t he know? Is he a danger?”

“Nah,” the Child shook his head and pointed a finger at Logan. “The Artist doesn’t like you most.”

Logan exhaled sharply. His brow furrowed, nose scrunched, as he processed THAT. Of course,the Playwright supporting him meant there was a counter. Of course Roman didn’t harbor only positive feelings towards him. Logan knew his and Roman’s opinions differed on a multitude of topics, often resulting in unpleasant quarrels. He knew. And, yet, it hurt. “Come again?”

“The Artist doesn’t like you. Don’t worry, he doesn’t like Mister Anxiety either. Or Mister Deceit. He kinda sorta likes Dad?” the Child made a so-so motion with his hands, before letting his shoulders drop with an exaggerated groan. “Not really. He doesn’t like Dad. It’s okay, he barely likes Thomas!”

Logan looked toward Patton with a frown, now thoroughly confused, and was greeted with a similar confused pout. There was a part of Roman who just didn’t like any of them. Not even Thomas. That upset Patton fairly well, but Logan….was almost relieved.

The Child waved his hands again, sticking them up in between the two adult Sides. “Hey! Like I said, that’s okay! We just gotta walk around him and he probably won’t notice you.”

“Do you think he won’t notice that three people have entered his house? Especially two adults. Two full Sides,” Logan couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice.

If the Child noticed, he didn’t let on. “Yep! He barely looks up from the whatevers he’s working on, anyway,” he bounced on the balls of his feet, “Maybe….hm.”

He looked up at the sky and rubbed his hands together. Above them was a thick cloud. It would probably rain that night; they were still looking for him, anyway.

The Artist was probably getting worried. Right? Curfew was coming up soon and if Child got caught, Thief and Bard would be upset, and so Artist would be upset, too, right?

“We have to go in. If he asks, uh,” an idea popped into the Child’s head, and he snapped his fingers. “You can say you’re Dad guy and Teacher guy!”

Logan’s eye twitched. “Do you mean the characters from Thomas’ short videos?”

The last semblances of seriousness Logan held inside himself was shattered by the Child’s enthusiastic nodding. “Yeppers! They’re really nice! Teach is really good at making Dad laugh, and since this all happened, they’ve been—”

“The Shorts characters are alive inside the Imagination,” Logan wasn’t even trying to hide his disdain anymore.

He’d been half angry, half curious as they marched through the sleepy town. He could accept magic, sure, he could suspend his disbelief. It made sense that the Dominoes guy was in here. That was backed by science. But what in the name of Newton did the Shorts characters—

“Logan,” Patton held his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, “This is the Imagination.”

—okay, really, why the FUCK were the Shorts characters real in here?! — and the Child was now just rambling on about characters who were actually fictional. Characters who were characters. Scratch his curiosity from earlier, the Imagination followed no reason and he wanted out. Immediately.

Patton squeezed Logan’s hand again, in a rhythm, one two three four, tight, and raised his other hand toward the Child, who was still talking.

“Hey, kiddo,” the Child immediately quieted, looking up at Patton, “This all sounds fun, but can we talk more about it when we’re inside?”

Patton immediately regretted interrupting him. The Child’s lip curled inward, eyes growing wider as he nodded silently. He looked at Logan, who was scowling at the door, and wilted.

“Yeah. Not important. Okay,” the Child took the door handle and flung it open.

Before Patton could respond, he darted in. Logan looked at Patton, scowl replaced with a confused raised eyebrow, oblivious to the quiet tension he’d missed while internally monologuing.

Patton just slouched. The Child was more skittish than he’d anticipated.

The museum was dark and dusty, though not unintelligible. Patton entered first. There were drawings everywhere, some on actual pieces of paper, some on torn-out notebook pages, some on the wall itself. All of which were children’s drawings, of course, scribbles and splotches of paint. In the halls were also some sculptures on pedestals, most seemingly made of Playdough.

He stopped by a drawing of a house, two windows and a door, and read the placard beside it. Patton was pretty sure he had the same drawing in his room, tucked away in an old photo album.

“Thomas and Roman Sanders. House 41, 1994. Crayon on cardstock.”

Patton felt tears coming to his eyes. Thomas was only five, oh those were good times, learning about the world around him! Such a soft era. And Thomas’ grown so much since then, too.

This was an interesting place for someone to live, but considering his name was Artist, it made sense for him to live amongst his work. Patton turned around, a bright smile on his face, and motioned Logan to join him. “Logan! Come look at the art!”

Logan was standing just inside the door, which was closed behind him, eyes examining the exhibit. It was disorganized and clearly unkempt. Roman must not have visited in a while. Or maybe he didn’t have a curator for this museum. Before he could respond to Patton’s call, the Child’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“Are you coming?”

Logan and Patton shared a look, one disgruntled and one sheepish, and hurried down the hall lined with childish artwork. There were more houses, some family drawings, a fun looking self portrait with bright colors.

“Hurried” is an overstatement. Logan had to pull Patton away from a drawing on more than one occasion.

“Down here,” the Child’s whispers bounced along the walls.

They entered a room, still lined with drawings, and found the Child standing in front of one of the artworks. He held out a hand to them. “C’mon, we’re going in,” he said.

Logan squinted at the painting in question. Yes, painting, done in “Crayola Washable Paint on Cardboard,” according to the placard beside it. “Thomas and Roman Sanders. House 118.”

He looked at Patton for support that this was absolutely ridiculous, but was only met with another shrug. “It’s the Imagination,” he said, as though that explained everything, “Don’t think too hard, or you’ll get a headache.”

Too late for that, Logan thought, though he stopped himself from pondering. Instead, he grit his teeth and held Patton’s arm, determined to get to the bottom of this figurative rabbit hole. Patton himself took the Child’s hand.

The Child gripped Patton’s hand and leaned toward the painting. He pinched the painted door’s handle, tugged.

They all felt a pulling sensation, the Child pulling Patton who pulled Logan.

And then there was a door before them.

It was as though someone poured white paint all over their surroundings, from every angle, wiping away the museum they’d come from and leaving a blank emptiness behind them, all within less than a second.

Logan stared at the door. Then he turned, slow and steady, overlooking the blank white expanse. Like an empty page.

Something wasn’t computing. It’s the Imagination, he repeated in his mind, like Patton’d said earlier.

Directly behind them was the only piece of “world” they could see other than the door. It was another painting, of the museum, of the room that they’d just left, hanging in the middle of nothing.

Social realism, Logan thought. The painting’s placard read “Roman Sanders. The Art Museum repaint, 2019. Oil on canvas.” A reverse portal, created recently. Logan almost wanted to touch it and see how dry the paint was.

“C’mon, we gotta go inside,” the Child whispered, giving Patton’s hand a tug.

Patton, in turn, tugged Logan, who turned back around. “Sorry, this is just….” fascinating? Interesting? Enchanting? Something I would like to experiment with Roman on further? “Different.”

Patton watched the Child as he watched Logan. Roman was clearly still in there, Patton thought, and he didn’t want to be. And, to be frank, Patton understood that feeling. There were many days where he wanted to curl up into his hoodie and be young again, if only to hear a good joke once more. Those were the two-cookie kinds of days!

Maybe Logan couldn’t see what Patton was seeing? The Child’s big wide eyes, staring at Logan and Patton as though searching for approval. Or how he tried so hard to ignore Logan’s obvious contempt for the situation. It was obvious that the Child was actively trying to ignore it, but Patton didn’t miss how he flinched at Logan’s tone. The Child wasn’t naïve, not entirely — in certain turns of phrase and side-glances, the Child revealed his thirty years of life experiences.

But the Child also didn’t seem to notice that Logan wasn’t angry about the world. No, Patton thought as Logan turned back to the museum painting quickly, he was more upset at himself for not being able to understand it.

“Different,” Logan repeated, brow furrowed. It didn’t feel like the right word. He wasn’t usually one to have vocabulary troubles, but he couldn’t find a more adequate word.

It satiated the Child. Or, rather, the Child was thinking of something else. His hand was stiff on the doorknob. Patton leaned in, letting go of Logan finally to put both hands on the Child’s shoulders. “Go ahead,” he whispered. He hoped the Child could feel how much Patton loved him.

Perhaps he did, because the Child calmed down. Enough for him to open the door.

The most notable thing was the mess. There were a lot of things inside that door. Canvases, sketchbooks, pens, pencils, paint sets, notebooks, cups of water, all in piles or scattered about the floor. Some canvases were hung on the walls, too, and some were laid flat on the ground. Others were stacked atop each other or leaned in bunches against the walls. There was a clear path through the mess on the floor, that branched to the stairs on the left and then into the kitchen on the right. Logan could see a drawing tablet over there, too, propped against the wall. Where the laptop was, he couldn’t tell. Patton could see that most of the paintings were unfinished. Whether it be sketch lines still showing or just clearly half-painted, half-white canvases, not a single finished piece was in this clutter.

The second most notable thing was the person painting.

Another Roman — the Artist, most likely — was sitting on a stool in front of a painting on an easel. It was also only an assumption that he was another Roman, because he absolutely did not look it, clad in a white hoodie covered in paint splotches and red sweatpants, hood pulled up and covering his hair. The only thing that indicated his Roman status was the golden waves adorning his sleeves, the same as the waves on Roman’s crest.

He held a large painting palette in his right hand and a brush in his left, dabbing oil paint against the half-finished canvas in front of him. Another work in progress, it seemed.

The clutter and the painting didn’t bother the Child. He closed the door behind himself, being careful to not slam it, and cleared his throat.

The other Roman didn’t move nor speak. Just kept painting, dabbing his brush on the palette and swiping it along the canvas. The painting was unfinished, but it looked so far like an impressionist piece, Logan thought.

The Child coughed again, yet the other Roman didn’t flinch.

“I’m back, Arty,” he said.

“I heard you,” came the impatient reply, snappy and fast, the Artist not turning to speak to them, “Who’s with you?”

“Dad. And Teach. Dragon was mean today,” the Child was playing with the hem of his shirt

“Mhm.”

“It’s curfew. They couldn’t go back to their houses.”

“Mhm.”

“So they’re gonna sleep here. I’ll keep them in my room.”

“Mhm.”

The Child took Logan and Patton’s hands into his own again and pulled them toward the stairs. “Good luck with your painting,” his voice teetered off into silence as the Artist failed to turn again.

Patton opened his mouth, but the Child squeezed his hand and shook his head. Logan took a little more tugging, as he stood by the bottom of the stairs, trying to look at all the paintings. Some were paintings — oil impressionist, pop art, surrealism and cubism, even some De Stijl paintings — some were simple figure drawings on lightly-crumpled paper, some even….was that a painting of Virgil?

The Child tugged harder and Logan stumbled after him.

They made it to the top of the stairs. The Child let go of Patton and opened the door, ushering both of them in before slamming the door shut behind himself.

This was probably the most regular room they’d seen so far in the Imagination. A small twin bed sat in the corner, with a big canopy and fairy lights overtop. There were streamers and drawings and posters hanging all around the walls, even some stickers and some drawings done directly onto the wall. A wardrobe sat in the corner farthest from the bed, a desk and vanity mirror besides that, and five bean bags were arranged in a circle around a circle rug in the middle of the room.

There was an air of magic around the room, too. The fairy lights bobbed up and down slowly, despite being hung on wires, and the clouds painted onto the ceiling seemed to move. The ceiling was fairly low, too; Patton reached up, eyes stuck on a cloud in the shape of a heart, and found that he could actually touch them. The heart swirled around his hand, glowing light blue before dissipating entirely.

“Sorry about him,” Patton and Logan looked down at the Child — he’d gone to the wardrobe and was taking off his cloak, revealing a plain white shirt with the crest’s sun emblazoned across his back. “Artist’s, uh, not a people person.”

“So we saw. His work, however….it’s breathtaking,” Logan stepped aside as Patton went for one of the beanbags, “I didn’t realize Roman was that much of an artist.”

The Child snorted. He sat down on one of the other beanbags and started untying his shoes, chubby fingers unlacing them down a few notches. “Yeah, well. You never seemed interested. No one was. Arty doesn’t like leaving his art all alone, so ever since we formed he’s been in here with it.”

“Yeah, you said somethin’ like that.” Patton crossed his legs on the bean bag, leaning forward on his elbows toward the Child. “The Playwright also said something about everyone having different thoughts on what’s best for Roman.”

“Playwright!” the Child tossed his shoes into the corner behind the door and laid back in the bean bag, spread out with his arms open. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen him in a while, is he okay?”

Logan let his shoulders loosen and slouch. It….did feel good to unwind, after the events of the day. Maybe the adrenaline and shock were wearing off finally. He sat down on another bean bag, bending his knees as though he were in a normal chair. “Yes, he is fine. He is, ah, backstage, as he called it.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Artist doesn’t like Playwright at all,” Logan and Patton shared another confused glance at that, “Thief says it’s ‘cause he doesn’t like mister Logic, but I think he doesn’t like you ‘cause he doesn’t like Playwright.”

“Why doesn’t he like the Playwright? That seems counterintuitive, to not like yourself,” As soon as the words left Logan’s mouth, he realized how hypocritical it sounded. And how obvious the explanation was.

Patton seemed to notice as well, because he grimaced, putting a hand on top of Logan’s knee. The Child, however, just shrugged. “Well, I don’t like all of me, you know? I wanted to figure out what parts of me I could live without, but every part of me has an opinion about what part’s important.”

“I?” Logan asked, softer now.

The Child nodded. “Roman. I,” he made a gesture up at the air, and it reminded Patton a little of the hand flip Roman typically did when rising. “I’m Roman but I’m not Roman.”

“How does that work, kiddo?” Patton coaxed him.

“It’s like….” he trailed off, resting his hand on his chin as he thought. After a few quiet moments, he continued.

“Okay,” The Child sat up and patted his own chest. “Me. I’m the Child. AND I’m Roman. I’m all….”

He flopped backward again onto the bean bag, making vague gestures with his hands as he wrestled to find the words, only to find that there were none. No words truly.

The Child let his hands fall onto his stomach with a groan, staring upwards. Patton and Logan shared a nervous glance. It was clear something was bothering the Child, something integral to this Hunger Games of Romans situation.

“Take your time, kiddo,” Patton tried to comfort him, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The Child was just looking up at the sky ceiling. After another few seconds, he heaved a sigh.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The sky?” Logan and Patton both looked up as well.

“With all the clouds that look like pretty things. And even if they don’t look like things, they look soft and fluffy and wonderful. And then, when there aren’t clouds, it’s the most beautiful shade of blue or a dazzling red, like how a nice summer night makes you feel?” The ceiling had been full of fluffy white clouds, meandering across the painted blue expanse, but as soon as the Child mentioned “dazzling red” the clouds began to glow pink as the ceiling’s paint color changed to red. He clapped.

“Or, or! Even better, sometimes, when it’s really, really late, and there are stars out? And every star is like a gem on a glittering cloak that the world’s putting on you?” the ceiling changed once more, painted black as the clouds vanished. One by one, twinkling stars seemed to glow from nothing against the ceiling backdrop. In actual constellations, no less.

“It’s all so….” the Child exhaled, “Beautiful.”

Silence followed. All three of them were now laying on the bean bags, looking up at the twinkling stars and the occasional barely visible line that connected them. They just starred, Logan and Patton unsure of how to break the silence, until the Child continued himself.

“That’s what I want Roman to remember,” Patton looked at the Child, who was watching the stars. He spoke with a strong determination, voice set. “That’s what I want to see. The beauty.”

He faltered, closing his open mouth and gritting his teeth. Logan looked away from the sky now, too, and watched the Child as he closed his eyes. Wiser than he seemed. “But that makes me really childish, doesn’t it? If we just see the beauty, then that means we’re ignoring all the bad stuff. And if we’re too childish, we don’t get taken seriously, and we really need to be taken seriously. I mean….”

The Child glanced over at Patton, and he could have sworn that the Child had tears in his eyes. Oh, he hoped he wasn’t crying. Patton reached out, offering his hand to maybe comfort him, but the Child just shrugged, unwilling to look at him anymore.

“We see how you get treated, Dad,” Patton’s brow furrowed in confusion, hand retracting a little, as though the Child’s words hurt. “No one takes you serious and you always have to prove yourself. We don’t take you serious, either, a lot of the time. ‘Cause if you’re childish, then you don’t deserve to be taken seriously. That’s what Roman tells himself. Tells me. But it’s wrong.”

Now the silence was just awkward. Patton lowered his hand into his lap as the Child looked back up at the sky. There was no denying now, now that the Child’s quiet breathing hitched and stuttered, that he was crying.

“It has to be wrong,” he whispered between gasps.

Slowly, the Child pulled his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes and sniffing into his hands. Patton was going to start crying himself, watching the Child cry. He turned to Logan with a bitten lip. He knew, deep down, that the others didn’t always take his opinion seriously. Heck, it was a running theme! Patton the childish, the inner child, the baby. But Jesus, that was point blank.

“You’re correct, Roman. I don’t always understand you both, but the things I don’t understand aren’t…they aren’t unimportant. Occasional immaturity does not equal insignificant. We….” Logan faltered and looked up at Patton, who was staring at him now, tears dotting his eyes.

They really did walk on him, didn’t they? Logan considered the times he had helped elevate Patton’s concerns, and the situations in which Patton’s concerns were elevated. No one took the puppet suggestion seriously, until it was proven successful, and Thomas himself had to step in to get them to even consider it as an option. Along with that, Deceit was able to mimic Patton by, what? Literally saying he was a fan of cartoons and was silly? It was so easy to character Patton into a caricature of immature glee that he, Roman, and Virgil barely noticed.

That was the insult, wasn’t it. Childish. Not to be taken seriously. Silly and immature. Was that what he thought of Patton?

Patton wiped his tears and looked away. “I….guess that’s true. But hey! That’s what comes with being Thomas’ inner child, isn’t it?” there he went, voice heightening in pitch as he tried to make it sound as though he weren’t so upset with Logan’s silence and the Child’s assessment. “Your dorky ol’ Dad can be a lil’ goofball a lot of the time.”

“Your goofball-ness is welcome, often appreciated. We….do have a lot to learn, about having fun and seeing things anew.”

Patton looked over at Logan, who was watching him with determination. The Child, too, was watching Logan with both eyebrows raised, having grabbed a pillow from his side to press his face into. His eyes were two large spotlights.

“I do not understand the Imagination. I cannot claim to. But there IS immense beauty in this world you’ve created, and I see that it would be a waste to focus on making logical sense of it rather than take in the world around as a work of art. It might be childish, but sometimes….a little childishness is what we need to maintain a healthy lifestyle and a healthy headspace. Your input is appreciated.”

If Roman was having these sorts of concerns, about being perceived as childish or not, then Logan knew it was likely Patton had similar concerns. He chided himself mentally for letting this self-consciousness fester but a direct approach was always the most efficient.

And it was all worth it to see Patton smile and remove his glasses, wiping the tears from his downcast eyes.

“Thank you for sharing your concerns with us, kiddo,” the Child smiled at the nickname and rubbed the back of his neck, turning away for a bit. Patton smiled at him, then at Logan, beaming like the sun. “Logan put it real well.”

Logan fixed his glasses, pleased with himself, and the Child patted his arm. “Thank you, Logan,” he said.

They sat in silence, eyes flicking with new brief understanding between each other, until there was banging from below the floor. Patton squeaked and Logan stiffened, but the Child just groaned into his pillow.

“WHAT’RE YOU TALKING ABOUT UP THERE?!” the Artist’s voice boomed from below.

“JUST TALKIN’ ABOUT THE OTHER SIDES WITH TEACH,” the Child shouted back, voice muffled by the pillow.

“WELL, SHUT UP ‘BOUT THEM! THE DRAGON BITCH’LL HEAR YOU!”

“YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

“YOU BRATTY LITTLE—DON’T MAKE ME COME UP THERE!”

The Child leaned his back, groaning loud and angrily. “FINE! SORRY!”

Logan and Patton exchanged worried glances. Had the Artist heard that whole conversation? They looked to the Child for any thoughts or input, but he just shook his head.

“He won’t come upstairs. Ugh, I was doing real good at not saying your names,” he rubbed his face, rubbing the tears into his skin to hide them, “It’s–It’s like the taboo system. Dragon, he put a curse on your names so all of us can hear it when someone says them. The others aren’t really scared of that, they–they….Artist doesn’t want anyone finding this house. He heard me say your name, mister Logic.”

Before either of the adults could respond, however, there was another crash from downstairs. The Child frowned and climbed off the bean bag, kneeling on the ground with an ear pressed to the rug.

“What—” Patton was cut off by the Child shushing him harshly.

They weren’t confused for long, though, as the voices grew more raised and angry.

“—TOLD YOU—FUCK OUT!” they heard the Artist shout.

“I WILL ONCE YOU STOP TALKING SHIT ABOUT THE OTHERS! THEY’RE IN OUR REALM NOW, THEY COULD HEAR YOU!”

Patton raised his eyebrows. He looked at Logan, who was frowning at nothing. When he noticed Patton, Logan mouthed “Playwright.” He didn’t seem like the type to be so….explosive.

“WELL TOUGH, PLAYWRONG. I DONT GIVE A FUCK IF THEY HEAR ME! I JUST DON’T WANT DRAGON SHOWING UP, THOSE UNGRATEFUL CRITICAL ASSHOLES—”

“THEY’RE MUCH MORE THAN THAT, THEY’RE BETTER THAN ALL OF US COMBINED, YOU STARVING STEREOTYPE—”

The Child stood up slowly, stepping carefully on the rug and sliding his feet along the wooden floor. He slid all the way to the door. As slow as he could, he clicked the lock in place, and let out a breath. The yelling died down immediately to a whisper, as though locking the door disconnected the room from the whole house.

“That’ll keep them out. They’re probably not gonna come up here, can’t get into my room now, but if they find you then we’re all fucked,” he mumbled.

“Language,” Patton mumbled, and the Child giggled at him. “No swear words when there’re children present, you know that!”

“Yeah, yeah—” the Child cut himself off with a yawn, shoulders hiking up slowly.

He shuffled back to the bean bags and collapsed into the one he’d been sitting in. He curled into a ball, huffing a small sigh. Patton yawned, too, and smacked his lips. Logan had to stifle a yawn himself. They were contagious.

It had been a long day. They were due for a sleep, especially after the arduous experiences they’d had throughout the day.

“Y’know, I didn’t think the Playwright’d let y’all in,” the Child’s words jumbled over each other, and he covered his mouth as he yawned again.

“What makes you say that?” Logan pressed.

Despite the tiredness, he knew there was something wrong with his initial read of the Playwright, and this situation didn’t leave space for those kinds of errors. The Child shrugged. “I….from what I know, he’s more….he likes things done his way. He really wants all of you approve of him. Mostly mister Logic, but all of you. And he really, really, really doesn’t like Princey. Him an’ Dragon an’—an’—” the Child yawned again, mumbling the rest of his sentence incoherently, but Logan didn’t process that.

There was another mention of this “Dragon” character. Logan rubbed his cheek, arms crossed on his knees as he ran the new information through his mind. The Playwright was volatile — he scoffed quietly, of COURSE Roman, with his boisterousness and exuberance, wouldn’t be able to contain his energetic nature into something reserved and quiet. He had his quiet moments, but he couldn’t maintain stoicism forever. They would have to assess him again, it seemed.

“I thought….” Patton whispered, and Logan looked up at him.

Patton’s eyes were downcast at the ground, brow furrowed in anguish. He’d thought they’d gotten at least one part of Roman, one bit to understand that they were accepted. That Roman was LOVED, damnit, because that’s what it was! He was loved, Roman was loved, and by God it felt like he’d failed if one of his friends doubted that so much that he couldn’t believe that.

“I’m gonna sleep. Just right here. Y’all can take the bed if y’all want,” the Child’s voice slurred together, halfway asleep already and cutting into both adults’ trains of thought.

Patton sighed. He slowly switched into Dad Mode as he pushed himself up and rolled his shoulders. “Nope. You’re a growing boy, kiddo, you’re goin’ in the bed.”

He stooped down and picked the Child up, chuckling quietly as he groaned in dramatic despair. Still, the Child wrapped his arms around Patton’s neck lazily, snuggling against him once more. Logan crossed his legs on the bean bag and watched as Patton sat on the bed, rubbing the Child’s back, and tried to pry him off.

“You need to get in bed, kiddo,” Patton whispered gently, “You’ve gotta sleep. A prince needs his beauty sleep, right?”

The Child giggled. “I’m not a–a–a,” he yawned again, “A prince! I’m a child!”

“But you’re gonna grow up to be one! You’re gonna grow up to be a great prince, ruling over all the Imagination,” Patton was whisper shouting, putting on a grandiose voice full of gusto.

He mimicked blowing a trumpet with one hand and the Child laughed, patting Patton’s hand down.

“Nuh uh!” he hummed between tired giggles.

Logan stood up behind Patton and gently took the Child’s hands. The Child looked up at him, squeezing Logan’s hands sleepily and giggling.

“You will be a valiant prince,” he lifted the Child’s hands away from Patton, and he took the cue to start tucking the Child into bed, “You will be a prince, lion-hearted and loved. But tonight, you must sleep.”

The Child squeezed his left hand, then his right, and laid down in the bed he’d been placed in. He looked so comforted as Patton pulled the blanket up higher around his face, big brown eyes questioning as he looked up at Logan from beneath the edge of the blanket.

“Will they listen to me?” his voice was thick as he teetered between unconsciousness and lucidity, “Will–Will they care, when I’m a prince?”

Logan nodded at him, and Patton nodded too. They were both sure, sure as the sky is blue. “Yes,” Patton whispered, “Everyone will hear you. And you’ll live happily ever after, my Prince.”

The Child giggled quietly. Slowly, he snuggled into the bed, and his hold on Logan’s hands relinquished, now gripping the blanket as he curled into a ball. Within mere seconds, he was snoring softly.

Patton stepped back and stretched. He looked up at Logan, who was removing his glasses in preparation for sleep.

“Wanna sleep on the floor?” Patton asked, “Or should we stack the beanbags in a square and use those as a bed?”

Logan considered the bean bags for a moment, actually, before deciding the morning back pain wouldn’t be worth it. “I think we can suffer the floor for a night,” he said, taking his coat off and spreading it out on the ground.

Patton followed suit, throwing his cat cloak down and spreading it out like a bed mat. They both slowly climbed to the ground beside each other, fitting themselves into the space that was to be their sleeping mat, grabbing some of the pillows and stuffed animals strewn about. At least the carpet was soft, adding extra padding. They both laid down, heads resting on some of the Child’s pillows, staring up at the stars on the ceiling.

Though they were both tired, Patton wanted to clear one thing up before letting himself drift off.

“....Lo,” Patton asked, voice soft. “Lo, are you awake?”

Logan sniffed. He was actually partway asleep already. “Yes, Pa—er. Patt.”

Patton giggled. It wasn’t always that he got to hear Logan call him by a nickname. He sobered up fast, though. “Did you mean what you said? About…about appreciating the childish things.”

Ah. Logan opened an eye. Patton smiled sheepishly at him.

He still had his glasses on. Logan turned to his side, facing Patton, reaching a hand out and taking his glasses off carefully. He slowly folded them and set them aside on the ground, with his.

“Of course I did. You provide important opinions and insight, often noticing details I….overlook,” Logan rested his hand on Patton’s shoulder, “You are appreciated.”

Patton beamed with a wobbly lip, more tears threatening to spill over. He slowly took Logan’s hand and pressed it to his lips. Not in a kiss, per se, but more to hold him close. To show that he was so thankful, so grateful for this acknowledgement. Plus, he was afraid that the tears would spill if he opened his mouth.

Logan didn’t seem to mind, though his face did turn a brighter shade of crimson, just barely visible in the starlight.

After a few seconds, Patton regained his stability. “Thanks,” he whispered. “We...we’re gonna get Roman back.”

Logan nodded, discombobulated. Patton’s breath on the back of his hand was comfortingly warm. There was that feeling in his chest. What was that?

He let go of Logan’s hand and rolled back onto his back, letting out a sign of contentedness. Their little prince was fast asleep and the next day would bring more trials. They had to find Virgil and Deceit and hopefully the Roman who’d been on the roof. They had to talk to the Artist. They had to confront the Playwright. They had to find the OTHERS and talk to THEM.

And Patton knew they’d be able to face it all head-on. He knew it in his heart. “Goodnight, Lo’. I love you.”

Logan exhaled beside him. Perhaps….things would be okay. He looked over at Patton, whose eyes were already closed, legs crossed and hands interlaced on his chest in a peaceful manner.

There was that feeling again. The data points — he was too tired to be thinking coherently, look at him, applying statistics knowledge to emotions of all things — indicated that he felt warm and fluttery near his lungs whenever he considered the other Sides. It felt as though his lungs were clenching, breathing constricting and carbon dioxide exhalation warming. That couldn’t be literal, though, or else he’d be ill. On this particular adventure, in this particular day, it’d happened a few times.

Perhaps he was just tired. It had been a long day, all of this just in one day. Logan would consider this issue more in the morning. However, he would indulge in the working hypothesis just once, whilst muddled in this warm-chested comforting confusion. “....I love you, too, Patt. Sleep well.”

It may have been a trick of the light or his mind, but Logan thought, just before he closed his eyes, that he’d seen Patton smile at him.

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