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mintsuke · 4 years

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Second Chance (k.s.)

In which; Kita Shinsuke falls for his daughter’s f!kindergarten teacher.

WC: 6.6K

A/N; 200 follower special!! 😳 ty all again and I hope you enjoy and lmk what you think <3

*Slight reference to Clannad :’)

Warnings!: mentions of death, miscarriage, cheating

First day of school jitters weren’t a thing in Kita’s book. There was no such thing when he was always prepared with all his supplies in his satchel and knowledge of where and what class he was in. Why was there a need to be nervous as long as you studied and prepared like usual?

It hadn’t even registered in his mind that he was nervous until he had to let go of the tiny hand curled around his index finger. There was only three times he’d ever felt nervous, his chest twisting crudely and his stomach fluttering uncomfortably with butterflies. One of which, he’d like to never have to relive.

And currently. It was scarily coming back to him like a pick up truck hurling towards him at dangerous speeds.

He almost forgot how to breathe as other parents kiss the bubbly cheeks of their own children and watch as the students stand in line as best as they can in front of their classroom.

“Papa?” the little girl asked, her large hazel eyes blinked at his strained chestnut own, cheeks full and pinch-able, and mouth wide in excitement. His grandmother had helped pull her dark hair into cute little pig tails, not taking a no for an answer when the little one threw a fit about being a big girl now.

“Kita Erina-chan?”

A breath. Then all oxygen once again left his lungs as he snapped his head up to greet his daughter’s teacher.

You stand there with a warm smile, eyes crinkled and nose slightly scrunched. A striped apron had been tied over your clothes.

He’s not even quite sure of his own reaction as he watches with deaf ears as your lips move, but all he can hear is his heart thrumming loudly in his ears. He doesn’t snap out of his stupor until he realizes you’re calling out his family name in confusion.

“Oh... I apologize...” He mutters in a fluster, scratching the back of his neck nervously. Looking around now, he’s probably one of the last parents to let go of their child, and he can’t help the heat that crawls over his cheeks.

It was unlike him to act shy like this as well.

“No worries. A lot of parents have a little reluctance on the first day of school. I mean who wouldn’t when you look at these cute little ones,” You smile down at Erina, who mirrors your expression as you hold out your hand, “Shall we go? I have a lot of fun things planned for you, Erina-chan!”

The heartbreak is unbearable when the little girl releases her hold on his index finger after a brief kiss on his forehead.

“Tell Papa see you later!” You instruct jovially to Erina, who parrots the phrase cutely, as you and the girl lead the line of kindergartners into the classroom.

Kita’s attention is divided between the absolute adorableness of his own child, and the comfortable way you had just referred to him as papa. It doesn’t even kick in that he’s so smitten with your mere appearance until he’s halfway home and realizes he didn’t catch your introduction and name during his stupor.

He forgets, however, that work needs to be done in the field, and regretfully relinquishes picking up his daughter to his grandmother - who claims the walk is nothing for her strong bones. He’d beg to differ, but kept his thoughts to himself and waited until he returned home to Erina and his granny welcoming him home with dinner.

“How was school?” He asked as he opened his arm wide to beckon her onto his lap. Bouncing, she nearly cannonballs onto his crossed legs, briefly hugging her father before kissing his cheek happily.

“It was fun!” She exclaimed, going on to excitedly recount her day. He smiled and listened carefully to her story of playing tag with the other kids, her new favorite book being the one you had read during story time, and the drawing she had made during art - which she ran all the way to her room to grab to show him.

“Oh who’s this?” Kita asks curiously as he places his pointer over what he presumed to be a woman holding the child’s hand, the other being held by a man. At least from what he could out of her block-y crayon shapes and mitten-hands and waves to indicate long hair.

“(L/n)-sensei!” Erina grins toothily.

“You really like your teacher?” A question to which she nods mirthfully to.

Yumie smiles in adoration at the child of her grandson, “She’s a very nice woman, very pretty and young... A perfect match.”

Kita’s eyes narrowed for a half second at the glint in his grandmother’s eyes. What was she trying to hint at?

In all honesty though...

You were pretty.

Ah.

Pushing aside the thought, he made a sound of mild appraisal as he distracts himself with his glass of water. His cheeks flushing in mild embarrassment.

As much as he’d hate to admit it, his grandmother was sharp and sly, she loved teasing when the moment warranted it.

She took every chance she got.

Especially after another day of work for Kita and school for Erina.

“Say Eri-chan, is (L/n)-sensei married?”

Kita choked on his water. Faking a cough to hide the mishap, before dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

“Nope!”

The look of knowing crosses his grandmother’s face, and he can only silently continue to eat his meal.

“Goodnight Eri-chan,” Kita smiles softly down at his daughter, stroking the back of his fingertips over her plump and rosy cheeks. Just like her’s. Those hazel irises that reflected her similar ones, glimmering with curiosity and mischief.

“I love you, Papa,” the young girl yawns in a sluggish manner, eyelids falling close and open as she struggles to stay awake.

Settling down beside her, he turns on his side to allow his daughter to curl against his body. Arms wrapping around her much smaller form securely.

“I love you too.”

He thought that maybe he was just attracted to you. You were a single and beautiful woman, that much was clear. That was just it though, right?

Right?

No.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t dare to love another woman.

Yet, why did he feel so empty? Why was he looking at another woman the way he was?

He had no answer.

Why did he tend to watch as you corralled the children in a somewhat single-file line into the school building? What were these fleeting glances you both shared, a timid smile from your part, and a blush burning on his cheeks as he nods firmly to greet you silently.

Your smile was gentle. Tender and soft, just like her’s.

Crap..

This was fine.

Besides, Erina never expressed a curiosity for her absence of a mother. Why should she, when she had a mother figure like his granny?

It was fine like this. Kita didn’t need to date. He shouldn’t.

At least that was what he kept telling himself. Mother’s day had come and passed, Kita and Erina had spent the night making a mess out of the kitchen in an effort to make dinner and a cake for Yumie. He’d thought everything was fine.

“How was the mother’s day breakfast?” He asked her when he helped her set up their futon for the night.

Her smile was a little more somber this time around, unlike her usual bubbly and wild grin that lit up the world. This one felt sad and he wanted to know why.

“It was good!”

“Want to tell me about it? Why do you look so sad?”

Her gaze fell to her hands, just as her smile did.

“Well, we ate onigiri and sandwiches and desserts that (L/n)-sensei made for us!”

“But?” He pressed slightly.

The girl clasped her fingers over the bedding. Her head tilt downward, her dark hair falling over her head like a curtain that hid her sad expression from his gaze.

“Everyone else had their mamas...”

His smile never faltered, although the pain in his chest grew.

“You don’t like granny accompanying you?”

“No!” She exclaims abruptly, “I... the other boys and girls noticed that I had only brought granny... and I felt sad. Where’s Mama? How come I’m the only one without one?”

She never did have a reason to ask. Now that she does, he’s not sure how to answer. He doesn’t want to upset her with the truth, but lying to her was no good.

“She’s not with us anymore.”

He thought that answer would suffice. Erina looked dejected at the answer but slept on it.

Perhaps a day to the park, when she doesn’t have school and he’s got a day off from working away in the farm, will mend the pieces he’s broken from revealing half the truth of her mother’s whereabouts. She didn’t deserve that kind of pain at this age. It just didn’t help her desire for a mother figure, a real one that she would call Mama.

“Oh! Kita-san?”

His heart nearly skips a beat before increasing exponentially in rhythm.

You’re standing above him, Kita sitting on the bench while watching his daughter play with the neighborhood children, grocery bags hanging from your forearms. His eyes make a mistake to examine your figure as a whole.

No apron. Just casual clothing on your day off with no need to look nice for your students. Yet, he couldn’t help but admire your natural beauty. Simply effortless.

Erina immediately notices you and comes racing over, calling your name out brightly before greeting you with a tight hug around your hips. You smile warmly at the girl, greeting her politely as she rejoins the children again.

Kita is in awe. He’d imagined this scene millions of times. Erina running into open arms, two pairs of hazel eyes gazing at one another with affection, kisses pressed to the girl’s forehead with whispered praises of her cuteness.

“Mama!” he imagined her say it dozens of times. Not out of sadness that she was different from her classmates who had mothers, but out of love for the woman who had given birth to her.

“Kita-san?”

He blinks, eyes widening a fraction before he bows his head in your direction.

“Sorry, I was very deep in my thoughts.”

Taking a seat on the bench beside him, you laugh slightly, and he can’t help but adore the sound. It brings a fluffy feeling in his chest and he can’t remember the last time he’d felt such a way, or heard her laugh.

“You’re thinking a little too hard, don’tcha think?” You say with a soft chuckle following your teasing. He doesn’t answer, but you take this into stride and direct your attention to the adorable mini Kita playing on the monkey bars.

“Eri-chan, is so cute and lovable,” You say after a brief moment passes, “You’re a lucky father, Kita-san.”

His lips quirk and you can’t help but stare, his expression nostalgic and sad.

“I am, she reminds me a lot of my wife.”

“Her mother must be a kind and gentle woman.” You comment good-naturedly.

“She was.” He says with that same, fond expression.

“A lucky woman indeed,” You chuckle, slightly envious of the woman who captured his heart. “Pardon me if I’m intruding, but does your wife work often? Eri-chan looked a little sad after our mother’s day activities.”

“Oh. I...” he trails off.

He looks slightly uncomfortable, his smile falling and you feel like you had in fact crossed a line. He’s unsure how to put the words together, but you stop him with a hand held up.

“Don’t worry about it, I apologize for pressing too far.”

Blinking, he opens his mouth, but you grant him that gentle smile of yours. He hates that it reminds him so much of her. Everything about you felt serene and soothing to be around, that darned smile of yours made him feel weak and vulnerable. He always was around her.

“Not at all, but thank you.”

You cast him a sidelong glance before standing up, looping your wrists through the loops of the plastic bags.

“Well, I suppose I should be heading home now, it was nice seeing you both outside of school.”

He’s not sure what compels him to, but he stands abruptly. The action causes you to stop and wait for him to say something, and he’s not even sure why he reacted the way he did. Warmth spreads across his cheeks, the hue noticeable to your amusement.

“Um would you like some help with your groceries?”

The question shocks both you and himself. Your eyes widen a fraction before crinkling, accompanied by that beautiful smile.

“How gentlemanly of you Kita-san,” You chuckle, “I’m okay though, the sentiment is appreciated.”

He doesn’t argue, almost feeling embarrassed by his own rashness. Erina seems to notice that you’re preparing to leave and comes running over to hug you goodbye. His stomach is turning, chest twisting, but his expression keeps a small smile as you bid your farewells.

“Thinking about (L/n)-sensei?”

A few hours later and he still can’t seem to stop thinking about you. He stiffens as his grandmother chuckles wholeheartedly. Was it really written all over his face?

The elder takes a seat beside him on the engawa, Erina already tucked away into bed in their shared room. Her warm, chocolate eyes observe the dazed look that remains on her grand son’s expression.

“It’s been five years already Shin-chan.”

He glances at her, unsure of where she was getting at suddenly.

“It has,” He agrees wearily.

“You don’t think Eri-chan asks me all the time where her mama is?”

Oh.

His jaw clenches.

“Why don’t you move on and let her go already?”

An image of her and now, you, appears in his mind. He’s far too aware of his attraction towards you. It just...

“It doesn’t feel right.”

The elder snorts at his answer.

“And why does it not? Like you’re betraying Reina’s love? For moving forward in your life? You don’t even notice how much you’re suffering by living in the past.”

He doesn’t answer and her eyes soften, placing a gentle hand over his shoulder.

“At best, Eri-chan is your living reminder of yours and Reina’s love.”

A moment. Then a sigh.

“I want you to be happy Shin-chan.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, “That doesn’t exactly entail that I have to date again Granny.”

The woman snickers, “I never said anything about dating, Shin-chan.”

The man flushes.

“No. I— Well...”

“Just admit it, you stubborn grandson of mine,” The woman jabs lightly at his arm.

“I admit nothing,” He says with a hand raking slowly over his face to hide the darkening blush.

“Then why do you get so flustered around Eri-chan’s cute teacher?”

He stands abruptly, pressing his mouth firmly into a straight line as he takes a deep breath.

“I... I’m going to get some rest, don’t stay up too late granny.”

The elder watches as he retreats back to his room and chuckles.

“What a stubborn boy. How unlike you.”

He never realized how much Erina really wished to have a mother of her own. He never thought it’d get to the point of Erina throwing a tantrum at dinner, tears welling up in her large hazel eyes.

“I hate you Papa! I wish I had Mama!”

“Erina-chan!” Yumie starts, but the young girl stands and races out of the room. Sniffling, she throws the sliding doors open and disappears into the night.

“Stay here granny, I’ll go look for her,” Kita says as he gets up, “It’s my fault for never telling her the whole truth.”

Hurriedly, he slips on his shoes and leaves the house in a rush. He’s not even sure where she’d run to, but the fear is bubbling in his chest and reaching his throat. Sweat is falling in beads over his forehead. The anxiety is growing and growing like a flame, making his breath shortened.

He couldn’t lose Erina too.

Frustration and stress is starting to overwhelm him. Two emotions he’s never had to deal with until Erina’s birth.

To his relief, however, he passes by the park where you had sat with him while he watched Erina play. He spots your crouched form underneath the flickering lights of the park lamps. The breath stuck in his constricting throat finally relents as he hurries over.

“(L/n)-san!”

You look up with a flinch, eyes wide before relaxing at his appearance as you raise a finger to your lips. He nods as you turn slightly to reveal his daughter. The girl clutches close to your front, her cheeks still moist from crying minutes prior. Her breathing has calmed and she sleeps soundly in your arms.

“Thank you,” he whispers as you adjust your hold on her to carry her properly as you walk with Kita back to his home.

“Don’t mention it, I was luckily on my way to the local conbini when I saw her run into the park.”

You glance down at the girl, those same kind eyes, and that same motherly smile. They were the same.

The journey back to his home comes to an end and you attempt to pass the child onto her father, but she stirs from her sleep and complains. He wonders if she might’ve been a mama’s girl if she was here. The thought makes his chest tighten briefly. Although, it is quite endearing to see his daughter cling to you like so.

“Sensei has to go back home, be a good girl for your papa okay?” You say as she continues to make it difficult for you to leave. The two of you share a look before she finally relents and allows Yumie to take her, still refusing to face her father.

“Just let her cool down, she’ll come around,” You say when you catch his downhearted expression.

“I suppose...” He sighs before glancing at you, “Thank you again, I couldn’t have found her if it wasn’t for you.”

“It’s no problem Kita-san,” You chuckle, “Please, I don’t mind so don’t worry about thanking me.”

Scratching the back of his neck meekly, he decides to press his luck and offers to take you home.

“O-oh no, that would be too much of a hassle, you’re home already and all...” You wave your hands in front of you but he shakes his head.

“No, I’m the one offering, how could I let a woman walk home by herself at this time of night too?”

You pout to his surprise, the expression way too cute for his heart.

“You’re a rather sly man, Kita-san.”

You finally allow him to walk you home, falling into stride alongside one another. The pace is neither too slow or hurried. One question leads to a passionate talk, on your part, about teaching children and how you adore them. There’s an unfamiliar glint in your eyes, a falter in your expression that he notices as you talk, but he chooses not to interrupt.

In turn, he talks about volleyball, but any story that had to do with high school always led back to her.

“I met my wife in high school,” He admitted meekly, gauging your expression briefly for any signs of discomfort or whatnot, but you smile at him encouragingly. “I was actually a first year when I met her, she had been a second year. She wasn’t the manager for the team or anything romantic like that, really... In fact, she was part of the home economics club.

“She loved cooking. We didn’t start dating until the year after, but she would make me bento boxes every day. It wasn’t until half a year into our relationship did I learn about her weak immune system. She constantly fell ill, and even missed much of third year that she had to be held back.

“Even then... she still managed to watch my games, although she was never able to come watch us when we went to nationals.”

You listen intently to his stories of his wife, adoring the way his face brightens at times and turns somber the next, his expression a whirlwind of nostalgia. He really loves his wife, and you feel a little jealous and guilty for feeling the way you do. It doesn’t even hit you that you’ve reached your apartment until he stops and motions to your door.

“O-oh, sorry, I... would you like to come in for some tea? As thanks for walking me home of course!” You stammer as he chuckles heartily at your fluster.

“If I’m not intruding.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, your cheeks burning as you prep the kettle on the stove and search for two mugs. It doesn’t even feel real that he’s in your home, but he’s there when you look over your shoulder to see him seated on the floor cushion at the low table.

When the tea is ready, you settle down adjacent to him. He receives the mug gratefully, sniffing the hot liquid with an exhale of bliss at the calming aroma.

“Your wife sounds like an amazing woman,” You say after you take a sip from your own mug.

“She was,” he says cryptically, and before you question it, he beats you to the punch, “How about you? Do you have a lucky man in your life?”

You laugh. Gazing down at your ring finger dreamily.

“I did. Before at least.”

He felt a twist in his chest. Was it because you looked so sad and lonely, or the fact that there was once a man in your life.

Why should the latter even matter to him?

“Puppy love, straight out of high school. He was any girl’s dream. Intelligent and handsome. We were engaged a little ways through my studies to be an elementary teacher.” The look on your face is one of bliss, remembering your younger days, “We always talked of having a family together, we would move into a nice house with a cute pup and surrounded by our children.

“At least until I found out, I was infertile. I’d gotten pregnant finally and the baby never made it. It was a deal breaker for our relationship, he’d ended up cheating on me and lashing out on me for being the way I am.

“I spent a very long time mourning for the loss of my child and my relationship. I’d lost everything and blamed it on myself for being like this.

“I guess after a while, I was teaching and looking after these children as if they were my own, and it had healed me in its own way. I guess I finally accepted where I was, who I was. It still hurts even now, wanting nothing more than my own family, my own child, but teaching them like this makes me happy nonetheless. A lot of my old students often come visit from time to time, it makes me very happy.

“I guess even now... I don’t try to look for a partner out of fear that I won’t be enough due to my condition.”

Your eyes gloss over and he wants to reach over and wipe your tears away, but he keeps himself seated as you smile down at your left hand.

“That’s not true,” he says, “Any man would be lucky to love and be loved by you (L/n)-san.”

Your cheeks grow warm at the comforting words.

Maybe, just maybe, you thought, he could’ve been referring to himself as someone possibly capable of loving you.

“Truthfully... my wife isn’t around because she passed away. The birth had taken a toll on her weak body,” he reveals finally, eyes downcast at the liquid in his mug.

The birth of their daughter had been one of the most happiest and yet saddest moments of his life. It left him a widow and a single parent.

“I’m so sorry...” You begin but he shakes his head.

“No don’t be...”

“...So does Erina-chan...?”

“I never told her to the whole truth... I didn’t want to make her sad, but she’s constantly asking for her mother and wondering why she is different from the rest of her classmates who do. I only ever explain that mama’s not with us anymore... but I was too afraid to face the truth myself. I see much of Reina in my daughter and I’m so afraid losing her and letting go of her. I don’t want to let go of her hand too.”

He remembered that day like it was yesterday. They had been expecting the arrival of their daughter with excitement. His wife’s immune system had always been poor and he knew that very well. He just never expected the amount of strain child birth had put on her until her hand that was once holding his very firmly, let go.

“I can’t let her go, Reina... Moving on would be leaving her in the past and betraying her love.”

He bites his lip. His emotions were starting to flare at the thought of losing Erina and remembering the loss of his wife. Moving on felt too selfish. He didn’t deserve that. Moving on would be a luxury and almost felt wrong. Like he was choosing to forget Reina.

“Someone as important as Reina-san is very hard to forget, and shouldn’t be forgotten at all,” You start, choosing your words carefully while glancing at his expression every so often, in case you step on a sore spot, “In fact, it is her love that keeps you going, it is her legacy that lives within both yours and Erina-chan’s hearts. Erina-chan is the living proof of both of your love. A beautiful daughter, indeed. She must be very happy watching over you both. And I’m sure she wouldn’t want you beating yourself up over this, she’d want you to be happy Kita-san. What’s holding you back?”

“I’m afraid.”

Admittedly, Kita Shinsuke is very afraid.

You empathize with him, seeing a little bit of yourself, when you were at your lowest, in the way he slumps in his seat and glares down at his tea to keep his emotions in check.

“It’s okay to be afraid. It’s natural for us human beings. You just don’t need to rush yourself, Kita-san. Don’t let yourself bottle those kind of feelings. Acknowledge them and respect those emotions, or else you’d be ignoring the feelings that Reina-san has given you. Take all the time you need to make peace with yourself and live on for her.”

Your words are heartfelt and he appreciates it very much.

“Thank you and I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, but I think you owe Erina-chan an apology.”

He still lingers though, despite preparing to leave to head back home.

You still smile, although sadly this time. “Actually, Kita-san... I know this is sudden... but I need to get this off of my chest... I quite like you, romantically to be more precise.”

His eyes widen. The breath catching in his throat, almost as if he suddenly forgot how to breathe.

You scratch the back of your neck meekly, looking anywhere but at him, “To be honest with you, I was under the impression that you were a single father but under different circumstances...

“I was prepared to face the fact that you still loved your wife whether it be separation through divorce but never had I considered her passing; I apologize for my rudeness and over-zealousness.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, in simpler terms, is that I kind of like you Kita-san, and I.. trust me when I say that I never hoped to ever replace Reina-san’s place in your heart, because she is a very special person to both you and Erina-chan... but I cannot just overlook the way I can’t stop thinking about the charming man that comes every morning to see his, just as beautiful, daughter off to school.”

His heart skips a beat, stomach fluttering. Then it twists and he has to bite his lip. You’re looking up at him with tenderness, neither expecting him to share or reject your feelings. You look up at him with those similar eyes that hold so much kindness and patience for him. You don’t expect anything from him, if not a rejection. You had prepared yourself for it when you had realized you were starting to stare far too long at the man when he came in the mornings.

Your fellow teachers teased you for your crush, asking what you’d do if he was married. He never did have a ring on his finger so you did have some sort of hope. Perhaps you were just a little too ambitious.

He finally takes a shaky breath, unsure what to say anymore. He didn’t want to hurt you or your feelings. The conflict was evident in the swirl of emotions in his chestnut hues. Brows knitted together and teeth worrying into the plush of his bottom lip.

If it were your place, you would have kissed him and told him it was okay, there was nothing to worry over. It, however, was not your place to.

“I’m sorry... I...” He starts, unsure how to answer, but you stop him.

“I know. I didn’t tell you this to force you into anything or rush you into moving on, maybe it was just me after all, falling for you without so much as a date or a proper talk like we just had.”

“(L/n)-san...”

You shake your head, placing your hand over his mouth to quiet him. At the realization of your bold action, you retract your hand with a timid smile. Looking at him finally from under your lashes.

“You should go see your daughter Kita-san.”

How was it, that you were still able to look at him like that? Like he deserved your affections?

He leaves reluctantly. There was no arguing that, not when he’d in-explicitly rejected your feelings, but even so, his chest ached for you.

The walk back is long. He’s drowning in his own thoughts and worries, regretting his own indecisiveness and fears. This was not like him, where was the confident captain of the strong Inarizaki volleyball club?

Atsumu would definitely think the world was ending if he saw him distraught like this. One time was enough, the setter being present along with Aran at the birth of his daughter and the death of his wife.

He slips off his shoes in the foyer, greeting his grandmother who waits for him outside of his bedroom. The elder casts him a meaningful smile before opening the door for him, and closing it once he’s inside.

The miniature lump under the covers is enough to tell him of his daughter’s whereabouts. She’s wide awake as she immediately turns her back to him upon noticing his presence.

Settling into bed, he releases a soft breath.

“I’m sorry Eri-chan. Papa made you mad. Please forgive me.”

His arms reach out carefully, slipping around her middle to pull her close cradle her smaller body close to him. The hold is firm and unyielding despite her silence, afraid that she’ll let go just like Reina.

“Mama... she... she’s an angel now. She watches over us, you, me, and even granny. I’m sorry for keeping this from you.”

A moment passes before he feels her body tremble, sniffles that turn into quiet sobs. The girl turns over to clutch her father close.

“I love you Papa, no matter what!”

“I love you too,” He replies with a soft smile, relief and adoration swimming in his eyes.

Like this, they fall asleep, tired from the events of the day.

It’s the weekend the next morning and he allows the girl to sleep a little longer as he slips out of the room. Dawn has just barely broken through the night and he stretches his limbs before taking a seat on the engawa in a daze. He can’t stop thinking about you. He never could.

It had unsettled him however, that he might’ve been deluding himself into thinking he liked you. There was always the possibility that he only was attracted to you for your similarities with his wife. He didn’t want to take advantage of your feelings because of that. It wasn’t fair to you.

“Ahhh I messed up,” he mutters exasperatedly

“Messed up? I never thought I’d see the day you say such a thing, Shin-chan. You finally made up with Eri-chan though, what’s troubling you so?” Yumie asks as she takes a seat beside him.

“(L/n)-san confessed to me.”

The woman continues to watch the sun rise without waver. She must’ve expected it after all.

“And? What are you planning on doing? Does it still feel wrong? Is it something you don’t want? Shin-chan, you just need to choose what’s best for you. Both Eri-chan and I want you to be happy. Trust yourself as you always do. Where is that unwavering confidence I always saw in you back in your volleyball days?”

His eyes glimmer.

“Granny...”

“What is it that you want?” She asks again, “Why not be selfish just this once, you deserve happiness, Shin-chan.”

His grandmother’s right, and he knows it. The same thoughts continue to boggle his conscience even as a few days pass and he continues to walk Erina to school. You both steal glances at one another, but he’s still unsure of what to do.

“How’s my cute 'lil God-daughter?” Atsumu asks heartily when he comes home for the week, inviting Kita for lunch at Onigiri Miya.

“Our God-daughter,” Osamu corrects as he sets down a platter of their favorites. He smiles at their ex-captain, gesturing towards the onigiri with his hand, “Made fresh only from the best rice around of course.”

Kita chuckles and nods his head in thanks. Truthfully, there had been a whole entire chaos when word had broke out among his old volleyball club members that he was having a daughter. The boys were ecstatic about being uncles to Erina and made a whole fuss about who was to be her God-fathers. In the end, Aran and the twins had been chosen.

“No need to be salty when yer clearly not the cool uncle,” Atsumu sticks his tongue out at his brother.

“I’m sorry? Who almost broke ‘er arm when...” Osamu trails off immediately, sweat dropping down his temple at Kita’s tight-lipped smile.

“When what?”

“Nothing!” The blonde interjects with a shaky laugh, “How’ve ya been Kita-san? How’s Eri-chan and Yumie-san?”

He’d almost forgotten about his whole dilemma until then, his expression faltering as he glances down at the onigiri in his hands.

“It’s been... okay... I guess.”

The two blink at him in unison.

“You guess? Who are ya, and what have ya done with Kita-san?”

The elder shoots them a hardened look, unamused by the question.

“What’s botherin’ ya? It’s not everyday we see ya this unsure,” Osamu asks thoughtfully, remembering the days of their ever robotic captain. Robust and always confident, they had never thought they’d ever see their ex-captain downtrodden like this. At least not since Reina.

Just like in high school, when he surprised the team in a sudden spurt of emotion and teared up at being offered the title of captain, they were still never used to the sudden burst of emotions he was capable of at the birth of his daughter and the passing of his wife. The same shock remains as he lets his sadness cross over expression.

He finally relents under their pressing stares, explaining the situation revolving his attraction towards Erina’s teacher... and well, your reciprocated affections. He expressed his fears, his feelings, anything and everything that held him back.

“Is she pretty?” Atsumu grins, raising his eyebrows suggestively before yelping when Osamu smacks him upside his head.

Kita casts him a blank look, biting his lip to hold back the fond smile that crosses his expression.

“She’s very pretty.”

Osamu elbows his brother before he can open his mouth. “Kita-san, from what you said just now, she sounds like a very kind woman and honestly I believe you deserve happiness. You’re not at fault for anything, you’ve done nothing wrong, but you need to trust yourself, trust (L/n)-san, and decide what it is you want.

“I can see where you’re coming from, comparing (L/n)-san to Reina, but you need to look at her as her own person. She also deserves that much.”

The older twin nods in agreement, “It’s not everyday I get to give you advice Kita-san, but I agree with Yumie-san, you should let yourself be selfish just this once.”

“You both deserve a second chance at love.”

It’s a lazy night after finishing all of your grading for the weekend. You order takeout instead of cooking and cozy up in your sleeping clothes with a blanket and plush pillow. Perhaps a romance movie to quell the ache of your rejection.

You were just about ready to watch your selected flick when the doorbell rang. Blinking, you hadn’t expected company, other than the delivery man at least. With not much effort put into your appearance, you shrug at your unkempt hair and lack of professional clothing and answer the door.

“Hey.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your sockets. Kita stands tall and confident at your apartment door step, and yet there was something timid about the way his eyes glanced down at you shyly, his fingers clasped at his sides.

“Hi,” You reply immediately before feeling the heat creep up your neck. To your horror, his eyes glance down your sleeping attire and you hold out your hand to stop him. “S-sorry, I apologize for coming out looking like this... I wasn’t necessarily expecting visitors at this time.”

He blinks once, then twice, before chuckling softly. The sound is warm and fluffy, making your heart flutter effortlessly. It almost hurts knowing he didn’t reciprocate your feelings.

“No, I should apologize for showing up unannounced... but I never did quite get your number.”

Huh?

Your jaw nearly hits the floor.

“Kita-san... are you...”

“Asking for your number? Yes. I am.” He says firmly and confidently, eyes sparkling as he gazes at you with that beautiful and charming smile of his, “Maybe a date to go with it as well?”

“But... I thought... you rejected me...?”

He shook his head, “I never said I didn’t like you back, (L/n)-san. To be quite honest with you, I think you look very adorable like this.” Your fluster is a treat to his eyes as he reaches forward to take your hand in his. It’s warm and soft, and yet strong and calloused from working in the fields. “Thank you for opening my eyes. I thought about it and my own feelings and I want to stop running away and being afraid of the present and accepting my past.”

“If it’s okay with you. I’d really like to try this.”

You look genuinely surprised and touched by his sincere words, his eyes full of determination and adoration as they bore into yours.

“And by this you mean...”

The sly quirk of your glossy lips is tell-tale of your knowing of his intentions, but you like to tease him nonetheless.

He might never stop seeing her in his everyday life, but he’d come to the acceptance that you were two individual women and he would continue to love and be grateful to his late wife, but he decided he would move forward for his daughter’s sake.

There was no stopping the way he was falling hard for you. He adored you for who you were and that was what mattered.

“Please grant me the honor of going on a date with you.”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kita shinsuke x reader #kita x reader #kita imagines #kita x you #kita x y/n #kita scenarios #kita shinsuke scenario

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

i want your last name

summary: it’s only a year...

word count: 16k+ (holy crap i’m sorry)

warnings: idiot-strangers to lovers, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), frightening situations & suspense, alcohol consumption and drunkenness, language, innuendo, timeline inaccuracies

a/n: please bear with me as this is my first time writing rog and i’m relatively unsure about it. anyway, have a vaguely spooky fic just in time for halloween! xoxo! also: big thank you to @ineloqueent for helping with this fic! y’all, she literally held my hand and walked me through every paragraph what a saint

january, 1982.

“you’re off your rocker if you think i’m going to go through with this, jim.”

from his place on the couch, john snorts. “what? afraid she won’t be pretty enough for you, rog?”

roger levels john an uncharacteristically dark look, jabbing his finger through the air like a knight brandishing his sword or a cowboy his gun. “watch your mouth, deacon.” john holds his hands upwards in surrender, and roger returns his piercing gaze to jim. “i’m not getting married. that’s absolutely out of the question.”

long-suffering band manger and unofficial rockstar wrangler, jim beach drops his face to his hands with a harsh groan. roger cringes in his seat, shifting uncomfortably. he knows what this is about; they all know what this is about.

the end-of-tour party in montreal.

god, he’d gotten so wasted. even now, two months later, he can barely remember that night.

brian, ever the diplomatic, is the first to break the tense silence. he leans forward from his place on the couch beside john and offers roger his most sympathetic look. it does nothing to ease the growing knot of dread in roger’s stomach. “maybe we should leave you and jim to talk, rog.”

jim lifts his head. “i think that might be best, yes.”

roger huffs and falls slack against his chair. he drops his head back, and the ceiling turns topsy-turvy. if jim and the rest of management get their way, his life is bound to feel the same: flipped upside down, all that he knows turned on its head.

john squeezes roger’s shoulder as he slides by, a silent expression of solidarity, but it doesn’t feel like much. john’s got a wife, a parcel of kids. he’s happy at home. roger—he’s never been that way, never seen the point in all the domestics. he isn’t about to join the bloody women’s institute just because a little fun upset a few highbrow jackasses who can’t tell a party from a funeral.

the door to jim’s office shuts with a soft click, and roger imagines the lid of his coffin closing with the same resolute noise. he sits up and runs a hand through his hair. from behind his tinted shades, jim stares across the expanse of his desk. he drums his fingers, worrying his lower lip. roger’s nose twitches to the side. jim isn’t playing around. the proposal typed and printed in the manila folder under jim’s hand is serious, deadly so.

roger removes his sunglasses.

“it was just a party, jim.”

there’s a heavy beat of silence. jim blinks once. “roger, you went streaking through a group of nuns and priests.”

roger squeezes his eyes shut against the words, thankful, for once, that he has no memory of the event. “did i?” he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “honestly couldn’t tell you what i did or didn’t do that night.”

“you did.” jim opens the manila folder and reads from a crumbled newspaper article. “queen’s roger taylor bared all this evening after the explosive conclusion to the game tour, filmed before thousands in montreal’s biggest arena. in a rare display of vulnerability, taylor stripped naked and exposed himself in the hotel lobby where queen resided. he stood on a table and beat his chest like a wild gorilla, chanting about the success of the evening’s filmed concert. lookers-on included none other than a group of nuns and priests recently arrived to canada on special assignment from the vatican. john deacon, bassist for queen, could also be seen laughing in the background.”

jim’s hand thumps against the desk as he drops the article, his stare decidedly unimpressed. “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

running his tongue over his teeth, roger hesitates. not his best moment, he would give jim that. but if he remembers anything about that party, it’s that he wasn’t the only sinner present that evening. john had gotten into his fair share of antics; crystal, too. it seems arbitrary that he should be the one singled out for punishment—and with a strange, archaic, probably-unethical punishment at that.

he shrugs, tossing his hands up in defeat. “i’m not going to be able to say what you want me to say. it was just a party. it got a little out of control. that’s all. i’m sorry if i gave the nuns a little show. i’ll—i dunno—write a letter if you want me to.”

jim scoffs. “write a letter if you think it’ll make me feel better—which it won’t—but that’s not the issue here.”

“then what is the issue? and where the hell does marriage come into it? because i’m not seeing the connection.”

jim sighs. his desk chair creaks as he leans back. taking off his glasses, he pinches the bridge of his nose before meeting roger’s eyes again. “this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, rog. remember new orleans?”

roger holds up an accusatory finger. “you were in new orleans too, jim, so you can’t attack me on that front.”

jim leans forward, his glasses between his hands. he runs his finger back and forth across the top of the frames. “i’ll be blunt. some other people in the office think you’re becoming too—how shall i say it?—explicit for the band. you’re not twenty any more, and raucous parties don’t fit queen’s image. they’re concerned that if more incidents like this hit the press, there will be a drop in sales or concert attendance because nice, suburban families don’t want to go to a concert with a drummer who flashes nuns. do you get what i’m saying?”

roger itches his temple and pushes against the sudden pain behind his left eye. “yeah. yeah, i do.”

“the marriage thing—that was barnaby potter’s idea. if you have beef with it, take it up with him.”

it’s roger’s turn to scoff. he throws his head back on the sound and curls his hands against the cool wooden arms of his chair. when he looks back at jim, he is surprised to see the older man rifling through a filing cabinet in the corner, his back turned.

roger surges forward with his ire anyway. “of course i have beef with it! slap my ass and scold me, sure, but hitch me to a woman i don’t even know for publicity? you’ve got to be joking.”

“personally, i think it’s an idea that will work if you give it a chance.” jim returns to chair and hands roger a sealed packet. “we’ve already got it all lined up, picked the lass and everything. it’s just for a year or so, until the tabloids calm down. then you can get divorced and go your separate ways.”

“wait, hold on—you picked her? without telling me? before even approaching me with the idea?”

“roger—” jim’s tone borders on a warning, but roger ignores his better judgement and cuts the other man off.

“you won’t even give me the option to choose the woman i have to shack up with? god, jim, i’m getting fuckin’ railroaded here!”

jim clenches his jaw. “i’m sure it feels that way, and i’m sorry for that. but it’s this—well, to be frank, it’s this or you’re out. the montreal party was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”

roger can’t be sure but he thinks he sees red. never in his life has he so badly wanted to wring someone’s neck. it takes every fiber of his being, every molecule in his body, to keep from lunging across the room and tackling jim to the floor. he bites his tongue hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. it coats his mouth in a metallic taste, but it’s nothing compared to the rage boiling in his stomach.

still, he knows what his answer must be. it’s this—a sham marriage, a year of hell—or losing the life he’s worked so hard to build.

he rips the envelope from jim’s hand as roughly as he can when he stands from his chair. he hopes he gave the man a papercut.

“i’ll do it, you bastard,” he mutters. “but i damn well won’t be happy about it.”

“you look beautiful, [y/n].”

with a playful roll of your eyes, you offer ivy a smile. “thanks, love, but you and i both know this is just part of the job.”

ivy laughs and steps closer to adjust the puffed sleeves of your dress. “it might be a job, but damn, if it isn’t a comfortable one. i just about fell out of my seat when you told me you were quitting the agency to marry roger fucking taylor.”

you slide ivy a bemused smirk in the reflection of the long, oval mirror before you. “we’re not really getting married, ivy. you know that, right?”

ivy frowns and jabs her thumb over her shoulder, confusion awash on her round face. “unless i’m mistaken, we’re at a church, you’re in a wedding dress, roger taylor is the groom, and there’s a priest waiting for you right outside. did you read the memo wrong or something? feels like a wedding to me.”

sighing, you turn away from the mirror and reach for your bouquet of flowers. the white roses interspersed with springs of green leaves smell sweet, their stems tied together with a long white ribbon. you adjust one of the wayward petals then sit on the edge of a cushioned chair to slip on your heels. ivy leans against the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

“are you happy?” she asks, her voice soft.

you look up and pause. the heel of your white mary janes squeezes around your achilles’ tendon, and you wince as you shove your foot into the shoe. “what do you mean—am i happy?”

“i dunno.” ivy shrugs. she picks at an invisible piece of lint on the shoulder of her blue bridesmaid gown. “when we were kids, you always used to talk about your wedding day. now it’s here and—”

“ivy.” you rise from the chair and cross the floor to grab her arm. when you speak, you keep your tone firm and stare into her wide, brown eyes. “i’m doing this for the money and nothing else. it’s not a big deal. i don’t even consider today my wedding day. when roger and i get divorced i’ll find some other chap and make my childhood dreams come true, but that’s not today, and i’m okay with it. so yes, i am happy. this is what i want.”

ivy doesn’t appear convinced what with the way she continues to gnaw at her lower lip and shift her concerned look about your face. but she relents when someone knocks on the door, moving to allow you to grab the doorknob.

“wait, [y/n].” you turn at the door, eyebrows lifted in expectation. “how much are you getting paid?”

you press your pointer finger to your lips. “handsomely,” you whisper, dipping your head as though you are about to spill a secret. ivy leans in. her eyes sparkle with interest, and you inwardly smirk. she’s always been a sucker for drama and intrigue, your cousin. “but,” you continue. “that’s for me to know and you not to know.”

before ivy can respond, you pull open the door to see none other than your future husband waiting for you in the vestibule of the chapel.

he stands poised to flee the premises. he’s half-turned toward the closed chapel door, his hands worrying before his waist, his gaze hinged on the flurry of life outside the chapel, visible through the windows on either side of the door. you realize he’s fiddling with an unlit cigarette, not merely rubbing his hands together in an external sign of nervousness. you can’t make out whether or not his eyes are wild with fear or anger or some other emotion; the black tint of his sunglasses obscures the majority of his eyes. he’s handsome in his suit, but, then again, he’s roger taylor. you would be surprised to find a time in which he isn’t handsome.

when you clear your throat, his head whips to face you, and his fingers stop fidgeting. “sorry,” he mutters. “i was just—” he rubs a hand across the back of his neck and sighs. “they’re ready for you.”

“okay.” you nod with a smile and hope the gesture will ease whatever consternation plagues him. “i’ll be up in a moment.”

“right.” he nods once.

from behind his shades, you see his eyes trail from the top of your head to the soles of your shoes. it’s not sexual, not lewd; he’s just inspecting you, and you don’t blame him. who are you to him other than the model pulled out of a catalog, prepared and willing to be his wife until his time served is complete? you’ve spoken only once before this moment, and that phone-call was terse at best. roger made it perfectly clear his opinions on the arrangement, and he wanted to be sure—no, he needed to be sure—you understood his feelings on the matter. you assured him you had heard him loud and clear; your ear had rung for the next hour if only to remind you of his extreme distaste.

“roger,” you say, pulling his attention back from wherever his mind has drifted off to, his stare gone vacant but hardly serene.

his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to focus. “hm?”

“i said i’ll be up in a moment. you can go in now.”

he nods again, this time his chin smacking his collarbone in his urgency. he rubs his jaw, mutters something unintelligible beneath his breath, and turns on his heel, slipping back into the chapel sanctuary with heavy footfalls. your brows rise on your forehead in the wake of his exit. ivy hovers behind your shoulder.

“that’s him?” she squeaks. “that’s roger taylor?”

“yes.” your mouth twists in pity. “poor dear. he really doesn’t want this.” after waiting the appropriate amount of time to be sure roger has made his way to the front of the church, you step towards the entryway, but not before you can ask ivy one last question. “do i look okay? the pictures taken today are bound to be published in the papers.”

ivy chuckles and shakes her head as she lightly pushes your shoulder. “you look gorgeous and you know it. now go get married to a rockstar, you lucky bitch.”

the actual wedding ceremony itself is a formality. truly, it cannot be called a ceremony. there’s no wedding march, no attendees gently dabbing their tear-filled eyes, no heartfelt vows or kiss to signal the joining of two souls. instead, there’s you and there’s roger and there’s a red-faced, balding priest who points to the solid lines on which you must affix your signature to make the marriage certificate valid. roger signs first, and his knuckles are white against the ballpoint pen. you sign second, and the pen feels overly-warm against your cool palms. the priest blesses you with a sign of the cross and promises the certificate will be notarized and sent to your home address within the week.

then it’s done. you’re married. you feel largely the same as you did this morning. if it weren’t for the giant rock on your ring finger and the recent transfer of seventy-five-thousand pounds into your bank account, you might wonder if this was all a product of your over-active imagination, run away with a plot stolen from a b-list film.

the most vital part of the day, the reason you’re here and dressed in a gown with your hair crimped and nails painted, comes right after the priest scurries away to tend to his more important duties. jim beach stands from his place in one of the pews and ushers a photographer forward. he points between you and roger.

“all right, get snug, you two.” jim chews on a large wad of gum, and his words are slurred with an excess of saliva. “just a few pictures and then we’ll go eat. we all know that’s the only reason john showed up today.”

lounged against a pew, john raises his finger in agreement, and his wife elbows him in the chest. he sputters, doubling over in pain, while freddie laughs in amusement. beside you, roger watches the interaction with a back as straight as the pew benches, his jaw tight. you push your arm around his elbow and tug lightly. he inhales before turning to meet your eyes.

“what?” his voice is not cruel or unkind; it’s just tired.

“try and look happy, yeah?” you say, offering him a gentle smile similar to the one you’d given him in the vestibule. it’s the only thing you have to give him other than your hand in marriage and a chance to salvage his reputation; yet, again, it does not alleviate the tension pinching his brow. “the faster we smile the faster we can eat.”

roger shifts, as though he wants to pull away from you, but knows he shouldn’t. his feet dance back and forth on the carpeted stairs leading to the sanctuary state. “i should be telling you to try and look happy. this is just as much an inconvenience for you.”

you shake your head with a chuckle. “hardly. i make my living pretending to be happy, or moody, or sultry. whatever the director wants. i’m a pro at this. and besides,” you add. “it’s my job to make you look good. though, to be honest, that’s not very hard. you look good all on your own.”

roger sniffs and rubs the underside of his nose. he ignores your compliment and keeps his eyes trained on the photographer setting up his equipment at the base of the stairs. “maybe i could use some tips…”

he’s being glib but you take the opportunity to try and break the ice—the rock solid, absolutely frigid, polar ice-cap style ice—between you both. holding up a finger to the photographer, you slide to stand in front of roger. he’s taller than you, not by much, but enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye-contact. his blue eyes very much resemble the ice with which he’s surrounded himself. you can feel the chill on his shoulders, even as you smooth the wrinkles on his tailored dress-shirt.

“whenever i have to fake a smile,” you say, adjusting his thin tie. “i always think about the thing that makes me happiest.” he doesn’t ask you to expand, but you do anyway. “for me, it’s when my cousin ivy moved in with my mother and me. i was seven and she was six and it’s been one giant slumber party ever since.”

“is that your cousin?” roger’s eyes flick to the girl sitting across the aisle from the band and management. ivy has her hands beneath her thighs, her head dipped, her dark black hair covering a curtain over her face.

you nod. “mhmm.”

“she doesn’t look like you.”

you lift an eyebrow. “she’s adopted.”

“right, sorry.” roger exhales deeply, and the weight of the world slips from one of his shoulders to the other, tilting his body in a stiff hunch. “i’m feeling out of sorts today, as you can probably imagine.”

“just think about what makes you happy, roger.” you dare to lift a hand and press it against his cheek. his skin is smooth beneath your fingers. he must have shaved his morning. he looks boyish up close, and you wonder if, like you, he had ever dreamt of what his wedding day might look like. you wonder if, like you, he had given up those dreams to make today a reality.

the photographer takes a picture of your hand against roger’s cheek, and the sudden flash of light has you blinking in surprise. you look over your shoulder, mouth slightly parted and eyelashes fluttering to clear the white spots over your vision.

the photographer just shrugs. “ready now?”

the shrill of a ringing telephone wakes you the morning after the wedding, and you groan, pulled from a heavy slumber by the incessant and high-pitched tone. there’s a dull ache at the base of your skull, and your tongue feels like it’s coated with a fine layer of sand. beside you, a man snores softly, his face pink and eyelashes soft on his cheekbones.

oh yes, that’s right. you’re married to roger taylor, aren’t you? you’d drunk so much at the celebration supper that you’d nearly forgotten. the evening itself is but a hazy memory, but you think you recall freddie imitating a russian style jig atop a table, and phoebe going into great detail about all the fabulous dress-up parties you’ll be expected to attend now.

one thing you can’t remember is how you ended up in roger’s bed, dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts. your hair is still stiff with sticky hairspray, your legs still encased in a pair of nylon tights, and you don’t feel… sated, for lack of a better word. it’s probably safe to assume that you did not sleep with roger; you merely slept beside him. why you didn’t take up residence in his guest room will be the first question out of your mouth once his day starts.

you might be his wife and he might be your husband, but you don’t want him getting any funny ideas about the nature of your relationship.

this is a job for you. nothing more.

the phone continues ringing and, lest roger wake before he is ready, you move to reach across him for the phone on his bedside table. you speak into the receiver on a whisper, adjusting your fist on the mattress to keep from falling flat on roger’s stomach.

“hello?”

“uh—hi.” there’s a pause, as if the speaker is uncertain how to react to your voice on roger’s line. “is this [y/n]?”

“yes. who is this?”

“it’s brian. we met yesterday.”

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “yes, i know who you are, brian.”

he chuckles softly. “sorry—i can’t remember much of last evening. it’s probably best i make a second introduction if i can’t recall the first.”

“well then, i’m [y/n] [y/l/n]. [y/n] taylor now, i suppose. pleased to meet you.”

“brian may. the pleasure is all mine. ours, really—me and the guys. what you’re doing is—we appreciate it, truly. you’ve saved the band, in a way.”

“that’s kind of you, brian.” you glance at roger out of the corner of your eye. he hasn’t moved a muscle, and his face is the most serene you’ve ever seen it. saved the band? you doubt it. smoothed a few ruffled feathers? that’s certainly more likely. “it’s no trouble, though. it’s just my job. what was it you called for?”

“roger was supposed to be at the studio an hour ago. we have a recording session today.”

“shit, really?” pressing the receiver to your shoulder, you twist your wrist upwards, but find your watch missing. you scan the unfamiliar room. a digital clock glows red on a built-in bookshelf. “is it really nearly one o’clock?!”

“afraid so.”

“shit, i’m sorry. i only just woke up. yesterday was hectic—to say the very least. i’ll have roger out the door in half an hour.”

“thanks, [y/n]. you’ll find this happens a lot after a night out. but, hey, at least you’re not shouting at me like rog does.”

after passing pleasantries a moment more—brian asks you about ivy, who you are surprised he remembers, and you ask him about his stargazing habits—you reassure brian that roger will be on his way as soon as possible. you drop the receiver on its base with more force than necessary, but the crack of plastic on plastic and the slight ring of the internal bell gets roger moving.

he grunts, twisting his head away from the noise.

you shake his shoulder gently. “wakey wakey, sleeping beauty. the day is already half gone.”

roger yawns as his eyes blink open. he rubs a hand down his face and arches his back like a cat as he stretches. slumping back against his pillows, he stares at you for a moment, his eyes roaming your face.

“are you an angel?”

you laugh at this, and he winces, holding the heel of his hand to his forehead. “no. i’m your wife. are you still drunk?”

“maybe a little.” his eyelashes flutter rapidly as he adjusts to the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. he waves his hand around your head, and you lean back slightly, away from the exposed skin of his chest and striking collarbones. “you look like an angel with the sun all around your head. ‘s like a halo.”

“that’s kind of you.”

he shrugs, shaking his head. “just sayin’.”

“i think you’re still drunk.”

as if to prove your point, he hiccups then falls to his side on the bed. “maybe.” his cheek is pressed firmly against the mattress, smushing half of his face flat. soft, steady breaths filter in and out of his parted lips, and his eyelids begin to grow heavy as he is dragged back to his dream world. he looks more tired child than grown man, but the sight is endearing. still, your current job is getting him out the door and on his way to the studio. you can’t let him be any later than he already is.

“oh no, you don’t.” grabbing his arm, you pull as you slide from the bed. roger resists your strength and moves to push his entire face against the mattress. he mumbles something against the sheets, but you can’t make out the words. “brian already called. you’re late, pretty boy.”

roger rolls over onto his back, and the movement causes you to lose your grip on his wrist. you stumble backwards then plant your hands on your hips.

“come on, roger. you’ve got to get up.”

“i don’t want to. yesterday was shit, and all i want to do is stay in bed.”

with a sigh, you gather your wedding dress from its heap on the floor. you lay it over your forearm and pull open the closet door. “nice to know you thought our wedding day was shit,” you say.

you mean it only as a joke, but roger sits up fast, swaying slightly with the movement. he catches your eye as you exit the walk-in closet, and you pause, turning the light off slowly, held by his angry stare.

“fuck off,” he says. “i don’t want this. i don’t want you.”

to say his words don’t sting would be a falsehood. no one wants to hear such a thing, least of all from their spouse. the words make your heart clench painfully in your chest, and you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. he doesn’t look at you, though; he cradles his forehead in his hands, his back hunched where he sits on the edge of the bed.

inhaling deeply, you reach up and begin to remove some of the pins lost in your hair. you head for the bedroom door. “well, while you sit and sulk, i’ll pack you a lunch. you’d better shower, though. you reek.”

from your place puttering about the kitchen, you hear the shower start up a few moments later. good—at least he’s moving. you haven’t the foggiest idea where anything is in his kitchen, but you make do with what you can find in the poorly stocked fridge, and pack him a light lunch. you start a pot of coffee, too, and lean against the counter as you wait for the pot to fill.

the ancient coffee pot takes too long, and you can hear roger humming in the shower down the hall.

your nails tap against the counter.

you’re antsy, unsure of what to do with yourself now that the wedding is over. how do you be a wife to someone who doesn’t want a wife? how do you be a friend to someone who doesn’t want a friend?

it’s too big of a problem to solve in the span of time it takes for roger to finish his shower, so you slip into the bedroom and peel off your stockings and his tee-shirt. you put on a sweater, some jeans, and wipe the day-old makeup from your face with a wet-wipe. the movements are tried and true, and they calm your racing thoughts.

you have an entire year to figure out how to live with roger taylor. you don’t need to have it all figured out this morning.

the coffee pot dings, its job complete, just as you and roger both enter the kitchen.

but he hesitates before taking another step, and so do you.

his hair is wet from the shower. a white sweatshirt swallows his torso. part of the hem is tucked into his white-washed jeans, and you’re struck by the narrowness of his hips. the weariness is gone from his face, replaced with a youthful sort of glow and stubborn cheekiness. you aren’t sure how he’s managed it, but he looks well-rested.

you lift a hand to your cheek. you must look a state. it takes a lot longer for you to put yourself back together after a night out.

he stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head and crosses the kitchen to fill a travel mug with hot coffee. gnawing on your lower lip, you lean your hip bones against the kitchen island as he putters about the room, quiet as the grave.

it’s only your first day as husband and wife, and under such unique circumstances, you shouldn’t expect him to—what? make conversation? ask about you and your life?

“so… what do you think you’ll work on today? in the studio, i mean.”

he glances over his shoulder then shrugs. “not sure. probably something related to the rest of the tour.” bending at the waist, he pulls a drawer out from beneath the sink. his ass looks good in those jeans, but you doubt he’d like you staring, so you look away, mouth screwed to the side. “do you know where the sugar packets are?”

you frown and push away from the island, rounding it to stand beside him. “no?” he turns at the sound of your confused voice, and his head jolts backward to see you standing so close. “i don’t live here, remember?”

“well, you do now.” he swivels on his heel and pulls a small white jar across the counter. lifting the lid, he sighs. “i can’t find the sugar.”

“actually, about living here now...” you follow as he starts for the door, grabbing his keys from a small table in the foyer. “the bedroom situation? i figured we’d have separate bedrooms but last night—”

roger opens the front door and silences you with a hard stare. “the only other bedroom is my practice room.”

your shoulders slump. “oh.”

“i wasn’t going to make it a guest room if you’ll be gone in a year.”

“but where will i—”

“fuck it all, [y/n].” he curls his hand around the doorframe, hanging his head. a cold winter breeze sweeps through the hall, and you pull your jumper tight around your waist. “just sleep in my bed, okay? i don’t fuckin’ care.”

you swallow hard, nod. you’d been prepared for some measure of hostility, some measure of resentment. what you hadn’t been prepared for is the way his rebuffs settle like dead weight in your stomach. he alone can be blamed for this; it was his actions that drove management to force you upon him. yet, he seems to look at you with nothing more than dread and disgust. perhaps it is because you are the physical embodiment of his wrongdoing. his antics created you, and he is powerless to wipe you from his eyesight as he might a clump of dirt. you are a permanent stain—at least for the next year.

maybe you can’t begrudge him his disdainful attitude, then.

you come to when a car horn blares outside.

roger is gone, the door open, void of his claustrophobic presence. leaning around the frame, you catch sight of him and his blond hair as he reaches his car parked on the side of the road. spinning on your heel, you grab his sacked lunch from the fridge and race after him.

“roger!”

he looks up from his car door, and you can’t help but note the way his shoulders lift, tensing at the sight of you running barefoot down the sidewalk. the winter air quickens your steps, and you’re out of breath and huffing when you reach his side. white plumes escape your mouth and drift towards the gray sky.

“you forgot this,” you say, pushing the brown paper sack against his chest. you curl your toes against the frigid bricks beneath your feet.

his brow pinches. “what is it?”

“a lunch. you haven’t eaten yet.”

for the first time since meeting him, the ghost of a true smile lifts the corners of his mouth as he stares down at the sacked lunch. he lifts a hand, and you are surprised by its warmth when he covers your knuckles with his palm. his eyes flick upwards, meeting yours.

“thanks, [y/n].” he tilts his head to the side. “i’m sorry i’ve been a prick. this is all… really new for me.”

you slip your hand from his grasp, sure that your smile is somewhere between girlish and shy. a sharp wind whips through the stitching of your sweater, and you shiver.

“we’ll figure it out,” you say, and it’s a message to both him and yourself. you will figure this out.

“yeah.” he slides his key into the slot on the car door. “yeah, we will.”

“oh. rog, wait.” you stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder. when he twists at the waist, you wind your arms around his neck before he has time to react. you squeeze tight, your toes skimming the ground. he feels firm, stiff like a board. “hug me back,” you whisper against his ear. “there’s someone across the street taking photos.”

the sound he makes in your ear—a grumble, a low growl—sends your blood pumping into overdrive. he’s angry, but he dutifully embraces you as any newlywed husband might. his arms are strong around your lower back, and you melt into him.

god, he feels good. you can’t remember the last time you were held like this. he smells like the soap from his shower, and his sweatshirt is soft. his hair brushes against your cheek, and your eyelashes flutter in response. you should pull away; you’ve hugged him long enough to appear the besotted wife, desperate for her husband to stay home the day after their wedding. the paparazzi surely got what they wanted.

so, why is it so hard for you to let go?

you shake yourself free of the feeling, whether it be longing or desire or something else entirely.

sliding your hands across roger’s shoulders, you drop from your raised stance. you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and without hesitation. just in case.

“go on.” you hurry to step back, to allow him the space the leave. “you don’t want to keep the boys waiting any longer.”

roger’s eyes linger a moment more, his stare somewhere between searching and assessing. then he mumbles an oath beneath his breath, wrenches open his car door, and slips inside. the door slams behind him, and the engine roars to life. you retreat further at the sound, wrapping your arms around your stomach when the car tires squeal against gravel in his haste to get away.

some blissfully wed husband he makes.

biting the inside of your lip, you turn back to the house. the front door remains open wide, and it’s likely the heat has long since left the warmth of the halls. you pause long enough to lift the paper from the front stoop. what you see beneath the fold makes you hesitate all the longer.

there’s a photo of you and roger on the left side of the page beneath the headline, roger taylor marries model. the grainy, black and white image of your wedding day presents you, the smiling bride, and roger, the smiling husband, joined hand-in-hand beneath a heavy wooden cross. to the untrained eye, all is joy in the taylor household. the article describes the ceremony, though the details are patchy and entirely false, as intimate and “drenched with love.”

you scoff before you can stop yourself. clearly, the author of the article has encountered roger taylor under duress.

but it’s not the article which holds you frozen to the front stoop, your exposed toes and fingers sticking like icicles to the newspaper. rather, it’s the smear of red paint slashed over your picture. it’s the word slag scrawled over the article, an arrow pointed in the direction of the wedding photo.

still, in a one-on-one meeting you’d had with jim beach prior to the wedding, he’d warned you of something like this. though all four queen members are undeniably attractive, it is roger who makes the fans go gaga.

maybe it’s his boyish good looks contrasted with his raspy voice. maybe it’s the frenzy with which he plays, his easy charm and sunkissed skin. whatever it is—roger’s fans are a possessive lot.

jim had told you to prepared for a few nasty letters or scathing criticism in the papers. he had told you it wouldn’t last long, just until the initial shock of the marriage wore off, just until roger’s fans accepted the reality that they were not be his lawfully wedded wife.

so, truly, the first incident does not scare you. you just hadn’t realized the scrutiny would begin so soon. if anything, the painted paper makes you chuckle. roger’s fans certainly don’t like to waste time.

you toss the paper in the bin beside the stoop, and it’s forgotten before the day is over.

a week bleeds into a month, and you find yourself falling into some semblance of a life with roger.

you cohabitate for the most part. he does not outright rebuff your attempts at friendship, nor does he accept any olive branch you extend.

conversation is stilted, his contributions terse and monosyllabic. he prefers your home-cooked meals be eaten before the television, and not at the dinner table, where he would be forced to engage with you. he doesn’t even give in when you ask if there’s anything he’d like to rant about. he just shakes his head and bangs on his drums well into the evening, despite having banged on them the whole day at the studio.

yet he sleeps beside you, allows you to sleep beside him.

without fail, he appears more at ease come nightfall. he sheds whatever protective shell he wears throughout the day in favor of something softer, something more tender. you’re not sure what changes him when he walks over the threshold of the bedroom, but something does. perhaps it’s the soft lamplight or the hum of the fan he insists be kept on despite the chill of winter.

there’s a part of you that wonders if it might be your very presence that softens him, but you’ve taken to silencing that part as of late. he’s long-since proven that you hold no sway over him whatsoever, and that’s okay. your job is to be a buffer between his antics and the all-seeing eyes of the public. nothing more.

two months to the day after your wedding, you’re stood in the hallway, slipping on a pair of earrings, and brushing away roger’s hurried attempts to get you through the door. he has one hand on the doorknob, the other wrist tilted to expose his watch face.

“[y/n], please!”

“roger, the party doesn’t start until queen arrives. give me just a minute more.”

tonight, the savoy hotel, the first music industry party you’ll attend by roger’s side as his wife.

you’re nervous.

your hands shake as you press the earrings into your ears, and you rub your lips back and forth, feeling the slick lipstick rub over the flesh. you’re thankful the dress you chose is a gauzy sort of chiffon. if you sweat, no one will be able to tell, thanks to the pale blue of the fabric.

impatient as ever, roger drags himself from the door to stand behind you, as though prepared to throw you over his shoulder. however, a smirk pulls at your mouth when he pauses in his frustration long enough to primp and preen his hair in the mirror. you catch his eye, your fingers paused in snapping your clutch closed. he sees your smirk, and his own lips pull on a wry smile.

the moment hangs in the air, thick with—what? tension? no. something else. camaraderie comes to mind.

your eyes remain locked with his, and his grin spreads until he is shaking his head with amusement. he pushes your shoulder, but the touch is friendly, almost brotherly in nature.

“come on,” he says. “i don’t want to miss all the good wine.”

nodding, you start for the door, trailing behind him to flick the lights off. darkness engulfs the house, the only light the white glow of the moon spilling through the window above the kitchen sink and a night light plugged in along the hallway baseboard.

but then the phone rings.

roger stamps his foot against the floor, the door already half-open. “fuckin’ hell!”

“let me get it.” you’re halfway down the hall before he can stop you. “i’ll tell them to buzz off. hold on!”

“i’m going to get the car started,” he says. his voice echoes through the hall to meet you where the phone hangs in the kitchen. “you have two minutes, [y/n]. two minutes!”

lifting the phone from the receiver, you press it against your ear. “hello?”

at first, you hear nothing on the other end.

but you’re sure you heard the phone ring, so you lean closer to the receiver and plug your opposite ear in a piss poor attempt to hear better. “hello? this is [y/n] taylor speaking.”

the sound of heavy breathing—deep inhales, hard exhales—meets your ear. deep inhale, hard exhale. over and over and over.

your throat tightens, but you push past the lump. “hello? who’s there?”

a stuttering of breath on the inhale, a shaky exhale. a croak, voice poised to speak.

only you slam the phone back on the receiver before the person on the other end can say a word.

for a moment, you stand still, eyes glued to the phone, mouth parted in shock.

but then roger honks the car horn, and you shake yourself free of the unsettling feeling. a missed connection, you tell yourself. a wrong number. a mistake. that’s all it was—a mistake.

still, you are shaking when you slide into the passenger seat of roger’s car. he glances at you before pulling into the busy street.

“are you cold?” he asks. he turns the heat up, blasting the air against your face. “you’re shaking.”

“no,” you say, and, truly, you aren’t. he loaned you an ostentatious fur coat for the occasion, lined with a smooth brown fabric, and you are comfortably warm beneath the heavy material. “just nervous.”

roger snorts, his eyes sliding to you. “nervous? surely you’ve been to parties before. you’re a model, for god’s sake.”

“i’m not sure what kind of model you think i was, rog. i did mostly print, never runway. parties were never a part of my nine-to-five.”

“oh.” his mouth screws to the side. “i guess—well, to be honest, i kinda thought models all did the same kind of work.”

“most people do. that’s in the past now, though.” you shift, glance out the window, and watch the streetlights blur in a hazy streak of orange and yellow. he’s driving fast, and you grip the side of the door, willing your heart to stop racing.

the car slows to a stop beneath a red light. roger taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and the silence in the car is deafening.

you should strike up a conversation. he seems willing tonight, and maybe that’s due to the cramped nature of the car, but it’s an opportunity nonetheless.

only you can’t stop thinking about the phone call, about the heavy breathing and the unanswered questions. you shut your eyes and find yourself mirroring the caller’s breathing patterns.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

“so, you’re done with modeling?”

you open your eyes and turn to look at his profile. why he insists on wearing sunglasses in the dead of night you will never understand, but the sight alone makes you smirk. he knows he’s attractive; you have to give him credit for embracing it.

“that’s why i married you,” you say.

roger laughs—and you realize it’s probably the first time you’ve heard the sound. his laugh aligns with the light timbre of his voice, and the anxiety in your chest eases to hear him sound something other than malcontent.

“i knew you were a gold digger!” it’s a joke—you can tell by the quirk of his mouth and the lines around his eyes—but you rush to defend yourself all the same.

“no, i’m not!” you hesitate before shrugging with a rueful chuckle. “well… maybe a little. i won’t deny that the money i get from this arrangement really helps. i was looking for a way out of modeling, anyway.”

“really?” roger’s eyebrow arches, and, as the car turns into the savoy, the wrap-around drive clogged with limousines, sport cars, and photographers jostling for a good spot, you catch a glimpse of admiration on his face. “what do you want to do now?”

“i’m not sure. go back to school. i’ve got a head for maths, so maybe accounting or something.”

roger twists his head to meet your eyes, and his smile is earnest. it steals the breath from your lungs.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

“you don’t strike me as an accountant, dove.”

“why not?”

“accountants are stuffy, greasy men. you’re… you know…” he waves a hand, inches the car forward as the line moves. camera bulbs flash in the world outside, but within the car, all you can focus on is roger and his next words.

“i’m…?” you’re fishing, but this is the first time he’s given you more than the time of day, and you’re eager to get something, anything, out of your husband.

he shrugs, and his hands curl around the steering wheel. a muscle in his jaw ticks. “you’re too nice.”

you look away. “ah—nice.” not what you’d been expecting him to say.

he pulls the car to a stop along the hotel’s entrance, and a sharply dressed attendant opens the door. sliding out after roger, you instinctively reach for his hand. he spares you a short glance and squeezes your fingers together in a gesture of encouragement.

a black—not red—carpet lines the walkway from the drive to the open hotel doors. velvet ropes hold back the crowd of photographers, reporters, and fans lucky enough to have squeezed their way to such a prime viewing spot. camera flashes paint the inside of your eyelids with bright, white spots. despite the chill of winter, the air is hot, heady with glitz and glamor. it’s hard to distinguish any one voice over the plethora of people vying for attention, and your head swims in the chaos of it all.

roger moves easily from one side of the rope to another. he is in his element, grinning for the cameras and joking with reporters who grab him long enough for a quote. his moments with the press are short, few and far between. he much prefers the fans—their simpering smiles, tear-stained cheeks, and waving slips of paper begging for a signature. you don’t blame him. who could ever resist such unfettered adoration?

near the end of the carpet, a reporter snags roger’s attention with his waving arm. palm still clasped in roger’s, you trail behind your husband, hovering just behind his shoulder. the cool smile you perfected in your modeling days remains fixed on your face, even as the reporter acknowledges you with a tilt of his head.

“is this your wife, roger?”

the reporter has to shout to be heard over the sudden surge of excitement as a new celebrity takes their first step on the carpet. it’s kate bush, if you aren’t mistaken. you could be wrong, though. the reporter’s query pricks your ears, dividing your focus between the cacophony around you and the question at hand. thus far, you’ve remained nameless by roger’s side. no one—fan or press alike—has asked after you, and you’re happy for it.

roger turns to look at you, and his grin spreads. he goes so far as to slip his arm around your waist, tugging you against his side, keeping his gaze on your profile. a sudden rush of blood floods your cheeks, and you duck your head beneath his watchful eyes. yet you find your own smile widening. the action is not one you have to force or fake, though. it’s easy to smile when roger is smiling.

“yes, this is my bride,” roger says. “[y/n].”

the hand he’s placed on your waist squeezes the flesh of your hip, pushing you further against him. to keep from tripping over your own legs, you press a hand against his chest to steady yourself. you can feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers; his heart pulses to a steady rhythm. your own heart beats twice as fast.

the reporter checks something on his small pad of paper. “is it true that you used to be a model, [y/n]? there are rumors that this marriage is a publicity stunt.” he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder as someone bumps his back, pushing him against the velvet rope. once righted, he continues. “there are rumors that you were hired to get the press to stop talking negatively about the montreal incident.”

you open your mouth to speak, but roger jumps in before you can utter a single syllable.

“are you joking?” he tosses his head back in an easy laugh and pulls you even tighter against his side. you’re afraid if he draws you any nearer you will absorb into him completely. but with the way the lights dance off his eyelashes and his hair looks perfectly tousled and his body feels strong against yours, you aren’t sure that would be a bad thing.

“i’m crazy about my wife!” he says, and the words go straight to your heart like a wildfire. “you should get yourself one, mate.” he playfully slaps the reporter’s upper arm. “they’re great fun!”

the reporter arches an eyebrow. “it’s just that i know you’ve gone on record as not exactly believing in marriage and—”

“what do you want me to do? kiss ‘er? would that make you happy?” a shit-eating grin rises on his face, indignant and cocky all at once. he shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye; you bite your lip. “will that get you off my back?”

“that’s not really—”

“here.” he taps the wrist of a bystanding photographer then points to you, twisting his body so that you stand face to face. “put this in your bloody paper!”

grabbing either side of your face, roger dips his head to capture your lips with his. for a moment, you remain unsure. you hold fast to his wrists, your mouth unmoving. the blood in your veins stands frozen in shock, and your heart presses painfully against your ribcage. somewhere in the back of your mind, your conscious screams for you to react, to play along, but it’s not until roger slides one hand from your cheek to the small of your back that you register what part you must play.

thank god it’s not a difficult role.

with a tilt of your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold tight. he tastes faintly of cigarettes and the mints he uses to freshen his breath. his lips are soft, softer than you’d anticipated. you can hear the clicking of cameras, feel the blinding light of flashbulbs pierce your eyelids, sense the growing interest in your display of affection, but none of it penetrates the bubble—the bubble of you and roger, of his lips and your lips, of his arms holding you close, his very air becoming yours.

he pulls away entirely too soon, and his smile is all the more cheeky. you press your fingertips to your lips, lower your face, and draw in a sharp breath.

“there! that could enough for you?”

roger steers you away from the reporters and into the sanctuary of the hotel at last. a rush of cool air meets you and, though it is mid-winter, you sweat beneath roger’s fur coat. the gentle whoosh of air-conditioning is a blessing against your hot skin.

as you enter the ballroom transformed for the event, roger lowers his mouth to your ear. “sorry about that, poppet.” the low register of his voice and the feeling of his breath against the back of your neck sends a shiver down your spine. “i’ve dealt with that tosser before, and he really grinds my gears.”

“‘s fine, roger,” you manage to say through your tight throat. “it’s what i’m here for, yeah?”

he stops walking, and his hand moves from your back to your wrist. his eyes drift over your face, calculating, searching. you let him look. you aren’t sure what he’s looking for, but you get the feeling that he’s truly seeing you for the first time. even in the manufactured blue light of the room, even with the myriad of tables surrounded by producers and singers and agents alike, his face visibly softens and his hand curls around your wrist.

“roger! [y/n]! over here!”

three tables away, freddie waves his hand, beckoning you over. roger drags you along, his fingers intertwining with yours as you sidestep people already lounging at their seats. once at the table set aside for queen and guests, roger pulls out your chair, and you sit, smoothing your hands over your skirt. he sits beside you and leans to his side to whisper something to john. on your right sits chrissie may, and you offer her a smile in greeting.

the function—a charity benefit organized to bring awareness to the falklands disagreement—comes and goes without issue. the dinner is bland, but the wine is good. chrissie is pleasant, and it’s your first chance to speak to another band member’s wife since the wedding. you appreciate her advice, laugh at her stories, and enjoy yourself without restraint. it doesn’t hurt that as roger drinks more, he more pays attention to you. you really shouldn’t encourage him, but when he slings an arm around your chair and pulls you closer, when he turns his head to whisper a joke in your ear at brian’s expense, when he plays with a loose lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger, it’s all you can do not to melt like the ice-sculpture in the center of the room.

come the end of the event, you find yourself walking between chrissie and veronica, your steps slow as the boys stumble through the hall. roger and john cannot stop laughing, though no one has said anything remotely funny for the last few minutes. they cling to one another like koalas to trees, as though the other might drop to the ground if released. brian and freddie aren’t any better. they sing off-key, their voices bouncing off the empty walls and laminate floors. you aren’t sure what part of the hotel you’ve wound up in, but it’s certainly less plush than the ballroom. still, you smile when roger slides his sunglasses over his eyes and snorts at one of john’s inane comments.

your smile falters when the sound of veronica’s labored breathing, pregnant as she is, reaches your ears.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

in the flurry of the evening—amidst the kiss and the dinner and the joking and the drinking—you’d forgotten about the phone call.

chrissie reaches out to grab your arm when your steps stutter. “are you okay?” she asks.

you stop walking. if the boys get into trouble around the corner, you’ll surely hear it.

meeting chrissie’s wide eyes, you frown. you hate the put a damper on the evening’s chipper mood, but the memory of the phone call crashes to the surface, bringing with it anxiety and unease. roger doesn’t need to know, but perhaps the other wives experienced a similar phenomenon. perhaps it’s all in your head. either way, you’d like a second opinion.

“this is going to sound weird, but… have either of you ever gotten a strange phone call?”

“phone call?” veronica rubs a hand over her swollen stomach. “what do you mean?”

you explain the events prior to your departure earlier in the evening, and the concerned looks that settle on chrissie and veronica’s faces stir the uncertainty in your stomach.

“that doesn’t sound good, [y/n],” chrissie says.

you gnaw at your lower lip. “no, i suppose it doesn’t.”

“have you told rog?”

you shake your head. “i don’t want to trouble him. not if it’s just some practical joke. it very well could be our kid neighbor having a lark.”

another memory drifts to the surface: the newspaper, the red paint dripping across your photograph. slag, they’d written.

you’d forgotten about that too.

veronica pulls you back to the present with her even tone. “i think you should tell him. if someone is harassing you, even if it’s just the once, don’t you think he should know?”

“i guess but—”

“hey, party people!” john sticks his head around the corner, breaking the conversation with his over-loud voice. “guess what we found?”

“judging by your wet trousers, i’d say a pool.”

john trips down the hall to grab veronica’s arm. “have i ever told you that you’re brilliant?” he presses a noisy kiss to her cheek, and even veronica isn’t capable of remaining firm under such affection.

like a child who has found an interesting twig, john crooks his arm in a follow-me motion, tugging his wife toward the pool. “come on. come see!”

veronica follows john around the corner, but before you can follow, chrissie presses her palm to your shoulder.

“you should tell roger,” she says. “before it gets serious.”

you nod, promise her you will, then make your way to the indoor swimming pool, knowing full well roger won’t hear a word of the incident.

the savoy’s pool room is understated in comparison with the rest of the hotel. though the ceiling stretches high, skylights allowing moonlight to shimmer over the undisturbed water, the room is just as hot, just as stuffy, as any other hotel pool. you drop your coat and rog’s to a plastic lounge chair as soon as you enter, swamped as you are by the thick air.

all nerves, all worries about the phone call, fade away as you slip your shoes off and watch roger and john’s poor poolside rendition of abbott and costello’s “who’s on first” routine. roger can’t keep up with john no matter how hard he tries, but their combined effort is valiant.

laughing, you clap as they take their theatrical bows and only laugh harder when john trips over the edge of the pool mid-bow. he lands belly-first in the clear water, rising a sputtering, drenched mess, his hair and clothes sodden to the bone, though his eyes are bright with mischief. he swims to where veronica sits with her ankles in the water and, before she can sternly admonish him, has her pulled into the churning pool beside him.

brian is next in. he cannonballs in the deep end, and chrissie follows of her own volition. the impact of their jump launches a tidal wave of water in your direction, and you screech, nearly falling in your attempt to avoid getting wet.

but then a pair of arms wrap around your waist, lifting you from the cool, albeit slippery, floor.

“roger, no!” you twist in his tight hold. “no, roger, don’t!”

your voice echoes in the room, bouncing off the windows and walls; yet roger ignores your pleas for release. he shuffles to the edge of the pool at the behest and cheering of his friends, each treading water, watching as you struggle to break free.

the water beneath your feet rises and falls, sloshing this way and that. you can see the bottom of the pool from where roger holds you, and there’s a delicate, inlaid design of a turtle twelve feet down on the pool’s stone foundation.

you curl your nails in roger’s arm. “roger, i can’t—”

he tosses you in before you can finish the sentence.

you fall through the air with a scream, land on your back, and sink beneath the surface of the water. chemically-laced water fills your mouth, your nose, and your lungs scream for air.

for a moment, fear grips you, not unlike the way it gripped you in the hallway of your own home, the phone cradled against your ear. only this time, you know exactly what will happen if you don’t get help.

this is not a battle you can win yourself.

kicking to the top, you break through the water and cough, shaking your head. tears cloud your vision when you open your eyes, but the liquid that’s caught in your eyelashes disguises them, and for that you’re thankful. roger bobs beside you, a grin on his face, looking much too pleased with himself and his antics. without a second thought, you reach for him.

“roger, i can’t swim,” you say.

his face falls. “oh.” he blinks then, realization striking as you grab onto his shoulders. “fuck, [y/n]. i’m sorry.”

clinging to him, you wrap your arms around his chest, your legs around his waist. you rest your cheek against the back of his neck and sigh, inhaling deeply. “i tried to tell you,” you whisper.

beneath the water, his hand curls around the skin of your ankle. he squeezes, and it’s all the apology you need.

the band stays in the pool for entirely too long. freddie starts talking about the next album, and the other boys chime in, clamoring for their opinions to be heard over the others. despite their drunken state, music brings a sense of clarity to their speech and thought. it’s their life’s work and something about which they care deeply. there’s no denying that. even when brian tries his hand at a backwards flip and freddie challenges john to a diving contest, they are always thinking, always working, toward their next goal. you admire them for that.

roger remains steady where he stands. you cling to him like a barnacle, even though you just as easily could remove yourself and find a place where your feet touch solid ground. he feels nice, though. his body is a comfort against yours, and as the business talk continues, your head lolls to the side on his shoulder, a gentle smile on your lips.

you could get used to this.

at some point, veronica complains about her aching back and drags john from the pool. they are the first to leave, but brian and chrissie soon follow. you aren’t sure if you want to go, if you want the evening to end. if it means roger will go back to ignoring you, shoving you aside, you think you could stay in this pool until your skin wilted and dripped off your bones.

“we’d better go, love,” roger whispers.

you know he’s right.

“yeah.” you try to keep the disappointment from your voice.

he moves to the side of the pool, and you heave yourself over the edge. your dress is heavy, weighed down by the absorbed water. you wring out the skirt as best you can, but until you can give it a proper wash and dry, it’s really no use. gooseflesh breaks out on your arms where the cool air hits, and you shiver.

roger appears behind you, turns you gently with a hand to the shoulder, and lifts a fluffy white towel. “here. i found these.”

“oh!” you move to take the towel from his grasp. “thank you.”

“i’ve got it.” with a smile—a boyish, gentle sort of smile—roger unfurls the towel and wraps it around your shoulders. he tugs the corners beneath your chin and laughs through a short breath. “comfy?”

you nod, pressing your face against the warm fabric.

“you look like a marshmallow.”

lifting your mouth from behind the towel, you tilt your head with an impish grin. “you once told me i looked like an angel. so, which is it? angel or marshmallow?”

“oh, angel for sure.” he thumbs a finger over the end of your nose. “you always look like an angel.”

you roll your eyes and hope the action does not expose the sudden flutter in your chest. “you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re drunk.”

he shakes his head. “no. i mean it.”

he looks at you for a long time. you look at him for just as long. the unease cadence of your breath, the way his breath whistles through his nose, the lap of the pool against the tiled walls—it all sounds so loud to your ears, though nothing can compare to the beating of your heart. it fills your entire body: bump bump, bump bump, bump bump. your cheeks feel hot with blush, and you finally look away, casting your eyes to the floor. you wiggle your bare feet against the tiled floor; roger wiggles his toes back.

“we should go home,” you say.

“yeah.”

roger pays an attendant to ferry you home, and the drive leaves your entire body close to overheating.

the back seat of his car feels strangely intimate compared to the front seat, but that might just be your imagination. surely, roger didn’t sit so close to you on purpose. surely, his hand isn’t pressed against your leg because he wants it to be. his car is just… cramped.

“did you have fun tonight?” you break the silence, but when you do, your voice sounds strange—slightly strangled, nervous, earthy—and you wish you’d remained quiet. you continue toying with a loose thread on your coat, ignoring the way roger’s eyes traverse your profile.

“mhm. did you?”

you nod, but don’t look up.

from the driver’s seat, the attendant coughs, and your gaze shifts.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

chrissie’s words of earlier surface in your mind: you should tell him about the phone call. it’s only right.

twisting, you look to your right, meet roger’s eyes, and promptly lose all sense of direction. his face is so near, his mouth parted, eyes hooded, cheeks flushed. your throat runs dry, but you can’t look away.

“roger–”

“hmm?” his lips tighten, but his smile is just as sly as it had been the moment before he kissed you in front of the reporters. the touch still lingers on your mouth, but you will the memory away.

“there’s something i should—”

his fingers sift through a lock of your hair, and he moves his head almost in a nuzzling sort of gesture. you swallow hard. “i was wrong about you,” he whispers. when did his voice get so raspy?

“what?”

“i was wrong to judge you,” he says. his hand moves from your hair to the side of your neck, one long finger tracing the lines of your skin. “to be honest, i thought you were some cheap girl looking for a way into my bed, but i was wrong. you’re more than that.”

“what—” deep inhale. “what am i, then?”

his lips quirk upward. “my wife.”

hard exhale.

his mouth claims yours, and you don’t fight him. you melt against him, his chest pressed against yours in the narrow space of the car. you’re vaguely aware that a driver sits not two feet away, more than able to hear the way roger pulls a soft whimper from behind your lips and the rustle of clothes as you both scrabble for any exposed skin. but you don’t really care. you’re drunk off of roger, and have been since you met him. it’s his looks, yes, but tonight—tonight you saw him in his element. you heard him laugh and saw him smile and preened under his attention. you would go to hades and back to live in a world shaped just like tonight, every bit of it.

roger can’t keep his hands off you as you make your way from the sidewalk to the front stoop. his hands roam your body, skimming every inch, squeezing the parts he seems to like most. you giggle like young lovers experiencing one another for the first time, and maybe that’s because you are.

when you drop the front door key because you’re too focused on returning roger’s eager kiss, it doesn’t seem to matter. you just stand on the stoop and kiss beneath the light of the moon a little longer.

when you finally get the door open and his palm hits your ass at the same time, you squeal, and he dissolves into laughter.

when he fumbles with the hallway light because he’s too focused on getting your coat off, you tell him to forget it. you don’t need the light anyway.

halfway down the hall, limbs and lips tangled, the phone rings.

you laugh as you peel yourself from his grasp. he puckers his lower lip in protest.

“i’ll be just a minute,” you say, lifting the phone from the receiver. he sticks his tongue out, but then sheds his shirt, leaving it on the kitchen floor as he slips into the bedroom. you bite the edge of your thumb as you watch him go, your head as muddled as creamy soup.

someone clears their throat on the other end of the line.

“oh, sorry. hello?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

cold dread extinguishes any joy lingering in your chest at the sound of the sickeningly smooth voice.

your fingers curl tight around the phone. “who is this?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

angry tears spring to your eyes as you scoot to stare out the window over the sink. nothing but darkness meets your eyes, but still you try in vain to search for an answer in the inky blackness. “i said: who is this?” your voice cracks, but you push forward. “how did you get this number?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

“i swear i calling the fucking police if you keep this up!”

a beat of hesitation then: “what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

with a helpless groan, you slam the phone down for the second time in one day. your fingers creak as you let go and step back, chest heaving. your skin feels slimy—slimy with roger’s lingering touch, slimy with the possibility that someone had been watching you kiss your husband, slimy with the possibility that someone could be watching you now.

you don’t stop and admire roger, clad only in his boxers, as you make your way to the en suite bathroom. you can’t stand to look at him, to know that somewhere someone cares for him so much they would take to harassing you. god, it makes you want to vomit.

you don’t bother with the bathroom door so intent are you at getting in the shower and scrubbing your slimy skin raw. you struggle with the zipper at the top of your spine, the tears hovering over your eyes threatening to spill over if you can’t be rid of your soaked clothing. you stamp your foot with a grunt and drop your hands, hanging your head in defeat.

roger’s soft chuckle sounds from the doorway. you don’t turn to look at him.

your back stiffens when he undoes the zipper, the pads of his fingers pressing along your shoulder blades, your ribs, the small of your back.

“that eager, huh?” he presses a wet kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

you want him; you really do. there’s some part of you that wants to drag him into the shower and work out your fears with the aid of his body against yours. but you won’t do that. you won’t use him, not when he confessed he thinks you better than that.

you twist to face him, holding the dress against your chest. “rog, i…” you place your hand on his smooth chest, feel the small hairs peppering his collarbone. “you’re drunk,” you finally say. “you’re drunk and you should go to bed.”

he smirks and pushes his hips against yours. “so? you’re drunk too.”

you shake your head. “no, not anymore.” you push him away gently. “believe me, roger, i want nothing more than to go to bed with you but—”

he plays with a lock of hair beside your face, and your desire to resist him weakens. “but?”

“i won’t do it while you’re drunk. besides, you’ll be over this by morning. you’ll go back to not wanting me. so i won’t do it—not while you’re drunk.”

with a huff, he lets you go, but not without kissing you once more. a traitorous tear slides down your cheek, and your throat seizes with emotion. somewhere in the back of your clouded mind, you wonder if you love him. or, if at least you are on the edge of loving him.

but it doesn’t matter. you’ll be gone in a year, and he will move on to someone else, someone strong enough to withstand his rabid fans.

he pulls away first and kisses your temple. “goodnight, angel,” he whispers.

you wrap your arms around your stomach and, once stood beneath the hot water of the shower, let the sound of the creaking pipes drown out the sound of your crying.

roger is gone before you wake the next morning.

he leaves you a note on the kitchen island, scrawled in his plain script: “angel, i’m hungover now, not drunk. i’d still like you in my bed. – rog”

the note should send a thrill to your stomach, but it manifests itself in a ball of dread instead.

what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?

it’s heaven, but the price is hell.

you crumple the note and toss it in the bin, jumping when the phone rings. you hesitate, your gaze locked on the inanimate object that has come to haunt your dreams.

eventually, the phone stops ringing, but the shrill sound echoes in your head as you go about the day.

after the second phone call, tension becomes your constant companion. the days pass, and you withdraw into yourself, scared by the slightest sound, the never-ending line of cars outside the front window, and roger’s growing interest.

he seems to like you now that he knows you. he makes you laugh, asks you questions, even goes so far as to help you research university entrance exams.

but when he comes home from the studio, your stomach takes to twisting with apprehension as you wonder if your faceless friend watched him drive home and wonder further if your faceless friend can see roger kiss the side of your neck.

you try not to push him away. his attention is what you’ve wanted all along, and, though the romantic turn of events was certainly unplanned, he does make your knees weak and your head giddy like a schoolgirl’s.

still, the phone calls persist. it’s not every night and every day. you can’t trace the caller’s pattern because there is none. you never know who will be on the other end of the line. it could be roger calling during his lunch break as he is wont to do; it could be the university to which you’ve applied; or it could be them, the phantom who chills the blood in your veins.

there’s a pad of paper tucked beneath your side of the bed. the words of your faceless friend are scrawled across the page in frenzied handwriting, the handwriting of a madwoman.

what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?

did he buy you those earrings?

will he ask john to help you study for the maths entrance exam?

you should stop answering the phone; you know you should. but each time the phone rings, you respond like a pavlovian dog. you rush to answer, to frantically write down the day’s comment just in case there’s some sliver of information that might shed light on your faceless friend’s identity.

the caller is a woman; that much you know. her voice is deep and gravelly, but she’d referenced herself as the better woman for roger before. she seems to cling to the idea that you will leave him and the position of roger taylor’s wife will fall to her. if only to spite her, you will remain married to roger until your dying day.

you should tell roger too; you know you should.

but he’s happy.

when you first met him, he was sullen, dragging his tail between his legs like a scolded pup after the montreal debacle. it took a while, but you see him now for his true self. he’s carefree in a grounded sort of way, sold out for his music and the lifestyle it affords him. he’s gentle and kind and surprisingly considerate. he picks up the groceries when you ask it of him; he cleans the dishes from supper without complaint. he doesn’t pressure you for anything more than a make-out session on the couch when the lights are low and a record spins on the turntable. you would go further, but you can’t—not right now. he doesn’t ask any questions.

it would break you to tell him about the phone calls, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. each morning, you imagine his crestfallen face. you imagine the anger and the shouting and him calling the authorities and—

it’s easier for him—for everybody—if you just stay quiet.

besides, you’ll be gone in six months.

one evening, after dinner at an expensive restaurant, you let roger to take you to bed. he’d looked so pretty in the candlelight, and he’d listened to you talk about your hopes and dreams for the future. you think you fall in love with him when he drags you onto the bed and whispers sweet praises in your ear the whole night long.

when you wake the next morning, he is still there, and you snuggle into his chest. you breathe him in, and it’s bar soap from the shower and dried sweat and lingering cologne. his arms circle your back, squeezing you tighter.

“mornin’, angel,” he mumbles.

for a moment, you don’t respond. you keep your eyes closed and think back to yesterday.

there’d been no phone call. a blessed reprieve from three days in a row of randomly timed messages. roger had held you, and he holds you still. he is a comfort amidst your turbulent sea.

you should tell him. he can handle it. you’re tired of running from him.

rising to your palm, you meet roger’s gaze. he stares at you through his lashes, a sleepy smile on his mouth. he lifts a hand to cradle your face, and his thumb skims your cheekbone.

“how come you get a halo every morning and i don’t?”

you ignore his compliment before the bravery rushing through your veins dissipates. “rog, there’s something i haven’t told you.”

“yeah? is it about the freckle by your left ass-check?”

gasping, you slap roger’s chest. though he laughs, a red handprint remains in the center of his sternum, and he clutches his skin in pain. once settled, he apologizes and promises to behave.

deep inhale.

“about a month or two ago, i started—”

the phone on the bedside table cuts you off with its sharp bell-like ring.

your stomach plummets to your feet.

your eyes widen as roger holds up a finger and reaches for the earpiece.

he lifts it to his ear. “hello?”

some part of you hopes it’s your faceless friend. roger could deal with her himself. the other part of you prays it’s just a wrong number or john or—

“yes, fred, i know.”

hard exhale.

you slump to the side, leaning your weight against roger’s hip. thank heaven.

roger’s eyes slide to you, and he grins, winking. he squeezes the point of your chin between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes locked on yours as he nods and hums in response to freddie on the other end of the line.

“no, we won’t be late,” roger says. “yes, she’s coming. i promise i won’t forget.” he leans closer to the bedside table in his effort to end the conversation. “okay, fred. yes, i will.” finally, he heaves a sigh. “oh, for fuck’s sake, fuck off! i’m trying to woo my wife, so scram!”

“now,” he says, once the earpiece is on the base. “where were we?”

tugging on the back of your neck, he closes the distance between his mouth and yours. even with a hint of morning breath, you dissolve in his capable hands. he kisses you earnestly, and you struggle to remember what it was you wanted to tell him. he has this way with his mouth and his tongue and his hands that makes you forget everything but the feeling of him.

pulling back a moment later, he mumbles against your mouth: “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

you blink rapidly. “i—” damn, he looks so happy, glowing with youth and perhaps an inkling of love. you press your palm to his cheek then shake your head. “never mind. it can wait.”

he cocks his head to the side. “you sure?”

“mhm.”

“you remember the movie thing tonight, right?” he asks as he slides from the bed, drawing up his sweats from the floor and padding to the window. “that’s what fred called about.”

he throws the curtains open. the morning sun shines through, piercing every hidden corner, and your heart trips in your chest. your hands shake as you lift one of the bed sheets to cover your naked chest.

someone could be watching.

roger grimaces. “oh, shit, sorry, angel.” he tosses you his shirt from the floor, which you gratefully tug over your head. “anyway, tron, you know? we’re supposed to go to the premiere. something about flash gordon and—”

“i remember.”

“good. wear something nice because i don’t give a fuck about this movie, and i’d rather be looking at you anyway.” he smirks as he presses his palms against the mattress and leans in for another kiss.

you oblige him without hesitation.

“gotta go,” he says, pulling away only to firmly kiss you once more. “be ready by six, okay?”

you nod, and he leaves.

the majority of the day, you putter about the house. there’s chores to do—laundry and bills to catch up on and research for university admissions. it’s domestic work, mind-numbingly dull and repetitive. it leaves far too much space for your thoughts to run wild.

you admonish yourself for once more failing to tell roger of your faceless friend. you’d had the moment, and you’d blown it. with his unreliable schedule, there is no telling when you’ll have the chance to sit him down for a serious conversation again. you consider going to jim beach for help, but know once roger hears wind of it, he will fly off the handle because you didn’t come to him first. perhaps rightfully so, too.

you resolve that until you can find another peaceful moment, you will continue to suffer through it. it’s a step in the right direction, though. at least now, you have plans to tell him.

by five-forty-five, you are ready for the event. you sit in the living room, gnawing at your lower-lip as your leg bounces in anticipation. you haven’t gone anywhere with roger since the charity function earlier in the year. your faceless friend will surely be watching tonight, and already you feel sweat gather along your underarms.

roger unlocks the door and sticks his head into the living room upon his arrival. “car’s running. ready to go?”

you lift your handbag from the floor, nodding as you make your way to his side. roger stops you with a flat hand against your stomach. he bends to catch your eyes.

“you okay?”

“yes,” you say, but your voice sounds too rushed and eager even to your own ears.

he doesn’t hassle you for a more illuminative response. he just leads you to the car, opens your door, and makes his way to the theater, foot hard on the gas pedal.

as soon as you see the carpet—red this time—stretched along the sidewalk leading to the movie theater, bile rises in your throat. you reach for roger’s arm and squeeze tight. his head whips to the side.

“roger, i don’t think i can do this,” you breathe.

he frowns. “what do you mean?”

“it’s just that i’ve been—”

he pulls the car to the side. an usher opens the door, sound and light and chaos breaking the comforting quiet of the ride. your eyes flutter shut; you grit your teeth.

“[y/n], what is it?” roger’s voice is low, on the edge of irritation.

this is not the time. yet why do you feel like you’re going to pass out if you don’t—

“mr. taylor?” the usher prompts.

purging the emotions clawing at the front of your mind, you push roger’s shoulder and avoid his searching gaze. “nothing. go on! i’m right behind you.”

roger huffs as he slides from the car, but he dutifully offers his hand to aid you onto the red carpet. as he did before, he leads you toward the theater doors, stopping at the appropriate moments to pose for photographs. you hold on to the back of his jacket so tightly your knuckles crack. your eyes scan the crowd in search of your faceless friend. you will know her when you see her. she is a part of you now, like a demon on your shoulder.

roger rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture and leans to whisper in your ear. “you feel a stiff as a board,” he says. “what is it?”

you shake your head and nudge him further down the carpet. “we can talk about it later.”

“is it something i’ve—”

“no, roger. it’s not you.”

he studies your face a moment longer before nodding and returning his smile to the crowd.

near the entrance to the theater, a gaggle of girls wave their hands in an attempt to grab roger’s attention. he glances at you, and you nod, backing away to allow him one of the moments he so enjoys.

but one of the girls calls out your name. you lift your eyes to stop tracing the intricate weaving of the red carpet and stare at the girl in question until roger has to drag you over with a laugh. the girl shoves a newspaper in your face, your wedding announcement crinkled with affectionate wear-and-tear. she asks for your autograph, and you chuckle, feeling rather ridiculous as you scrawl your name across the page with a fat green marker.

it happens before you have time to react.

your head is bent as you sign the girl’s newspaper, your attention diverted from scanning the crowd for your faceless friend. but you feel her when she arrives, sense her eyes on your neck, and her fingers reaching for the sleeve of your dress. you have time enough to turn and catch sight of her long fingernails descending upon your cheek, but not time enough to stop her.

you scream more out of fear than pain as her nails scrape your face. truly, it does not hurt, though blood does begin to trickle down your chin and along the column of your throat.

it’s just that she’s there, before your very eyes, and she’s much smaller than you imagined. yet her eyes are dark with envy, and her nails are sharp. you recognize her labored breathing—deep inhale, sharp exhale—as she tries to move backwards and disappear within the crowd before she can be seen. you cannot look away from her, even when roger grabs your shoulders and wrenches you away from the iron gate. he’s shouting in your ear, cradling your uninjured cheek, but everything sounds like you’re underwater.

her face—round and childlike in its innocence—does not match the picture you’d created of her in your mind. she does not resemble the evil witch of your childhood fairy tales. she’s just a child, a little girl with a heart full of love for someone she cannot have.

your faceless friend is pointed out by the girl with the newspaper, and someone—maybe theater security, maybe queen security, maybe a good samaritan—drags her away.

roger grips your chin harder than he should considering the circumstances, but it brings your attention back to him. his eyes are ablaze with fury, and you suddenly feel the urge to cry.

“are you all right?” he demands. “are you hurt anywhere else?”

only my pride, you think.

“no,” you manage with a shake of your head. “no.”

“come on.” he slips his arm around your waist and pushes your head into the curve of his neck, away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. “we’re going home.”

the trip home is silent. your head moves back and forth across the passenger window, in time with the bumps and dips and curves of the road. there’s a fast-food napkin pressed against your cheek to stem the blood. you aren’t sure if it helps. roger keeps his hand firm on your thigh.

once inside the house, he forces you to sit in the middle of the bed as he scurries to retrieve the first aid kit. while he roots around in the bathroom, muttering to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for fast enough, you strip yourself of your dress and return his old t-shirt over your head. you lift the collar to your nose and inhale his scent. when you draw the collar away, crimson blood and fresh tears stain the fabric. you sigh.

“fuckin’ hell.” roger drops to sit in front of you, his legs skewed to the side. a white, plastic box sits in his lap, and when he opens it, the contexts spill onto the bed sheets. “i’ve had this thing for ages. i think brian got it for me when i moved in.”

his hand returns to your chin; only his touch is gentle now. he looks over your wound, frowning at the sight.

“this is gonna sting, angel,” he warns.

it does. the antiseptic hurts, and you wince, but he keeps you from drawing away, his grip on your chin firm. he unwraps a butterfly bandage and presses it over the shallow scratch on your face. then he shakes his head, his face drawn tight.

“what is it you weren’t telling me?”

“there is—was this girl… and she kept calling, saying things.” you twist and unearth the pad of paper from under the bed. rubbing your eye, you hand it to him and watch his face darken as he reads the words.

he looks up, and you can’t bear to see the anger—the anger directed at you—in his gaze. “why didn’t you tell me?”

your first instinct is to shrug, to obfuscate, but he deserves the truth.

“you never wanted a wife,” you say. “you certainly didn’t want a wife who brought a stalker into the house. i figured—” deep inhale. “i figured i could live with it until our year was up.”

“oh, baby.” roger presses his forehead to yours. he cups your untainted cheek. “fucking up in montreal was the best thing that ever happened to me. it brought you to me, didn’t it?”

“you’re just saying that ‘cause—”

“no.” he draws back and grabs both shoulders in his hands. “i mean it. i never was one for marriage. didn’t make sense. but i get it now. it’s about partnership, yeah, but it’s about more than that. it’s about trust, too.” he smiles softly, pressing his thumb against your lip. “it’s about affection.”

he goes quiet then removes his hands from your shoulders.

“i wish you would have trusted me.”

“i’m—”

“don’t apologize. this whole arrangement is weird, and i don’t blame you for keeping quiet. i just wish you would have told me so i could help you.”

you sigh, dropping your head. “what do you want, roger?”

he lifts your chin, and you are struck by the love so firmly etched in his eyes. it knocks the wind from your lungs, leaves you breathless.

“i want you to keep my last name,” he says.

“what?”

“you heard me: i want you keep my last name.”

tears flood your vision, but not for fear or worry or regret.

you begin to smile, but the skin of your cheek pulls tight, and you wince, touching your injury. “ow,” you mutter.

roger laughs and pulls your fingers away from the bandage. he kisses each knuckle then rubs the wedding band along your ring finger. “can we give each other another chance?” he asks. “can we forget all the assumptions and just be us? i think we started on the wrong foot and somewhere along the way we switched—”

“yes.”

he stops mid-sentence, his brows drawing together in confusion. “what?”

“i said yes. i’ll keep your last name. i want your last name, roger taylor.”

he grins, and the happiness in every line on his face outshines even the sun’s rays. “god, you’re perfect.” he kisses you hard, and you laugh as you drop against the pillows, pulling him with you. he stops attacking your neck with his lips long enough to prop himself up and stare down at you. “but don’t you ever pull something like that again! if someone starts nagging you, tell me first thing. promise?”

you nod, stunned by his firm tone.

“say it.”

“i promise.”

he smooths the hair on your forehead, and your stomach somersaults to watch him examine you so openly “good girl,” he mumbles before lowering his mouth to yours again.

you lose yourself in him. he loses himself in you. somewhere along the way, you find one another, and all is bliss.

in the morning, legs tangled in the sheets and steady rain pelting the window, roger adjusts his hold on your waist. he’s still asleep, his chest rising and falling in time with his gentle breath. you pull his arm tight around you and smile into your pillow.

your cheek is still sore, and you’re sure there’s some poor nun who remains scarred for life after witnessing roger’s montreal incident.

but this morning you cannot find it within yourself to feel bothered by your faceless friend, nor by the scarred nun. indeed, you think, you should write them each a thank you card, because in a funny sort of way, they brought you to your husband. in a funny sort of way, they gave you love of your life. and for that, you are indebted to them.

you twist at the sound of roger’s yawn. taking his face in your hands, you smile at him. “good morning, husband,” you whisper.

he grins back. “good morning, wife.”

now this—this you could get used to.

taglist (italicized handles wouldn’t work): @im-an-adult-ish @bluewillowmom @deakygurl @aprilaady @dancingdiscofloof @six-bloodyminutes

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #queen #queen fic #j writes

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lunasphantom · 3 years

Text

Mission: Rise of Rivalries-Chapter 1

Synopsis: Phoenix, a top assassin from a very secret group, the definition of girlboss.gaslight.gatekeep.No one knows her name but they call them Raven. A very intelligent killer whose kills have been studied by many (some very entertaining by the way). Studied by people like Dream. Dream, a mysterious detective,works with the government. The only person who found Phoenix,she was hard to track but in the end he did find her. Now, these two establishments come together to take over a shared target, Sleepy Bois Inc. A family who has gotten into illegal business. How will these two sworn enemies, Dream and Phoenix, take over the most powerful family.

TW: blood,knives

taglist is open!!

masterlist

series masterlist

After their first tension filled meeting Dream and Phoenix were ready to go on their first step of their mission. Mexico. Throughout the way to the airport and during their time in the airport Dream was acting nothing but like a child. Unlucky for him Phoenix knew exactly which points to push, which made the whole trip entertaining for her. However it wasn’t nice that he was also being mean to ones around him, leaving Phoenix with a lot of “Excuse me”’s. It was like apologizing for your dad's bad behaviour to service. It’s not like Niki or Puffy could give Phoenix a word of advice for handling him.The plane was lowering down, “Be an asshole to me stop being an asshole to a waitress you are starting to become a Karen.” Phoenix argued towards Dream. Dream didn’t acknowledge her at all but just kept “reading” the file for the mission. Phoenixs takes the file from his hands, harshly. “I was looking through that.” Dream says as he looks through Phoenix’s eyes for the first time. Phoenix takes a big inhale “No you weren’t you were just staring in the void.”

“I was thinking of ways to kill you.” Dream said with a smirk and Phoenix just rolled her eyes ``You are just begging to have your hands around my neck.'' It was Phoenix’s turn to smirk now. Dream got stiff over the change of subject. As the plane lowered down Dream's hand tightened on the seat. “Big man afraid of planes,” Phoenix said in a joking manner, hoping to Dream huffed “Haha very funny.” “Have we figured out our story yet.” “Story for what?” “Our couple story, how we met and stuff” Phoenix explained with a slight annoyance “It’s all written on the file” Dream turned to Phoenix. “But who likes going by the book? I’d say we met at a farm” Dream just rolled his eyes. His previous annoyance was replaced with a glint of playfulness “What if we used the real story of how we met?” Dream said wanting a payback over the mention of his hands on her neck. “Before or after you stabbed me” Phoenix asked not even lowering her voice down, earning an eerie look from the old lady beside her “You stabbed me first.” The bickering of who stabbed who first continued until the plane landed. They got their luggage called a cab to go to their hotel. Throughout all of this none of them said a word.

Their hotel room was nice and large enough for other things (knives,guns,computers) to fit in. “Oh you have got to be kidding me” Dream said as Phoenix was fascinated with the amount of food inside the mini fridge. “What happened?” Phoenix said as she opened a small bottle of vodka.Phoenix’s eyes scanned over the room to see that there is only one bed. “You” said Dream pointing at her “are sleeping on the couch.” “Huh no” “Oh yeah I think so.” “You know how my back gets” “Your back will be fine Y/- Phoenix” Dream spit out her name like venom. Unbothered by the sudden rise of emotions from Dream “Rock paper scissors.The one who reaches 3 wins” “We aren’t kids.” “Do you have any other ideas or are you just afraid of losing?” Dream thought for a minute and finally gave up. “Fine” He marched over her like a child. Both of them got into a sort of a stance position, it was a funny sight to see. Two kids fighting over the bed. The game was intense, especially the last round “Rock paper scissors shoot.” Both of them said at the same time. Dream won against Phoenix. As she was about to scream, Dream's phone rang, it was from George. “Did you two arrive?” “Yes we did.” “Okay put me on speaker I also need to talk to her.” Dream looked at Phoenix who was sitting down in defeat eyeing the couch, trying to seduce it to come to her. Dream put George on speaker “She can hear you know.” “Hey George!” Phoenix yelled since Dream was far away, she stood up and approached Dream so she could hear George. “Oh thank God you are alive.I don't have to get rid of any bodies.” “Not yet.” both of them said at the same time. “If I say please, will you not kill each other?” “If you get down on your knees, sure I’ll consider.” Phoenix replied with a smirk.

George laid out the plan for them. It was easy:

Do good in poker to gain Quackity’s attention (Dreams job.)

Talk with Karl enough to get to know him

Get a game with Quackity

Threaten

Get info

Run

Seemed easy and logical. A plan with 0 risk

Couple hours had passed, and Dream and Phoenix were getting ready. Dream wore a suit, a navy green suit while Phoenix wore a matching dress which suited her body elegantly. Dream also saw how this dress made her look beautiful, powerful, it was like the day they first met.

“You look rather lonely for someone this handsome.” Y/N approached Clay in a confident manner without a smirk, showing that she is quite the humble one when it came to her confidence. Clay chuckled while taking a sip from his drink “You look rather beautiful for someone who will be spending the night alone.” Clay said as he leaned down to her “or maybe I can change that.” Clay whispered into Y/N’s ear. It has been a while, a long while since Y/N had been affected by someone like that. Even though she looked powerful Clay could take her walls down with a simple touch, a whisper even just a look from day one. Y/N leaned in more, she tied her hands around his tie pulling him even more close. “Who said I was going to spend the night alone.” Y/N whispered back to Clay. Let his tie loose and walked over her next target.

“What were we threatening them with again?” Phoenix yelled from the bathroom, making a few last touches on her makeup. “You should know it by now, you will do it after all.” Dream said “Well you didn’t let me change our names and how we met, for the first time I am going by the rules. Might as well know it deeply.” Phoenix told Dream as she looked at him through the mirror “They betrayed SBI, released info apparently, almost causing the downfall of the company.” “Why don’t we just let them take down their own business then?” “People who have the information were killed so the family never found out about the betrayal.”

Y/N P.O.V

“Maybe you should do the talking.” I suggested as I walked towards Dream. “And why is that?” He was trying to tie his navy green tie which made his eyes shine through. “Let me do that,” I muttered to him. Seeming to hear it, he let go of his tie and turned towards me. He wore the same tie when we met. “You know betrayal better than I do.” “Phoenix not again.” Dream growled under his breath. “I am not wrong though. You used me to get to my organization. I read that report you know. Shame you didn’t mention our sex life as well, would’ve been more fun.” “You would’ve liked people to know how I fucked you” “Pretty sure we fucked each other Clay.” I said as I tightened his tie around his neck and he grabbed his knife. He pushed me against the wall, his knife was now on my neck and my hands magically didn’t let the tie slip. “Don’t call me Clay.” “Oooh are you mad that I made you realize you were a real person?” I mocked him. “I can kill you.” “Don’t say that to an assassin, we are way too creative.” His knife went in deeper to my neck, but not deep enough to cut it. He took a big breath in “I am not a traitor, you know that.” I looked into his eyes. One who knew him well would argue that Dream got colder after me. Dream got colder after “love” because he didn’t know how to handle it. I heard these arguments from his friends, these arguments over why he got “cold”. However “Eyes never lie chico.” His eyes were the real traitors for his emotions, which made me think back to everything. “You said you would never leave and you left.” I mumbled. He took a step back, confused by my answer. I let the tie loose, it fell to the floor. I took a deep breath, gained my composure back. “Now, let’s gamble shall we?You’ll be fine without the tie.”

I thought I had the toughest job but it turned out to be easy. Karl Jacobs was probably the nicest bartender/ I just watch people gamble so I can psychoanalyse man I’ve ever met in my entire life. Dream played well enough to impress Quackity and we both deserve an Oscar for our performance as a couple. This came naturally to us. Even before we were “dating”, before I knew about his plans of turning me in. I always blame Dream, but I wasn’t any different. We portrayed what we felt differently even though we were the same drug. Quackity bought our act as a couple and told us that he would love to play a card game together in his office, which was downstairs, and Karl would also be there.

We started going downstairs with Dream's hand on my back. The room wasn’t lit enough but I guess it’s to add to the tension. “Come on gentlemen and lady. Lets play, '' Quackity said with a smirk. I think this whole “come to my basement” was just to get money back from Dream cause that man actually knows how to play poker now. Karl laid out all the cards. “If you cheat I will catch you.” Karl said as he sat down comfortably on his chair. “We’ll see about that.” I said with a tight smile. The game was going on. Dream cheated two times but wasn’t caught. But guess who was….me. “No, give me the card back.” Quackity said sternly. “Oh come on you gamble and you cannot handle cheating.” “Cheating means dishonesty and that is a betrayal of my trust. That's important to me.” He said giving me the deadliest look, he fell right into the trap. “How did they react?” “How did who react?” he asked genuinely intrigued. “How did the SBI family react when they found out you released important information but was shit at covering it.” I said as I leaned over the desk to get closer to Quackity who was sitting in front of me. I heard Karl gulp, the smirk Quackity once carried fell from his face. I got up from the desk “I mean come on! Throwing them into the river.” I said as I traced my hand over Karl. I got a chance to look at Dream who wore a smug triumphant look.

“I can come up with more creative ideas, you know.” I said looking straight at Quackity ``And you both can be my little tests to see which one gets the job done faster and cleaner.” I said and finished it with a smile. “What do you want?” “Information.” Dream replied coldly “Why would we give it to you?” Karl asked “This family isn’t helping you, they are stopping you from growing your own company and you are basically their sl-” “One way or another we are going to get to that family Karl and Quackity.” I cut Dream off. “A family that doesn’t care if I kill you now or later. But I am sure they would be itching to kill you when they find out about the leak.” I leaned down to Quackity “I heard they are also very sensitive about this.” The next move came at a very vulnerable moment: Quackity pushed me against the wall and pulled out a knife and dragged the knife against my stomach. Not deep enough but still a wound that’s going to sting. Since I am used to pain, both internally and externally, I couldn’t show much reaction (which seemed to worry Quackity) “They are holding a ball on the 20th. It’s masked, you can go, I can arrange the invitations.” Quackity whipped his head around and took the knife out. “They are right Quackity we are literally slaves, this family needs to be taken down. You were talking about your own plans last night, this is your chance.” Karl pleaded. Quackity thought for a minute, looked at us “Go. Karl will give you the things you need tomorrow just come here.” he grumbled. That was our queue to leave.

When we arrived at our hotel room I was exhausted. I also lost the rock-paper-scissors game for the bath. Again. As Dream was showering I decided to change into more comfortable clothes. Through the adrenaline and stress I totally forgot about my wound. I was deeply staring into the wound trying to decide whether it’s deep or just a surface-level one. I was into thinkin that I didn’t feel Dream’s presence “Who did this to you?” he whispered. I turned around. He looked at it and touched it. I winced. His eyes were filled with worry “Sorry I-” “I know” I said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “It was that Quackity guy wasn’t it.” Dream said sternly. “It’s fine, it has happened before.” “Come here, let me fix it.” he said as he held my hand and dragged me to the bathroom so he could fix my wound.

He pulled out the med kit and cleaned up my wound. Every touch had an electrifying effect on my body. I was extremely tired but his touch seemed to give me back life.He didn’t look at the wound all that much, it was as if he was a pirate who already knew his way around the map, the map being my body. With every touch that could cause me to wince he would look up like a child. He finished it off and got up. Our position wasn’t much different from the one where he was pressing a knife to my neck. Well now it was minus the knife and I wasn’t pressed against a wall. “We can sleep together if you would like?” Dream offered his eyes softening. “I won't mind” I checked my bandage to make sure I didn’t start bleeding again. Dream had already gone inside the bed, I followed him and went on the other side. We didn’t talk after that, we were both silent as if his touch on my body had a silencing curse. After shifting a bit more I finally faced Dream again. “Stop shifting it will start to bleed again.” his eyes were closed “You will get away with my death if I just bleed to death” “The scar isn’t that deep” “You never know” I argued “You and I both know that.” “Fine whatever. You’ll clean up the mess when I die.” I said and turned my back to him “Just go to sleep before I regret taking care of you.” “Sweet dreams Dream” the smirk was lingering on my tone. I heard him chuckle but it was a very muffled chuckle “Good night Phoenix.”

#dream x reader #dreamwastaken #dream mcyt #dream x fem!reader #dream x y/n #mcyt x y/n #quackity x reader #sapnap #sapnap x reader #georgenotfound #mcyt au #dream au #georgenotfound x reader #sleepy bois inc #dream x you #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #technoblade

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vansmaybeonthewall · 4 years

Text

Lost But Found

requested by: anon

Masterlist

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It was bad, really bad. Five women murdered in 2 months, the last victim found a week ago. These young women who had their whole lives ahead of them murdered so gruesomely and left behind in trashy places. The one thing that connected them?

They held a position of power.

Two CEOs, two police officers, and most recently, an ex-FBI agent. The killer was getting brave, finding and attacking women with bigger titles. But the team had one clue, whoever this person was, they were killing in twos. The next victim was suspected to be another FBI agent.

“Who?” was the question. Prentiss, J.J., and Y/N could be possible victims, making the case much harder to solve. The team didn’t want to give the killer another possible victim, so the trio would have to remain undercover until the killer was caught.

But that day, Y/N wasn’t careful.

The team was stuck, stuck trying to find the connection between the locations the bodies were left behind. If they couldn’t pinpoint the next victim, they would find the next location to catch the killer in action.

“The unsub chose two junkyards and three dumps, far from where these women lived and worked. These places have no connection whatsoever other than being full of trash,” Y/N started.

“They specifically took women who had a higher title than the common person and purposely left them behind in these places to mock their titles,” Spencer added.

“But why choose these specific junkyards and dumps? They aren’t abandoned, so they wanted the victims to be found eventually,” J.J pointed out.

“Do we have the names of the people who own the places? Employees names?” Derek asked.

“Yes! That’s it, I went to interview the owners. The files are in the car, key me Derek,” Y/N mentioned. Derek throws the keys and Y/N leaves before any other decision could be made.

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Y/N was making her way towards the car when her badge fell from her person. She didn’t notice until a slightly older woman picked it up.

“Excuse me, you dropped this.”

“Oh thank you! I would be in so much trouble if I lost this.”

“No worries! Are you some type of officer?”

“Oh no, I’m an FBI agent.”

“Really? That’s great! Where are you from?”

“Well, I grew up in a small town in Ohio and then I went out and explored the world. I think it was the best.”

“Oh, must have been terrifying.”

“It was, for a while. Eventually I got the hang of it. But I have to get going, my colleagues are waiting for me.”

“Oh I don’t want to keep you from them, it was lovely meeting you!”

“And you too!” Y/N turned back towards the car and was opening the trunk before the woman spoke again.

“Oh! Before I forget...” Her trailing off caused Y/N to turn around. Only, this woman did not have good intentions. She blew a white powder into her face and pushed Y/N into the trunk of the car. Y/N grew dizzy and it didn’t help when she hit her head. She soon passed out, leaving the woman to shove Y/N’s limp body into the trunk.

“Really? The last one put up a fight, maybe you aren’t cut out for the job,” the woman whispered.

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When five minutes had passed, no one thought anything of it. They thought Y/N was being Y/N. When ten minutes had passed, the team knew something was wrong. Y/N could be late sometimes, but it wouldn’t take her ten minutes to grab a couple of files, right?

With that thought in mind, Spencer and Derek went to find Y/N. The scene outside left them shocked and confused. Y/N and the car were nowhere to be found. But the duo noticed something out of place. Near the spot the car should be parked in, was shattered glass. Upon walking closer to the glass, Spencer could see white dust on some of the shards.

“Hey Derek, how fast can we get this tested?”

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Dizziness. The feeling of floating. Y/N awoke tied to a table in what seemed to be some sort of shed. Trying to break free of her bonds would prove to be a fail.

“Finally, I was beginning to think I used too much.”

Y/N swiftly turned her head to see the woman she spoke to before blacking out.

“And you really made it easy you know. I think you were the easiest. Congratulations you made a record.”

“What?”

“Aww, you’re so confused, it’s cute really. You see, I am going to get rid of you, like they did to me.”

“What are you talking about? I-I’m not from here.”

“That may be true, but deep down you are. You’re just like the rest of them, you get your chance of becoming big and you forget who helped you, who made you. Leaving behind the small town for the big cities.”

“You did all of this?”

“Well of course I did. I made them come back. They all knew me and I made them promise to come back. Why do you think I picked these junkyards, huh? These “poor” women worked here before they got their precious jobs. Such a great plan, isn’t it?”

Y/N blinked lazily.

“Oh! Of course, the drugs must be in your system now. Forgot to mention that part, I injected some pretty good stuff while you were out. Soon enough, you will be out like a light, snuffed out like they did to me. But enough of my sad little story, let’s have fun shall we?”

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The team was puzzled once again. Y/N and the evidence she collected were gone. The one thing they had was the glass with the strange white powder. They theorized that whoever used the powder, used it to knock Y/N out. The team was conversing when someone walked into the building quite frantically.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” Prentiss could see the slight fear in her eyes.

“No, not really. Y/N said to come in if anything seemed off, and, well, my coworker, uhm Jess, didn’t come in today. Y/N thought she was a prime suspect because Jess was somehow working at the other junkyards.” The woman spoke rather fast.

“Wait, this coworker, where do you two work?”

“Uh, at the junkyard on Woodward St., Junk n’ Stuff. Jess usually shows up at 11:00 and never later than 11:10.”

“Okay, is there any part of the junkyard that is closed off to others. A place where Jess spends most of her time?”

“Well, there is this shed near the back, but it hasn’t been used for about 5 years.”

“Alright team, we have a possible location, we head out in 5. What was your name again ma’am?” Emily questioned.

“Mana.”

“Okay Mana, we’re going to need your help, do you think you can do it?”

The younger girl nodded.

The team could only hope they could find Y/N in time.

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Y/N could no longer move her body. Her limbs felt too heavy to lift.

“I actually feel kind of bad for you. you seemed so happy when I first saw you. I think people would actually miss you.”

Y/N couldn’t speak anymore, the drugs taking more and more away from her. She knew she couldn’t fight any longer, the drugs her captor used were strong. But little did she know, the team was right outside, planning how to take Jess down for good.

“Well, I think your time is up sweetcheeks.”

Jess grabbed a small knife, when much to her chagrin, the FBI burst in.

“FBI, put your hands in the air!”

Jess, however, was not alarmed. She held the knife tighter and loomed over Y/N, posing as a threat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Jess warned.

“Put down the knife and no one gets hurt.” Derek made it clear to Jess that this was not a game.

“No, she deserves to be hurt, all of them did.”

J.J. walked through the back quietly, sneaking behind Jess. Right as Jess was about to make the wrong move, J.J. quickly disarmed her and took her down. Spencer and Emily rushed towards the unconscious Y/N while Derek helped J.J. detain Jess.

“Get her to the ambulance, we don’t know what she put in her system.” Emily ordered.

The ambulance took off, leaving the team in worry.

Was Y/N okay?

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Beep. Beep. Beep.

Y/N slowly opened her eyes, the bright lights a huge difference from the dim shed. She could finally move, her arms no longer felt like weights.

“I think that marks ‘Getting Drugged and Kidnapped’ off my bucket list,” Y/N joked to herself.

“Sounds fun, should I add that too?” Derek, who opened the door beforehand, responded.

“Jesus Derek, where did you come from?”

“I came in to check on you. You’ve been out for a while an-”

“Say no more Derek. Send them in, I need Teddy Bear Reid.”

The team was finally whole again. Despite Y/N being in the hospital, they were glad she was safe.

“Teddy Bear Reid, where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.” Y/N smiled. Spencer quickly embraced her and made sure to stay close.

“Let me guess, J.J. did the take down?” Y/N asked. When J.J. nodded, Y/N pumped her fist in the air.

“Yes! I’m on fire!”

They all shared a laugh, happy to see that their Y/N was back.

“So who has my bucket list?”

#criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds oneshot #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #emily prentiss #emily prentiss imagine #derek morgan #derek morgan imagine #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau imagine #penelope garcia imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #david rossi

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terrm9 · 3 years

Text

Fall On Me

Words count: 4 200 Warnings: mentions of fertility issues, other than that just fluff Author’s note: This is the fic I have thought so much about. I have written something, then stopped, then written again, thought about it and considered for so long if I should post it or not. I have never been this nervous posting something, probably because there is a big part of me in it - therefore, any kind of feedback will be greatly appreciated!

After four years of dating and their first year being married, Chiara and Ethan find out that there are still surprises in store for them.

Important notes: My MC (Chiara) has been diagnosed with an immune system disorder that makes it close to impossible for her to become pregnant. It has been stated in Destination fic as well as in Already Gone series, but for those who haven’t read those, it’s important to know that so you understand the context.

There are three more important notes at the end (they would kind of ruin the experience if you read them in the beginning). PLEASE read them, especially the first one, it is really important to me.

*** *** *** ***

As Ethan stepped into his office, the sight of sleeping Chiara on a couch didn’t even surprise him. It was the fifth time in the last ten days. She would throw an apologetic smile at him along with a muttered “I just need to catch a quick break” and half an hour later, he would find her fast asleep in his office.

At this point, surprise has been replaced by worrying. Ethan knew his wife and he knew that she could go weeks without rest. This behavior was strange, to say the least.

He approached the couch and knelt next to it, gently brushing the hair off her forehead. Placing a soft kiss on it instead, he whispered: “Chiara, are you okay?”

She opened her eyes slowly at first, obviously confused about the whole situation. Realizing what was happening – again – she sat up rapidly, trying to come up with a good excuse.

“I am sorry, Ethan, I must have fallen asleep. I just wanted to sit down for a while and-“

“It’s okay,” Ethan cut her off and took a seat next to her, hugging her waist. “I’m just a little worried about your constant tiredness.”

Sighing, Chiara rubbed her eyes and leaned into his chest, shaking her head slowly.

“I am fine. It’s just… ever since we’ve gotten back from the Europe, the work has been crazy. Two weeks and I feel like I need another vacation.”

Visiting Europe has become their habit through the years. It started with a trip to Tuscany on Chiara’s third year of residency, continuing with a quick trip to France after getting engaged, honeymoon in Greece and finally this year, when they decided to spend their first wedding anniversary on a three-weeks long roadtrip through Scandinavia, finished with four days in The Basque Country, so that Chiara could pursue her dream of visiting Guernica, the village on Picasso’s painting.

Chiara was right about the work being absolutely crazy ever since they’ve gotten back and throwing a glance at the paperwork on his desk, Ethan was very well aware of the exhaustion they both felt. Still, he managed to get through his days without needing a nap.

“Let me draw your blood so that I can run some tests. Maybe it’s just iron deficiency, but I want to be sure,” Ethan murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “And go home to sleep.”

She turned to him, brows furrowed as she shook her head again.

“Absolutely not. I am fine, just a little weary. Just make me a cup of coffee and I’ll be fresh.”

Ethan stood up to make her the coffee, however he had no intention of letting her stay in work. He would bet that she was just ‘resting her eyes’ while he was turned to the coffee machine. As a doctor, there was one particular idea about what her exhaustion was about. Noticing such symptoms with anybody else, he would be absolutely sure. But this was Chiara he was thinking about and so he didn’t allow his mind wander into the direction it was tempted to.

“I am serious, Rookie. You are no use here, hardly keeping your eyes open. Drink the coffee, let me take your blood and go home to rest. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

She rolled her eyes and took the cup from his hands. Just as she was about to sip the coffee, she scrunched her nose in an utter disgust and looked up at him.

“Did you change the brand? This smells… ugh, I am not as demanding as you when it comes to coffee and even I can tell that this smells worse than the cafeteria coffee.”

Ethan bit his lip to hide the jitteriness overwhelming him at those words.

It was the same coffee brand they’ve been ordering for more than three years.

It was all adding up.

He shrugged as casually as he could and said: “Yeah, I tried a new roastery and it’s disappointing. Lets get you out of here, shall we?”

Chiara wanted to fight him, to stubbornly stay and prove him that she was more than capable of working, but she had to admit that she’s probably never felt as exhausted. And the vision of their king-sized bed was way too tempting.

Relucantly, she nodded and followed Ethan into an empty patient room to get her blood taken.

To say that Ethan was nervous would be an understatement. He could’ve gone home a long time ago and instead he found himself pacing back and forth in his office, waiting for a nurse to page him that Chiara’s results were ready.

Still, when his pager went off, he all but jumped on the spot.

Seven minutes later, Ethan thanked the nurse and clutched the results in his hand, fighting the urge to read them right then and there, not quite believing his own self to be able to not to break down is the results confirmed the diagnosis he suspected.

Breathing heavily as he reached his office, he sat down on the couch – the very same Chiara was sleeping on just hours ago – and with trembling hands opened the file to see the results.

His eyes widened and just then, his vision turned blurry. New lump formed in his throat and his heart kept beating as if his dear life depended on the rate it was beating. His hands trembled so hard now that the file fell on the floor.

He was right.

Ethan could feel the tears damping his cheeks and falling on the fabric of his navy blue pants and he realized that he couldn’t care less about crying while at work.

Throwing his head back, he stared at the ceiling, letting the tears fall down freely, his heartbeat slowly calming back to normal.

He knew he needed to go home and share the results with Chiara. He just didn’t know how he should do such a thing.

Chiara’s peaceful five-hours long nap has been interrupted by the sound of keys clinking in the door.

Stirring lazily in a blanket, she sat up and smiled softly as Ethan walked into the living room.

“You look exhausted. Hard day?” she asked, patting the seat next to her. “Come here.”

Ethan slumped down on the couch next to her and kissed her cheek instead of answering, his mind a battlefield of ideas on how to tell Chiara. As a doctor, he knew that he needed to be honest and straightforward. As a husband, he didn’t feel comfortable throwing such a bomb into her face as if she was simply a patient.

Noticing how lost in his head Ethan was, Chiara grew concerned.

“Did something happen, Ethan?”

He blurted his next words out before he gave any of his battling ideas a chance to win.

“I’ve got your test results.”

“Am I dying?” Chiara laughed, putting her hand on his bouncing knee to calm him down. After Ethan refused to look back at her, she sensed that something was indeed wrong. “Oh, I am dying, aren’t I?”

Chuckling, Ethan finally turned to look at her and kisser her temple. “You are not dying.”

“But?” Chiara raised her eyebrow while Ethan took the hand on his knee into his own, stroking Chiara’s knuckles softly with his thumb.

Taking a deep breath, he stuttered: “I… we… you are pregnant, Chiara.”

Chiara’s face grew paler than he’s ever seen it and there were big drops of cold sweat on her forehead. Ethan squeezed her hand to stop it from shaking, but with no success.

At last, Chiara let out a choked whisper.

“What kind of sick joke is this?”

For a second, Ethan almost felt offended by her accusation, as if she didn’t know him, as if she didn’t know that he would never joke about such a thing. Then, however, he recalled his own reaction when he found out just an hour and half before and could understand the Chiara’s one.

Instead of another word, Ethan reached down to grab his bag from the floor and pulled Chiara’s file out. Handing it to her, he made sure to point his finger at the row that indicated the elevated level of hCG in her blood.

Her eyes widened as she recognized what he was showing her and she gasped audibly, looking up at Ethan and down on her own file, back and forth until she found her lost voice.

“But… how? That’s impossible.”

“Nobody has ever said that it was impossible, only that your chances were extremely low, close to none.”

Chiara started to reminisce the last days, trying to connect the dots now that she knew the result.

The extreme fatigue, waves of nausea here and there, those could easily be read as literally anything else. She missed her period, but her cycle has never been regular, so she hardly considered it anyhow important, especially knowing that travelling has always made things even more irregular for her.

“Did you know?” she whispered as she turned to Ethan, who was staring at her intensively.

“I didn’t know. I became suspicious few days back, when you wouldn’t let me go anywhere near your chest,” he grinned. “Together with the exhaustion, the possibility of pregnancy found its way into my mind, but I didn’t even want to think about it, knowing how very unlikely it was. It was your disgust with the coffee today that made me almost sure that you were, in fact, pregnant.”

Chiara stared at the results again, not quite absorbing what they were saying. For almost six years, she believed she could never be pregnant.

“You need to see your gynecologist tomorrow, of course,” Ethan cut the silence again. “But as Dr. Ramsey, I can say for sure that you are pregnant.”

He scooped her into his arms so that she would sit on his lap and hugged her shocked form tightly. Chiara’s lips were still slightly parted and she was blinking just a little bit faster than usually as his words – and their new reality – sank in.

When it finally did, she wasn’t able to contain the emotions any longer.

First sob escaped her mouth, followed by another and so much more, accompanied by huge tears falling from her eyes.

Ethan gently pulled her head closer so that she was resting it against his chest and peppered her hair with soft kisses. Even though his share of tears has already been shed in a privacy of his office, feeling Chiara’s shaking body as she cried all those happy, surprised tears, he couldn’t help but cry along quietly with her.

“I am going to ruin your shirt,” Chiara mumbled against his white Oxford, noticing how her mascara stained it.

Ethan let out a quick laugh, his voice thick with emotions as he replied: “I couldn’t care less.”

After what could have been minutes or hours, they breaths steadied, however their positions haven’t changed at all.

They were both quiet for a long time and one could say that they were lost in their own thoughts when really, they were both lost in the very same thought.

Parents. They would become parents.

They talked about adoption on a regular basis at this point, both open to the idea that two or three years from now, they would go for it, that they would become parents to a kid that was left alone.

But those were talks about future. Hypothetical.

This was real. In less than a year, they would be parents to their very own newborn.

“Are you happy?” Chiara whispered, looking up at him with a gentle smile on her lips.

Ethan kissed her forehead before responding.

“I can’t imagine being happier.”

Biting her lower lip, Chiara asked again: “Are you also a little bit…scared? Because I am.”

Laughing loudly at the adorable confession, Ethan nodded: “God, I am terrified. Being a father, that brings so many possibilities to screw it up.”

Chiara cupped his cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss, their first real, deep kiss that day and as his tender lips moved over hers, she knew that there would be no better father for her child than Ethan Ramsey.

One of the perks of being in her sixth month of pregnancy was the fact that her belly could easily serve as a tiny tea table. Right now, a large bowl of popcorn was sitting on her rounded torso as she was sitting on Bryce’s couch.

“The poor kid,” Bryce muttered as he noticed.

It was another Bryce & Chiara movies Wednesday, a habit that started even before Chiara and Ethan got together and carried on through the years.

With her third trimester slowly approaching, Chiara has been even more insistent on attending those, knowing that once she would give birth, they wouldn’t be able to watch a whole movie in one sitting.

“How is Ramsey? I haven’t seen him in the hospital this week,” Bryce asked as he put a glass of water in front of Chiara and played with a remote control to find the movie on Netflix.

“He’s busy with paperwork, so he mostly stays in his office these days,” Chiara explained. “Other than that, he has read two books about child’s development this week, so I guess everything’s as usual.”

Bryce laughed loudly and just before he pushed the ‘play’ button, he turned to Chiara: “Do you remember when you told me about not being able to have kids all those years ago?”

Chiara nodded, that day somehow still fresh in her mind.

“I told you back then, that you only had to find someone whose sperms will be stubborn enough to beat your own stubborn immune system, remember? Well, I was damn right,” he grinned smugly, earning a popcorn thrown into his head from Chiara.

On the other side of Boston, Ethan and Naveen just finished their meals and moved into the living room, glasses of scotch in their hands.

A comfortable silence accompanied them, their talks about work already finished.

Taking a few gulps of his drink, Ethan leaned into a couch with a soft smile on his lips.

“It’s going to be a girl,” he let out finally, his soft smile soon turning into a wide, happy one.

They only found out yesterday. Ever since beginning of the pregnancy, they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to know the gender of the baby or not. After long discussions – and Sienna’s suggestion that they should do a blood tests that would reveal the gender, give the results to her without looking at them so that she could organize a baby gender reveal party – they came to the agreement that they would only find out if the ultrasound would show it. And yesterday, in Chiara’s 25th week of pregnancy, the doctor informed them that their ‘princess’ is growing beautifully.

Neither Chiara nor Ethan wanted any kind of baby party organized – much to Sienna’s disappointment. This pregnancy – most likely the only one they would ever get to experience – has been such precious, sacred thing to them that they tried to keep everything as private as possible. They found joy in their bubble of emotions only two people who never believed would be this lucky could feel.

“A girl!” Naveen clasped his hands together and beamed even brighter than Ethan. “A granddaughter!”

Ethan nodded, the warmth in his chest expanding even more at Naveen’s words.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” he asked, his curious nature not letting him keep the question to himself.

Shaking his head this time, Ethan said: “Since the beginning, we’ve known that if it was a boy, he would be named Dorian after Chiara’s father. There have been some ideas about girls name, but nothing seemed right so far.”

The first idea they both had was Dolores. It came naturally to Ethan, knowing that she named her son after him and that his friend’s name deserved to be celebrated. Still, he didn’t want to be reminded of the tragedy every time he would talk to his daughter. Chiara has been very supportive about the name Dolores, knowing better than anyone what it felt like to want to name her child after someone important to her. But she never insisted. She could tell that simply thinking about Dolores Hudson made Ethan’s heart ache and she would never push the name on him.

“You seem lost in your thoughts,” Naveen commented. “Are you worried that your daughter will inherit your insufferable stubbornness?”

Ethan laughed at that, raising an eyebrow at his mentor and his friend.

“As if you didn’t know Chiara. The kid is going to be insufferably stubborn no matter who she takes after.”

The truth was, he did wish their daughter would take after Chiara. The idea of raising his own little self terrified him more than he would ever admit and on the other hand, the idea of having someone else as bright as Chiara in his life made his heart happy.

“Well, no matter who she takes after, it’s safe to say that she will be a strong girl,” Naveen smiled, raising his glass. “Beating all those odds and finding her way into your life, she is already a bigger rebel than any of us. She will be a warrior and a mighty one, I am telling you.”

When Chiara returned home, she found Ethan deep in a research on his laptop.

He registered her presence only when she sat down next to him, taking a glance on the screen only to find yet another study about children.

“Hey,” he kissed her cheek and closed the laptop. “Did you have a good time?”

She laid down, putting her head into his lap. “The movie was terrible. I could feel my braincells leave my body. Other than that, yeah, it’s been great. Bryce is so excited about being an uncle to the ‘little queenie’. He said, to quote him, that he will make sure she sees him as an example of how gentlemen should treat their ladies, so that when she is dating she doesn’t settle for anything less than what she deserves.”

“That’s really… nice of him. Thoughtful,” Ethan nodded; however, his furrowed brows didn’t quite match the words. “I don’t think we need to talk about dating just yet, though.”

Of course he will be that kind of a father, Chiara thought, laughing.

“What were you reading about?” she decided to change the topic.

“Oh, I’ve been looking up baby carriers online and so I decided to read some articles and studies about them.”

“Baby carriers, huh? I never took you for someone who would want that.”

Ethan shrugged, fighting the temptation to read her all those articles. Instead, he went with simply pointing some interesting information.

“It helps to build a healthy attachment between a child and their parent. You know, you are carrying her in your body for nine months, you have a possibility of breastfeeding, you two are naturally connected. As a father, I would like to… increase my chances of bonding with my child properly,” he swallowed harder that he wanted, hoping that Chiara didn’t notice just how nervous about this whole attachment thing he’s become.

He was so excited to meet their daughter, to hold her in his arms, it sometimes surprised even him.

But there was another part of him. The one that constantly doubted his ability to be a good father. For such a long time he didn’t believe that he could ever find himself in the role of a parent and he got used to the idea, no matter how painful. He used to remind himself that it would be for the best if he never had them, that as a man unworthy of his mother’s love, he wouldn’t know how to be the parent his children deserved.

Everything has changed with Chiara in his life and now he was about to become a father. And he was scared that it would be the one task he would fail. He tried his best to be prepared – reading books and studies and articles, watching videos on how to bath a newborn and taking notes about how many layers of clothing was suitable for various temperatures. He made arrangements with Naveen and his team so that everyone knew that he would be stepping down as a head of diagnostics once the baby is born, with Aurora becoming the director of the team.

For more than fifteen years, he’s been building his career and he’s been proud of what he achieved. But there was no feeling connected with his career that would make him as proud as the idea of being a decent father.

“According to these studies, the position they are in while in a carrier helps the newborns with their colics and also there are children that don’t like being in a stroller and the carrier helps them to fall asleep.”

Chiara nodded, noticing absolutely clearly how nervous and overwhelmed Ethan was. She also knew why, even though he would never share his concerns with her.

“I kind of believe that. When I was born, I was the perfect baby. You know, the kid that everyone envied when my parents talked about me. I slept most of the day and then the whole night, I never cried, I smiled at everyone. My parents would joke that sometimes they forgot they had me. And Liam was very similar from what I can remember – and what my mother told me. He was such a cutie and even if he couldn’t fall asleep or calm down, a little bit of bouncing in a stroller and he would be fine,” she laughed softly as she was reaching the end – and the point – of her monologue. “My parents were so proud. They always said that they could only create the good sleepers that never cry. Probably encouraged by the belief, they decided to have a third child and God, Alicia was such a difficult baby. She would always cry and never sleep. The only thing that calmed her down enough to sleep was when someone carried her in their arms and walked around the house – so that’s what my parents did. All the time. Sometimes, when they’ve gotten too tired or needed to do something, they would put her into my arms – let me remind you that I was seven – and I would be in charge of walking around the house. I bet they would appreciate the baby carrier back then.”

Ethan chuckled softly while stroking Chiara’s wild hair and after a while decided to tell her the real reason he even browsed the internet this evening.

“I might have found a name.”

After Naveen left, something he’s said resonated with Ethan.

‘She will be a warrior and a mighty one.’

Ethan never cared about meanings of names, he didn’t even know the meaning of his own name until this evening. And yet, despite his best principles, he decided to search girls names that meant warrior or ‘strong, mighty’.

And he found it.

Mighty in battle.

It clicked.

“What name do you have in mind?” Chiara asked.

“Matilda.”

Chiara didn’t even try to suppress her surprise, expecting anything but Matilda. What surprised her even more, she loved it on the first hearing. It indeed was the one.

“I have also thought about the name a little bit,” she admitted. “I found one that I would love to be a second name for her.”

Nodding, Ethan encouraged her to spill it.

“Nekane.”

“Nekane? I have never heard of it.”

“It would be surprising if you did,” Chiara smirked. “It’s the Basque form for Dolores. And you know, since now we know for sure that our daughter has been conceived in Spain, I think it would be rather fitting. It would still carry the honor of Dolores, just in a different form.”

Matilda Nekane Ramsey.

They both loved the sound of that.

It sounded like their daughter.

After sharing another silent moment full of love, peace and understanding, Chiara decided to go to bed and Ethan promised to follow her as soon as he’d finish the study.

When Ethan stepped into their bedroom, Chiara was already asleep, lying on her right side. Climbing to the bed, he laid down on his left side so that he could face her. Suddenly, not knowing how the idea has gotten into him, he was shifting down slightly until he reached her round stomach.

Moving the fabric of her cotton shirt higher, he put his hand over her belly and did something he had never done before.

“Hello, Matilda,” he whispered nervously. “This is Ethan speaking. Your father. Or your dad, as you will probably call me. We have never really talked before but the annoying knocking you hear sometimes, that’s me stroking your mom’s bump.”

He paused for a while, composing his thoughts.

“I am sincerely scared about how this whole father thing is going to work for me, but I promise you as I am trying and I will by trying for the rest of my life. I have done a lot of bad things in my life, Matilda and I can’t take them back. They are part of who I am. But looking at your mother and thinking about you makes me realize that both of you are part of who I am too. And I don’t know in which point of my life the universe decided that I have shared enough kindness to earn your presence but I must have done something right to deserve you in my life, right?”

Kissing the skin of Chiara’s stomach, he added: “I just really hope you inherit your mother’s patience and kindness so that you will forgive me every time I fuck things up.”

Biting his lip, he grinned to himself before saying one last thing to his Matilda.

“Please don’t tell your mom I said ‘fuck’, she would be furious.”

*** *** ***

1) as someone who is mother herself, I realize that topics of pregnancy, infertility issues, children in general are extremely sensitive - in this particular fanfiction, Chiara has gotten pregnant against the odds while on vacation. PLEASE note that I, by no means, am trying to say that if you are suffering from fertility issues, taking a vacation/reducing stress/changing the environment would definitely help you. There are some cases /that I know of/ in which it did help, however I would never dare to say that it’s the solution. I just need to make sure that I acknowledge how difficult and sensitive the topic is.

2) I really, really wanted to write a pregnancy fic, I had this idea in my head for very, very long time. However, I also absolutely love the idea of Ethan and Chiara adopting a child (I think especially Ethan would be fond of it, since he knows what it feels like to grow up without a parent) and so here is a little HC for after this story - Matilda is indeed the ‘miracle’ and their only biological child and when she is around six years old, Ethan and Chiara decide to adopt ophraned twin girls Luna and Siria. Purposefully girls, because I can see Ethan not trusting women after his mother leaves him and feeling like no woman could ever love him truly and boom suddenly there are four women in his life that love him more than life itself and he is proven wrong every day.

3) the story about the name Matilda is so funny/tragic that I have to write about it - I love the name, always loved and believed that I would name my daughter Matilda one day. My man hates the name so it’s off the table and I always knew that little Ramsey would be named Matilda to pursue my dream at least fictionally. When I was looking for some photos at David Gandy’s IG, I found out that his very own daughter is named Matilda. Whoa. Then, I was on a search for a faceclaim for Chiara and boom - the girl is named Matilda. Ooops. And only when this fic was finished and I googled the name Matilda for some reason, I found out that there is kinda popular person named Matilda Ramsay and I was just like okay screw this. But I couldn’t bring myself to change the name, so here it is. Sorry not sorry.

Taglist: @takemyopenheart @maurine07 @senseofduties @mercury84choices @flightlessbirdiee @udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @ohchoices @adrex04 @queencarb @archxxronrookie @choicesfan10 @whatchique @drariellevalentine @gryffindordaughterofathena @mvalentine @doilooklikeiknow @custaroonie @secretwolfdreamertree @jamespotterthefirst

#also I could've named the fic COUCH #since 90% of the story happens on some #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction

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andrewmoocow · 3 years

Text

Steven Universe Alternate Future chapter 18: Growing Pains (originally published on July 12, 2021)

AN: Welcome back everyone. Now, this is going to be a pretty heavy chapter for me to write. Well, mostly the A-plot, the B-plot will be courtroom nonsense ala Phoenix Wright and Harvey Birdman. But I'm getting off track, as someone who have faced some very tough times before in my life, I hope I can be as respectful to both the original episode and everyone who watched it as possible. Now then, let's get rocking and rolling.

Synopsis: Steven goes to his first doctor's appointment and realizes how deep his problems run.

Cast:

Zach Callison as Steven

Estelle as Garnet

Michaela Dietz as Amethyst

Deedee Magno-Hall as Pearl, Volleyball, Yellow Pearl

Grace Rolek as Connie

Mary Elizabeth McGlynn as Priyanka

Tom Scharpling as Greg

Christine Pedi as Holly Blue Agate

Charlyne Yi as Navy

Hayley Kiyoko as Morganite

Jennifer Paz as Lapis, Zuli

Shelby Rabara as Peridot, Squaridot

Uzo Aduba as Bismuth

Amy Sedaris as Yellow Zircon, Blue Zircon

Patti LuPone as Yellow Diamond

Featuring Casey Lee Williams as Cat's Eye

The day after his failed date with Connie, Steven stayed in his bedroom for most of the morning where he was surrounded by ice cream and watching the preview for a new Dogcopter movie, which showed the titular canine standing on top of a black car chasing a blue car and a mail van while a pug gave him orders.

"I know you're eager to catch the mail truck Dogcopter, but it's really a decoy!" the other dog at the wheel named Drew ordered Dogcopter. "Chase the blue car instead! Good boys chase the blue car, and you're a good boy Dogcopter!"

With a fearless expression, Dogcopter leaped off the black car and used the propeller on his back to fly towards the black car, followed by using a pair of extendable hands to open up the trunk, revealing a bomb and a ring box inside.

"Nice work DC, now get the bomb outta the trunk and off the bridge!" Drew congratulated Dogcopter. "We're almost out of time!"

However, it was too late for Dogcopter. The bomb went off as he tossed it off the bridge, and the resulting explosion blew him away. As Dogcopter collapsed on the bridge, the ring box fell from his mechanical hands and onto the asphalt.

"Dogcopter, no!" Drew cried as he burst from the car to keep his friend alive. "I can't lose you Dogcopter!" Luckily, Dogcopter was unharmed and he woke up to pop open the ring box, which contained a ring shaped like a dog bone that he presented to Drew. "Is that?"

"DOGCOPTER 6: TILL DEATH DO WE BARK: I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU MAN AND WOOF!" the announcer read the film's title as it appeared on the screen, making Steven groan in agony at the irony of the trailer he was watching.

"Everyone's getting married except me!" Steven yelled as he sank into his bed and started turning pink. "Even Dogcopter succeeded in popping the question! I feel like poop." Steven then picked up his phone and tried calling one of the Crystal Gems, but he unfortunately got no answer. "Wish the Gems weren't doing a field trip to Homeworld today. I wonder if they got any reception?"

Meanwhile, on the Gem Homeworld, it was a rather tense time. Following the exposure of Black Rutile's revolution and attempted massacre of the Crystal Gems, the citizens were in fear of who among them could still be a supporter of her. And three followers, in particular, were about to be put on trial.

Garnet, Amethyst, Pearl, Peridot, Lapis, and Bismuth led their classes into the Diamonds' throne room, which was already set up like a courtroom with stands for the judge, jury, witnesses, attorneys, and the accused. Those accused were Holly Blue Agate, Morganite, and Navy, who sat down at the plaintiff's bench with varying expressions of irritation, resignation, and sadness.

"Now class, we want you all to be on your best behavior," Garnet advised the Gem students. "This is a serious time for our kind, and we want absolute silence for most of this trial. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Garnet." The Gems obliged before they retreated to the jury box while their teachers took their seats at the prosecutor's stand. That was when Garnet took notice of Pearl sticking her nose in the book by George Ikari that she had gotten at yesterday's signing.

"I see you're keeping yourself busy Pearl." Garnet remarked, forcing Pearl to look up from her book.

"Thanks for noticing Garnet." Pearl replied to the fusion. "I've just been a little enraptured by this little tome lately. George uses such flowery terms for such simple concepts, and the concepts in question could be very useful to Steven too."

"All y'all, shush!" Amethyst ordered her two seniors. "Here comes the judge!"

"All rise for the honorable Yellow Diamond!" Yellow Pearl announced, serving as the bailiff for this trial, before her former Diamond emerged from the curtained entrance and made her way to her throne.

"Good day to you Gems." Yellow Diamond greeted the other Gems in the makeshift courtroom with utmost seriousness. "In case you are wondering, Blue and White Diamond are out searching for more of Black Rutile's supporters, so I shall serve as sole judge for these proceedings." She informed. "Now without further ado, read the charges."

"Holly Blue Agate-12B, Morganite-8HK, and Ruby-EJ9, you stand here accused of your support of the intelligence officer turned terrorist Black Rutile." Yellow Pearl announced as she read off a hologram. "How do you all plead?"

"Not guilty!" Holly Blue declared, speaking on behalf of all three of them. "Black Rutile is no terrorist, she had big dreams for our kind! She simply wanted to restore us to our old ways because she believed Steven had made us weak, no doubt weak enough to be so easily conquered!"

"Liar. Kinda not surprised you would do this." Amethyst snarked in-between fake coughing, inciting a glare from the Agate before she continued her plea.

"If you can find it within yourself, your most grand clarity, to scrub this silly trial altogether and let us go, it would be most grand." Holly Blue continued.

"Request denied." Yellow declared coldly. "If you really insist on begging on your knees this whole time, then I guess your defense attorney might not be needed."

"Wait, attorney?" Amethyst wondered out loud just as a new Gem stepped into the room.

"Sorry for being so fashionably late, Yellow!" a tall, confident Gem apologized as she strode into the throne room. In addition to the honey yellow pantsuit with large diamond-shaped buttons she wore to match the gemstone above her upper lip that resembled a mole, a straight bob-cut, and a cat's tail emerging from her rear, this new Gem also wore a large sunhat, a neon fur coat, sunglasses, high heels, mustard yellow opera gloves, and a cigarette holder in her left hand. "Had to quell a few uprisings a few districts over. Hope you're not too mad."

"Oh goody." Bismuth shared the sentiments of her fellow Crystal Gems as they grimaced at the cat-like defense attorney, all except for Amethyst.

"Who's the new pussycat here?" Amethyst asked about the attorney.

"That's Cat's Eye, one of the most affluent uppercrusts on Homeworld." Bismuth informed the smaller Gem.

"And one of the most irritating." Lapis groaned as she buried her face in her hands.

"She's almost like an Earth cat in a way." Peridot added. "Incredibly smug, loves making others mad solely for her amusement, and that grin on her face just rubs me the wrong way."

"So Cat, how have you been lately?" Pearl asked the opposing attorney with a strained smile.

"Miserable, my darling Pearl. Perfectly wretched." Cat's Eye answered as she made her coat, hat and sunglasses disappear with a snap of her fingers, revealing a pair of cat ears atop her hair. "Now then, let us get down to business." With that, Cat's Eye took her place alongside the prosecuted trio and kicked her legs up on the table.

"Oh Cat's Eye, thank you so much for coming out today!" Holly Blue exclaimed gratefully. "These horrible traitors have framed us for a crime we clearly didn't commit, and now we could lose every-"

"Could you move approximately 30 centimeters away from me?" Cat's Eye raised a paw-like hand to Holly's face while filing her sharp nails. "You're invading my personal space." The Agate meekly complied and returned to her seat, causing Amethyst to laugh raucously.

"That cat may be trouble, but seeing Holly put in her place will always crack me up!" Amethyst cackled, but her chuckling was cut short when Cat's Eye turned her cigarette holder into a riding crop to whip Amethyst in the hands with. "MEOWCH! Bad kitty, what the H?!"

"Order in the court." Cat's Eye declared crossly as she returned her weapon to her gem and took a stand. "Now, without further ado, I'd like to make my case for these three Gems and call a witness."

"Go right ahead Cat's Eye." Yellow rolled her eyes before the cymophane made her plea.

"Your honor, Gems of the court, these three stand here wrongly accused by these band of ingrates for allying themselves with a known terrorist who once filled a high seat in White Diamond's court." Cat's Eye stated. "But, maybe they could've been spared this fate if the Crystal Gems had simply shown them a little kindness."

"OBJECTION!" Pearl yelled and pointed an accusing finger at Cat. "We tried to show Navy here kindness, but it was all a ploy to steal back her squadron's ship!"

"That is true." Navy agreed. "But I simply played nice because you left us all to drift forever in space, even after Steven said you'd get us all back!"

"I'll admit, she raises a good point." Garnet found herself agreeing with the Ruby. "We were in a rush to get back to Earth, so rescuing the Rubies just flew over our heads."

"I rest my case." Cat's Eye declared with a prideful smirk. "Now, if we have nothing else to discuss, I'd like to call Yellow Zircon to the stand."

The Gems in the gallery began muttering among themselves as Yellow Zircon sadly got up from her seat and marched to the witness's stand, while her blue counterpart gave her a cheeky grin. "Whatever you do," Yellow Zircon said to Blue Zircon. "don't make a fool out of me."

"Oh, I won't." Blue Zircon said innocently as Yellow Zircon made her way to the stands, where Cat's Eye sat down in front of her with a seductive gaze.

"Now my dearest Zircon, do try to not make a fool of yourself for me." Cat cooed, cupping the Zircon's face in her hand and squeezing her cheeks, making her usually arrogant witness blush.

"I-I won't." Yellow Zircon sheepishly obliged and sat down in the witness's box. "But how did you become an attorney? You don't know the first thing about law and order!"

"Well, I'm here because I'm smarter than you think I am!" Cat's Eye yelled at Yellow Zircon's face, a far cry from the smug seductress she presented herself as. "Not because I'm so gorgeous! Though I really am."

"This is going to take a while." Pearl groaned before picking up her book again. "I wonder how Steven is doing."

Back on Earth, Steven continued to scroll through all the numbers he had on his phone. Pretty much most of the people in his contacts had either already began to drift away from him, would probably be too busy to call, or simply didn't have time for him. All except for one.

"Hi, Steven!" Greg greeted his son on the other end after Steven decided to give him a call.

"Hi Dad, how's it going?" Steven asked his father.

"The tour's been going great!" Greg replied happily. "Which reminds me, how have you been doing? You been throwing any dope ragers while you got the house to yourself?"

"Yeah, you know me. Steven the party animal." Steven responded sarcastically. "I'm glad you're finally coming home tonight Dad. I wanna talk to you about something that's happened between me and Connie?"

"Oh, this isn't that whole situation after you came back from Homeworld the first time again, right?" Greg asked sympathetically. "By the way, Sadie and Shep wanna say hi while they're working on a new routine that they're excited to show off. And guess what? The tour got extended!"

"Wow, that's-that's great." Steven tried to sound happy for the musicians and their manager, but at the same time, he was sad that he'd have to wait a little while longer for his dad to come home.

"Yeah." Even if they were far apart, Greg could sense the disappointment in his half-alien son's voice before trying to turn things around. "I get that you want to see me again soon, but this manager job is working great for me! Takes me back to when I was touring as a lad. Anyways, we're gonna go through a tunnel. You wanna call me back about your Connie sitch?"

"I-it's not really important." Steven fibbed.

"You sure?" Greg asked Steven. "You know, I can make a quick stop when we pass through Delmarva."

"No, I'm totally fine. Have fun!" Steven reiterated before hanging up and letting out a deep sigh. "Maybe I should get some more ice cream."

Steven then walked down to the kitchen to fetch some more of that dairy goodness from the freezer, but when he opened the freezer door, he discovered Connie's glow bracelet left in there after last night. Taken by surprise, the depressed half-Gem once again turned pink, but this time was different.

This time, parts of Steven's body began swelling up like a balloon and tearing through his pajamas as he accidentally tore the freezer door off its hinges before slowly turning back to normal. As Steven was left aghast at this new development, he decided to take a breather on the couch. However, his body began swelling up for the second time in a row as Connie began calling him on his phone.

"I shouldn't worry her." Steven tried to hang up on Connie upon realizing her promise yesterday to call him at noon. "You know what, I'll let her go to voicemail!" Steven's body had other plans as his right arm began to inflate and took the call for him, allowing Connie to be seen on his screen while the arm returned to normal.

"Steven, are you there?" Connie asked through video call.

"Hey Connie, what's up?" Steven casually asked, trying to hide the strange new changes his body was going through.

"I've been worried about you Steven." Connie answered when she noticed how pink her best friend was. "Um, are you glowing?" she asked before Steven's face began to puff up. "Good grief, what's wrong with your face?!"

"Wait, my face?" Steven mumbled through his inflated head. "What's wrong with my face?"

"Uh…." Connie replied.

"Oh right, the swelling." Steven realized what his would've been-wife was talking about. "Parts of my body have been randomly growing for some reason. But I'm sure it doesn't hurt, I'm perfectly fine!"

"How long has this been happening?" Connie inquired.

"Since this morning." Steven meekly replied, causing his face to blow up some more.

"What do the Gems think?" Connie began pressing further.

"Can't reach them right now." Steven answered as his face returned to normal while the rest of his body kept growing. "Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl were asked to serve as prosecutors for a trial on Homeworld, so they decided to make it into a Little Homeschool field trip." As Steven finished, his form returned to its normal size. "It's really nothing to worry about."

"You don't look well." Connie nervously observed. "I think you should see a doctor. I can ask my mom if she'd like to give you a checkup."

"I wouldn't want to bother her." Steven declared. "Besides, I already got a pretty okay idea of what doctors do when I went to see Lars in the hospital after his crash landing."

"Steven, you need to see a medical professional," Connie demanded. "Doesn't matter if my mom can see you or not, you need help."

"Okay, you're right." Steven accepted the opportunity while his face began to deform yet again. "Call me when she's ready."

Thankfully for Steven, Connie's mother had an opening and soon enough, Steven was sitting in her office with Connie by his side.

"You're lucky I had a cancellation today," Priyanka stated as she prepared for work. "Usually, I'm booked weeks in advance."

"Think you'll be able to help Steven out?" Connie asked her mother. "Even if this is some sort of Gem issue?"

"Gem issue or otherwise, he still has a human body, which means we can run tests." Priyanka remarked. "At the very least, we can see if you're suffering from a non-Gem condition, Steven."

"See? Everything will be fine." Connie assured Steven. "I'm sure everything will be fine." As Connie left the examination room, she began dialing on her phone and put it to her ear.

"Okay, give me all you got." Steven said reluctantly to the doctor.

"Alright, let's check for symptoms first." Priyanka said before putting a thermometer in Steven's ear to check his temperature. "Mild fever." She observed before walking away to pick up a stethoscope, returning to find that Steven is starting to once again glow pink. "Glowing pink color to the skin." Priyanka continued as she put the stethoscope to Steven's heart and then his gem. Next, she reached for a blood pressure device to check Steven's blood pressure, but it caused his arm to swell up and break the machine, causing his doctor to fall over in alarm.

However, Priyanka was quick to regain her composure as she looked over the notes she had taken. "Blood pressure is high!" she realized as she got up. "Well, these readings are quite interesting. Tell me, Steven, if you don't mind, who's your GP?"

"GP?" Steven wondered.

"Your general practitioner?" Priyanka explained to her patient. "As in, your regular doctor?"

"I guess you?" Steven answered confusedly. "I never have been to a doctor's appointment before, mostly because I have the Gems, my dad, or my healing spit to rely on whenever I get hurt."

"You're almost seventeen and you have never seen a doctor?!" a shocked Priyanka yelled, causing Steven to once again turn pink and inflate before she tried to calm him down. "I-it's okay, it's okay! I'll talk with your father later, but now we'll just need to run some more tests."

Steven looked nervously at Connie's mom as she walked over to a cupboard, opening it to fetch some hospital gowns. "Get undressed, then we'll help you into a gown." Priyanka ordered.

"Is that one of those blue things that don't cover your butt?" Steven asked embarrassedly before he was thrown a hospital gown.

"Yes, now let's get started." Priyanka declared before snapping on a rubber glove.

"Thank you for your testimony little Peridot." Cat's Eye thanked Squaridot, while licking the back of her hand, as the square-headed Peridot finished her testimony. "Tell us your designation so we may enter it into the records."

"Peridot, Facet-4E3M Cut-7ZY." Squaridot stated as she left the witness's stand and rejoined her classmates. "But everyone calls me Squaridot."

"Squaridot?" Cat's Eye repeated with utter disgust. "Who comes up with these abhorrent names?! I mean, Laz, Zuli, and now Squaridot?!"

"Would you care to get to the point?" Bismuth snarked to the catlike defendant.

"Gladly." Cat's Eye answered before clearing her throat. "Gems of this courtroom, the testimonies we have heard so far have given me enough to make my deduction." She announced to the courtroom. "These Crystal Gems are only kind to other Gems who treat them kindly in exchange. And that DOES, NOT, MAKE, SENSE!" She emphasized her declaration by slamming her fist into her open palm with each word. "If they say that they practice restorative justice, then why didn't they use that kind of justice on my clients here?"

"OBJECTION!" Amethyst yelled. "Girl, did you even see the Human Zoo back in the day?! Holly Blue was treating my quartz peeps like garbage!"

"That is because they were beneath her in the caste system!" Cat's Eye argued with Amethyst. "I swear you droll quartz, did you emerge yesterday or something?!"

"Actually, she was," Pearl answered for the purple Gem. "And you're just making stuff up in the hopes of sounding smart!"

"Do I have 'stupid' written on my gem, you no-good servant?!" Cat's Eye shouted at the white Gem, making sure to whip Pearl's hands for added emphasis. "Let's review what we have learned so far. Those two Lapis Lazulis retaliated violently when ordered to not terraform and their friend came close to poofing them both, yet 2F8D immediately forgot all that when coming to your silly little school!" she analyzed. "That does NOT, MAKE, SENSE!"

"Laz and I argued about going to Little Homeschool!" Zuli objected to Cat's Eye's observation. "An argument you obviously weren't there for-" Before Zuli could finish, she got a whip in the hands by Cat's Eye's riding crop.

"No backtalk!" Cat's Eye exclaimed as she returned to her statement. "Back on subject, then came Miss Squaridot here," she once again cringed at the name while gesturing to Squaridot. "who was given a second chance, yet was poofed without a second thought! That does NOT, MAKE, SENSE!"

"I tried to give Squari a second chance after I released her from her bubble," Peridot began. "but she then just ran off and got herself taken over by Hessonite's warship."

"Ah yes, the swashbuckling vigilante Hessonite." Cat's Eye said smugly. "Tell me, why isn't she here today to give a testimony?"

"Hessonite is off weeding out more of Black Rutile's supporters across many of our former colonies, alongside Citrine." Yellow Diamond answered.

"Speaking of Black Rutile, what if, and a very big if here." Cat's Eye stated. "What if Black Rutile wanted to do better than the Crystal Gems by offering these lost Gems a helping hand?"

"OBJECTION!" Pearl roared and once again pointed straight at Cat's Eye. "That no-good Rutile didn't care one bit for her subordinates! Not only did she let them all get defeated by us, but she abused her Topaz as well!"

"As I had stated earlier with Holly Blue, the Topaz was merely a subordinate to Black Rutile, especially since the Rutile had such a shockingly high status in White Diamond's court." Cat replied.

"Same with my Ruby and Pearl that fused into Rhodonite," Morganite spoke up. "It was only natural that we mistreated those beneath us."

"And on the topic of Pink Diamond's entourage," Cat declared. "allow me to call her former Pearl to the stand."

Rising from her seat, Volleyball separated from her Little Homeschool classmates to walk to the witness's stand, where Cat was awaiting her.

"My dear Pearl, you truly deserved a better Diamond than Pink." Cat cooed to Volleyball while stroking her broken eye, which was now showing the absolute faintest signs of a pupil following her fusion with her white-colored successor at the Reef. "Tell us all this court needs to know sweetie,

"Actually, you can call me Volleyball now." Volleyball corrected the defense attorney. "That's the name Steven gave me."

"VOLLEYBALL?!" Cat's Eye shrieked outrageously at the top of her lungs, quickly returning to her normal condescending tone. "I shouldn't have spoken too soon after complaining about that Peridot." She muttered while pointing a thumb over to Squaridot. "Now tell me, word on the street is that you may know a thing or two about this revolution. Is this true?"

"Yes, it's true." Volleyball revealed remorsefully, shocking the prosecutors and the jury. "Not too long after Era 3 began, I was left wondering what purpose I could still serve now that Pink Diamond was gone, until Black Rutile and Holly Blue Agate approached me with the chance to seek revenge by spying on their enemies."

"That is a bold-faced lie if I ever saw one!" Holly Blue fibbed while beginning to sweat profusely. "I never approached her in the slightest, the poor Pearl came crawling to me in tears, begging, no, pleading that she get some sort of payback for the abuse she suffered!"

"Really laying it on thick Holly." Morganite stoically muttered to the Agate.

"Yes, I can clearly see you lying." Pearl added before she walked over for Volleyball. "But as for you Volley, is it true? Did you really join Black Rutile and spy on us this whole time?"

"I'm truly sorry Pearl, they gave me no other choice." Volleyball apologized, now on the verge of tears. "I was so horrified by how they wanted to fight back against you, that I decided to back out after you and Steven offered to fix my eye." Volleyball then began to sob as she rushed out of the witness's stand and into Pearl's arms. "Please forgive me, I just didn't know any better!"

"It's okay VB, I'm here." Pearl comforted her crying fellow ex-servant. "Just let it all out."

"Wah wah wah, I betrayed your trust!" Cat's Eye mockingly cried. "Please forgive me even though I was allied with a proud sociopath! Oh brother, this era has lost all sense of justice. At least give her a week's punishment, anything."

"Big talk coming from the alleycat who doesn't have a single clue about justice." Pearl growled at Cat while Volleyball's tears started drying and she returned to the jury.

"Big talk coming from a Pearl who wanted to be free despite still essentially serving her Diamond." Cat snapped back at the Pearl. "And on that note, I feel we are ignoring the big Jasper in the room." Biggs Jasper raised her hand. "I wasn't talking to you!" Biggs lowered her hand while Cat kept a stiff upper lip. "But really, I wish to speak of a certain Jasper that has been housed on Earth lately."

"Here we go." Lapis rolled her eyes at whatever outlandish claims the defendant was going to make now.

"You see, the Jasper is just as much of a victim of Pink Diamond's faked death as pretty much everyone on this planet." Cat's Eye proclaimed. "And did the Crystal Gems ever try to extend a hand in friendship and sympathy? NO! They just let her get dragged to the bottom of the ocean in an unstable fusion, fall into an earthquake, rocketed sky-high by that Lapis, and later corrupted! That does-"

"Not make sense, we get it." Garnet interrupted what was essentially Cat's catchphrase at this point. "We tried so many times to help Jasper, but she just kept refusing out of her vendetta against Rose."

"And doesn't anyone find it ironic that Jasper has a burning hatred for a Gem that was her Diamond in disguise?" Cat shook her head with a cheeky smile. "Oh, how cruel fate can be."

"Good grief, how long can this puddytat keep yapping?" Amethyst whispered to Pearl, who just groaned and got back to her book.

As for Steven, Priyanka had gotten to work on examining her unusual patient. However, with each test she made him take, things just kept going wrong. Sticking a tongue depressor in Steven's mouth made him glow pink for the second time this appointment, taking his height stretched his neck up high, and testing his reflexes bubbled the hammer she was using. But it was taking Steven's X-rays that really clued Priyanka in on what was going on.

"So this is an average human skeleton." Priyanka demonstrated the X-ray image of exactly that to Steven before moving on to X-rays of the Crystal Gems. "By comparison, these are X-ray images that the Crystal Gems allowed me to take for research purposes. Their charts look like this."

Due to Gems having bodies of light, only their gemstones could be pictured. And in Amethyst's case, whatever she ate that day could be seen too. The doctor then showed off Steven's own skeleton, which was covered in cracks. "And this is your chart." Priyanka continued. "Definitely the skeleton of a human your age, albeit quite a large amount of fractures in the skull." She pointed out the various cracks that decorated Steven's skull. "Yet despite the injuries, everything is still perfectly aligned. Almost like the injuries healed just as fast as they were gained."

"That's good, right?" Steven nervously asked.

"Well, you've made miraculous recoveries," Priyanka replied. "but that doesn't change the fact that you've clearly been traumatized. You may have recovered physically, but what about mentally?"

"Are you saying there's something wrong with my brain?!" Steven cried as he glowed pink.

"Not wrong!" Priyanka assured Steven while kneeling to his gaze, turning his body back to its normal hue. "It's that adverse childhood experiences, or childhood trauma, can leave a lasting impact on how your body reacts to stress." She explained. "This can affect all kinds of development, social, emotional, and physical. When humans are in crisis, their brains release a hormone called cortisol. It can cause your heart to race, your muscles to tense, among other effects. I wonder if your body is perhaps reacting to the Gem equivalent of cortisol, if any. Steven, can you recall any childhood experiences that particularly stuck with you?"

"I can list so many." Steven stated before he began recounting some traumatic experiences. "It all started when I learned my favorite ice cream was discontinued around the same time I nearly got eaten by a bug monster. Then there were even more monsters that threatened my life, I got stuck in a bubble & nearly drowned, I made a new friend who nearly killed me; which is pretty often, I got turned into a giant pulsating blob of cat heads after an attempt at shapeshifting, got so old I nearly died, saw the Gems die multiple times, I woke up on a spaceship with a black eye, and more recently got tossed off a cliff."

"Steven, this is serious!" Priyanka yelled worriedly.

"That was only some of the earlier stuff!" Steven cried. "You really should've been there when I was tossed off the cliff. Black Rutile was a sociopath and proud of it!"

"I think all these experiences have subjected your body to an almost inhuman level of stress, and it's affected your ability to healthily react to new forms of stress." Priyanka deduced as Steven looked back on more harrowing experiences he's been through, from legitimately traumatizing moments to parts that would at first be seen as mere jokes or accidents. "You've been dealing with genuine threats to your life from such a young age, whether big or small, your body is responding to such minuscule threats like your life is always in danger!"

"But, why am I only swelling up now?!" Steven began fretting as he slowly felt his body change once more.

"Stress can be far less harmful when we have a circle of loved ones who can help you," Priyanka advised, causing Steven to flashback to yesterday evening's failed proposal. "Maybe if you've been drifting away from people who would've supported you, or if a recent experience had felt particularly off-"

Before Priyanka can finish, Steven began trembling in place while bolting from his chair before he began to swell up to possibly the biggest size he's ever been today, to the point of cracking the ceiling with a bash of his head.

"There are just some who don't want to be helped, and we try to respect that!" Pearl kept arguing with Cat's Eye while everyone else in the courtroom awkwardly spectating the event.

"And there are also some who you've forced to change without their consent!" Cat's Eye replied, baring her sharp teeth at the former servant. "Think of it, Black Rutile believed she could be a better ruler because she would take into account the feelings of everyone!"

"Are you sure you're not another one of her spies?!" Pearl asked, folding her arms and turning away from the defendant.

"I couldn't care less about what she's doing, I just think she raises many good points for a maniac!" Cat answered while her stuck-up image began cracking apart more and more, slowly revealing the petulant aristocrat underneath. "For example, in ending an oppressive empire, Steven created an even worse one where all who don't agree with him are deemed outcasts!"

"Steven is simply trying his best!" Pearl yelled back.

"You know, I am so glad that we invited our Homeschool classes, because this is way too much fun for just us three to get involved in." Amethyst whispered to the other Little Homeworld teachers.

"You're right, watching an uppercrust get humiliated puts a real big smile on my face." Bismuth grinned.

"They've been going on for too long." Morganite mumbled as her face was buried in the table. "Can't we just shut them up and reach a verdict already?"

"Well, if you're so loving towards Steven, then where is he now?" Cat's Eye asked one final question. "Did you actually care for him to begin with?"

"That is where you are absolutely wrong Cat." Pearl declared with a smug grin as she presented George Ikari's book to her opponent. "Steven is currently going through some tough times, and we're trying our best to help him thanks to this book from Earth. The author has a son much like Steven who lost his mother too, so he knows what he's talking about." With that, Pearl returned the book to her gem and took a bow. "Court adjourned."

It was here where Cat's Eye finally lost all control and lunged at Pearl with a mighty yowl. Gone was the smug and austere wannabe lawyer, and in with the furious predator going in for the kill.

"I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS!" Cat's Eye shrieked as she wrestled with Pearl and kept trying to chomp at her face. "I AM CAT'S EYE, AND I WILL NOT BE TALKED DOWN TO BY A MERE PEARL!"

"Woo, catfight!" Amethyst cheered before Garnet put a stop to her revelry and prepared for a fight.

"Get ready Gems, we're in for a fight." Garnet declared while summoning her gauntlets, and the other Gems prepared for battle against the feral defendant. But fortunately for them, and unfortunately for Cat, the judge finally decided enough was enough.

"Okay, I've had enough sitting down and watching." Yellow declared fiercely before getting up from her throne and flicking a ball of electricity at Cat's Eye, making yellow lines course through her body and finally poofing her, leaving only her small gemstone to be collected by Yellow Pearl. "Now that that's settled, have we reached a verdict?"

"I believe so." Pearl responded after getting up and dusting herself off before turning to the other Gems. "What shall be decided?"

The Gems in the jury all rose up, their decision clear as day. "We, the jury, hereby declare Holly Blue Agate, Morganite, and Navy guilty as charged. In addition, Cat's Eye shall be tried for public assault of the prosecutors." Squaridot announced on the behalf of her classmates, to the horror of Holly Blue as she and her two compatriots were escorted away by Amethysts. While Morganite and Navy had resigned themselves to their fates, Holly was far less than pleased. In fact, she was furious.

"Get your hands off me, you no-good Kindergarten spawn!" Holly Blue shrieked at the Amethysts dragging her away by the arms before turning to the Crystal Gems with hatred in her eyes. "I hope you're happy Crystal Gems! Era 3 has destroyed this planet!" she yelled at the Gems. "Pretty soon, this planet is going to burn! We're all going to die! The Gem race shall be driven to extinction all because of you!"

As soon as Holly Blue was fully removed from the premises, all was finally quiet in the makeshift courtroom as the trial adjourned. Pearl let out a dramatic sigh as Garnet and Amethyst helped her back to her feet and walked her back to the prosecutor's table.

"Court is usually a lot more funny on TV." Amethyst remarked. "What Cat and Holly tried to do was just sad."

"Still, what if they're right?" Pearl moaned in exhaustion and grief. "What if we are soon to be our kind's downfall? Maybe we should've just ended colonization and left it at that."

"Don't get too down on yourself Miss Pearl." Blue Zircon lent some comforting words to Pearl. "You all tried the best you could, and that's all that should matter."

"Uh, can I go now?" Yellow Zircon shakily inquired to her fellow Gems, still reeling from being publically humiliated at the witness's stand.

"Yeah, you're dismissed." Blue Zircon told her fellow Zircon and turned back to Pearl.

"Yeah, we tried our best with Era 3, kinda like how we're trying our best with Steven." Lapis reiterated the other blue Gem's kind words. "Speaking of which, wonder how he's doing?"

"I'll go call him right now!" Pearl stated eagerly as she unsheathed her phone from her gem and began dialing Steven, but she got no answer. "Darn, no signal on Homeworld." She huffed in frustration. "Well, I hope he's doing fine."

Little did Pearl know, there was more than one reason why as to why Steven was unable to reach her, that reason being he was so stressed out, he was swelling up to a massive size.

As Dr. Laurie walked past the office Steven was in with a cup of coffee, he took one look at the giant pink boy, then back at his mug before dumping its contents into a nearby drinking fountain while Connie raced back to the office to aid her friend.

"Mom, what's happening?!" Connie asked her mother while they watched the inflating Steven fill up most of the doctor's office.

"I'm not sure dear, I just asked if he had any stressful experiences lately." Priyanka answered, trying to remain as calm in a crisis as possible while other doctors huddle around the window to watch what was happening, along with a man in sunglasses who seemed to blend in with the crowd.

"Steven, you don't think?" Connie then asked Steven.

"It's not you Connie, it's everything that's been going down lately!" Steven yelled as he grew larger and larger with every second.

"What is he talking about?" Priyanka asked, glaring at Connie.

"You haven't told your mom yet?!" Steven yelled.

"Told me what?!" Priyanka started yelling as well.

"It's not your fault Connie!" Steven tried to assure Connie amidst his growing stress. "But I still think you need to leave!"

"I refuse to leave your side!" Connie's mom fiercely declared. "This is a medical emergency!"

"Hey, you know one of us can take over!" one of the doctors watching Steven called from outside.

"No, he needs to be alone!" Connie stated. "I think anyone else being in here with him is making things worse!"

When Steven's height increased to the point of ripping his hospital gown, breaking the ceiling over him, and causing alarms to sound, the doctors took it as their cue to leave. "Point taken." That same doctor who suggested one of them take care of Steven realized before rushing away.

"Oh no!" Steven was in full-on panic mode now. If he grew any larger, the hospital would surely be destroyed. "Please, just go!"

"Steven!" Connie yelled sorrowfully.

"I just…" Steven began to cry before starting to get angry. "I CAN'T BE AROUND YOU RIGHT NOW!" The Maheswarans braced for impact as Steven's screaming broke the window behind them when suddenly, Greg came barging into the office.

"Steven!" Greg called his son's name while Connie and Priyanka turned to notice him.

"Dad?!" Steven exclaimed while finally beginning to settle down at the sight of his father.

"I'm here for you kiddo!" Greg declared as he ran up to his giant son, turning to the Maheswarans who took it as their cue to leave the area as well.

"Come on Mom, let's give them some space." Connie said to her mother as they abdicated the office.

"Alright." Priyanka agreed and took her daughter's hand while Greg took Steven's side.

"How did you know I was here?" Steven asked Greg.

"Connie called me an hour ago." Greg answered comfortingly. "Plus, I was the only one she could reach since she told me the Gems were off in space today."

"Connie?" Steven called for his friend when she and her mother were outside. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Connie beamed and spoke to him through the broken window. "I'll come when you're ready."

"I'm so sorry Steven." Greg apologized to Steven. "If I had known, I definitely would've been a big help."

"It's alright Dad," Steven sighed. "you were super busy and I didn't know what was going on."

"Come on Steven, talk to me," Greg suggested. "Just you and me, father to son."

"I, well, um," Steven stammered before tears began welling up in his eyes again. "I tried proposing to Connie!"

"You what?!" Greg yelped in alarm. "Steven, aren't you a little too young to think about marriage right now?"

"I know." Steven kept on crying. "That's one of the reasons why she said no."

"Oh, Steven." Greg sighed.

"My body, it keeps reacting like it's always the end of the world." Steven kept on complaining tearfully. "I think I've nearly witnessed the end of the world so many times now, that everything that goes wrong for me just feels that extreme! I should be feeling happy these days, Earth is at peace and it's Era 3, but Black Rutile is still out there saying I'm a bad person and I'm swelling up over all these third-era problems! What do I do now?! How do I move on after every horrible thing that's happened to me?! How can I still live my life when every day it feels like I'm going to die?!"

Despite Steven being overcome with trauma to the point of sobbing, Greg was there to lend a hand like he always did. "It's going to be alright Schtu-ball." He said while holding his son's giant finger. "I'm here for you till the end of the line."

At long last, Steven finally calmed down and began to regress to his normal size, and he only had one request for Greg. "I just want to go home."

"You bet." Greg obliged, and Steven began to fetch his clothes while Connie and Priyanka stepped back into the office. "So, what's up doc?"

"This has certainly been an eventful appointment," Priyanka stated shakily. "Real eye-opener. As I'm sure your son has already told you, he has been through more stress than is normal for a human. I suggest finding ways to monitor these breakdowns."

"I'll see what I can do." Greg nodded while Steven returned to his side fully dressed when Connie gave Steven a big hug.

Outside the office, the doctor in the sunglasses from earlier peeked from behind a corner and spoke into an earpiece. "Giant boy crisis averted." He spoke in a deep voice to someone on the other end. "Yes sir, retrieving copies of the Gems' X-ray scans as we speak." Looking around to see if anyone had caught him, the man then took off his doctor's coat to reveal a black suit underneath and walked away with no one the wiser.

That night, Steven had been returned home and taken to bed, where Greg had prepared him a warm cup of tea and a sympathetic ear to his son's plight.

"I guess I thought I could follow Connie to college." Steven explained to his dad while sipping the tea. "Like, if we got married, I'd know what to do with myself for once. But turns out I still gotta figure everything out on my own."

"Cut yourself some slack, kiddo." Greg smiled earnestly. "It's okay to be worried and make mistakes when figuring out what to do with life, nothing unusual. Okay, maybe turning pink and the swelling is kind of unusual, but I'm sure the Gems will know what to do. And if you want to be a giant boy, I can lend you the carwash to take a shower in."

"Yeah, that's the thing." Steven revealed calmly. "I haven't told the Gems everything yet because I don't want them to worry so much, just like the old days when I was just some little kid who was way over his head." That was when he made a realization and spat out his tea. "Wait Dad, your tour!"

"Don't worry about me." Greg assured his son. "Shep and Sadie will be fine on their own. Just get some rest Steven; you can't just solve every problem in one night. Speaking of the Gems, where are they?"

Just then, the father and son heard the Warp Pad activate from Steven's conservatory, and the Crystal Gems marched into his room utterly exhausted from the trial they had just returned from.

"If I meet another Gem like Cat's Eye ever again, I swear I'm going to freak!" Pearl yelled with her hands buried in her face when she noticed Steven and Greg in the same room. "Oh, good evening you two. How was your day?"

"Nothing really special you guys." Steven fibbed. "Nothing at all."

So ends Growing Pains. Have to say, this might be one of the longest chapters of Alternate Universe yet, probably because of the B-plot. How hateable did you think I made Cat's Eye? I specifically wrote her with Cruella de Vil and Franziska von Karma in mind. And speaking of despicable characters, next chapter has Steven facing quite possibly his greatest challenge yet: making Kevin a better person. Oh, this should be fun.

#steven universe #steven universe future #fanfiction #steven universe alternate future #steven quartz universe #garnet #amethyst #pearl #connie maheswaran #priyanka maheswaran #greg universe #lapis lazuli #peridot #bismuth #holly blue agate #morganite #navy #yellow diamond

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horrorslashergirl · 3 years

Text

Akshay Lah-Mo SFW Alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Akshay isn't the most affectionate guy, the first impression being that of a cold, stoic, and emotionless man, but you know what they say... Learn to read through the words. It takes time for Akshay to warm up to people and even then he will sometimes have an abrasive demeanor. Now, if you are his s/o things are different, especially if it's only you and him. He can be quite affectionate with his s/o, especially after a long time in the relationship. He will wrap his muscular inked arms around you, kissing the crown of your head in the morning after you made him coffee, he will hold your hand as you walk with him through the snow-covered tundra. He will even get to speak up more about his emotions in his own way because he is a writer and his emotions are very deep and full of passion once he puts them out on a platter for his s/o. It's a long and icy road to get there but not impossible. In time this iceberg will show little by little his love and affection towards you.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Akshay as a best friend depends on the other one. His best friend is Andrei Kulokova (@the-slasher-files 's OC). They are best buddies but they are also at each other's throats all the time... And the winner? None... They just end up all bloody and bruised, but at the end of the day, they care about each other and would protect the other ones back all the time. So to say so... Having Akshay as a best friend means that you have someone that doesn't beat around the Bush.... He will tell you if you are stupid and an idiot like he does with Andrei. He will make crud remarks like he does with Andrei, but in the end, everything is all because he cares about you.... Even as a friend. In his opinion, the people that truly have feelings for you, even if it's brotherly, they also tell you if you are wrong, they guide you. That's how Akshay is.... An honest man, because sincerity plays a big part in his life.... Be it friendship or relationship.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Full-time cuddling is strictly only for his s/o, someone for who he has true feelings because it's an intimate and vulnerable time. Especially after lovemaking, he loves to have his s/o into his arms or onto his lap, his behemoth frame hiding his true one from the cruel world outside, protecting them, assuring them that he is here with them.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Settling down has a different meaning to him. It simply means living with his s/o into his cabin home on the outskirts of a town in Alaska, surrounded by nature and quietness, enjoying each others company. Akshay is a man who enjoys the simpler things in life and loves the peacefulness that Mother Nature provides.

As for cooking and cleaning. He can cook a decent meal, since he lived alone for years in Alaska he learned to take care of himself. He cooks delicious deer and fish, so you won't be disappointed. Cleaning? Another pro... Akshay is quite a neat freak and likes to have his stuff in a certain order; his books perfectly arranged on the shelves, his clothes neatly folded into his closet. Living with him you won't have to yell at him to not let his dirty clothes on the floor.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

That's a touchy subject. Akshay isn't the type to break up over non-important things. Like, if he fights or argues with his s/o he will always be the mature one and make things right. He isn't one to run away from responsibilities and his s/o is his responsibility. He may be a brutish ice-cold killer but he has some sense in him and knows any relationship problem can be solved after the waters are calm and having a conversation about the problem.... Finding a solution.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Marriage isn't something Akshay is seeing, but if his s/o wants to get married... And he has very VERY strong feelings for them he won't be opposed to it. He wants to make his s/o happy so for their sake they can get married, but nothing big or fancy like. Maybe an exchange of rings into the snow-covered forest while sharing their promises to each other.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Akshay is a very brutal man who smashed skulls and can throw people through the roof. The feral rage of a polar bear, but with his s/o it's different. When Akshay deeply cares and loves someone, the brutish-looking man can be the most gentle person you have ever meet. He knows what deadly strength he packs and how easily is to snap bones like they were twigs so he is extra careful with his loved one, treating them like the most precious treasure made of the most fragile glass. His gentleness will show in time... With men, he is much rougher especially if they match his behemoth frame... With small women? A true gentleman.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He likes and doesn't like them. Kind of a paradox. He will only hug the people Who are the closest to him like family, very good friends, and his s/o of course. When hugging his friends the hugs are short with a pat on their back. As for his s/o? The hugs are long, his arms wrapping around their form, his fingers running through their hair and if they are small in height he will rest his chin on top of their head.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Akshay isn't a man who straight up says these big words just to be thrown there. He has to really FEEL that connection with someone to say they love words. He may not be a man of many words but he knows once the words are said you cannot take them back. He wants to be sincere when he says 'I love you'... To feel the words sink deep into his chest.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Akshay can be very jealous, especially when strangers get too close to his s/o in a very sleazy way. Just think about this scenario. Akshay and his special someone going to a coffee shop, he goes to take their order and while he does that, some idiot who has a death wish starts to flirt with his s/o without shame. The poor idiot soul will find himself with his jaw broken and teeth all knocked out on the floor.... And that's the easy and good case because this man has to problem ripping their arms out either.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Akshay's kisses could be described as deep and slow, taking his time and savoring the pure essence of the kiss, his hand running through his s/o's hair and his other hand resting on their lower back or simply holding their hip to be flush against his body. He loves to kiss his s/o on the lips, showing them that they are his or he kisses the top of their head if they are small-sized. As for where he likes to be kissed? He cannot deny that kissing the skin of his neck down below his ear really sends shivers down his spine.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He doesn't hate them but neither is he very excited about the little fellas. As long as they don't bother him or anything like that, he doesn't mind them. He is neutral in this aspect. He always finds himself next to the little ones asking him if he is a giant.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Akshay can be kind of lazy as he isn't the type to straight-up jump from the bed the moment he wakes up. He enjoys staying in bed a few more minutes after waking up, basking into the start of the morning. Morning for Akshay also means plates full of pancakes, maple syrup, and forest fruits along with a nice big hot cup of coffee. Mornings full of tranquility.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Akshay are as tranquil as the mornings. The nights with the Polar bear can be spent watching a movie, while cuddling under a fluffy blanket, eating snacks and sweets... Or going outside, watching the Alaskan Northern Lights, with a nice small picnic, taking into all that Mother Nature gives you two. Akshay can be quite the romantic type if you look through the hard and cold exterior of the Mountain of an iceberg.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Akshay is like a big real-life novel that you need to take time reading and then re-reading it all over again in order to understand him. He is like an enigma of the snow-covered deep forest... You need to melt the heavy pounds of ice and snow to see under the coldness that he puts out at first... It takes time and effort, but everything will be worth it once he slowly comes out of the frozen shell. He will reveal things slowly without trying once he finds himself trusting you and seeing that you mean well and are genuine into your actions.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Akshay has the patience of a God, but may the Lord have mercy once the last drop of patience evaporates. You know what they say... Beware of the calmest ones because you don't know when they will strike and trust me... You will know when Akshay strikes. It's like the calm waters of the ocean but at some point, these peaceful waters will transform into full-on hurricanes that shall destroy everything in their paths. His s/o is probably the only one who doesn't face these storms because he has a never-ending source of patience for them.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?)

Akshay has a pretty good memory. He remembers details of your past, your favorite movies, your favorite meal. The simpler things in life mean the most so he will never forget an anniversary or your birthday or if there is a certain special day that has a big meaning to you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment into your relationship with him would be the first night that you spend with him watching the Northern Lights while talking about all types of certain topics. The first moments about everything mean the most to him; the first kiss with you, the first breakfast together, the first time you two made love. These moments will forever be imprinted into his mind, like a tattoo.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Akshay is overly protective about his s/o and over his beloved ones too, even if you are a friend he will always have your back and never let you down no matter the situation. He will protect you with all he has, always standing in front of you, like a thick wall of ice that doesn't let even a single scratch leave your skin. He is the perfect epitome of a polar bear and he sure shows it when shielding his people most important to him. May God have mercy on the dumb ones that try to mess with his family.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Akshay isn't one for fancy dates or flamboyant anniversaries, but he does put effort into them, like cooking a delicious breakfast, running a hot bath with aromatic salts. For your and his anniversary, you might wake up and look out the window, seeing the words 'I LOVE YOU' written into the freshly fallen snow. He is a man of actions than words and his actions speak of how much he loves his s/o.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

One of Akshay's habits might be sometimes his blunt ice-like tongue and mouth. He is an honest man and speaks up his mind, to the point where his bluntness might be too acidic. Of course, he will try to suppress this habit with his beloved, trying to be more diplomatic about his thoughts and what he tries to say. If he says something that might hurt you emotionally, he will straight up to see the anger and sadness into your orbs and he will quickly soften... He will be the first one to apologize because he knows it's his fault.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

The Polar bear isn't one to be very absorbed in his looks, despite many people telling him how good-looking he is. What's not to like? Soft spikey white hair, deep pools of grey eyes, muscular arms covered by tribal ink all over, the tall and bulky frame that gives of protection vibes... He is a full package. He does take care of himself, like shaving and showering every day but he doesn't spend hours upon hours in the mirror. He is to say so.... Neutral about his looks.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Once Akshay loves, there is no turning back. He does it from the deepness of his heart and if I think about it on a very emotional level.... If his s/o breaks up with him, this man will shield himself well into ice and coldness, like a blizzard that you are afraid to enter. He might not be able to get over the breakup and there also might not be a next s/o. Trust is so easy to break yet even if you put it back together it's not the same.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Akshay is very fond of writing and having his home surrounded by all kinds of plants, being as close to nature as possible. He likes cozy and quiet vibes. Even if he lives in one of the coldest places on earth, there is a certain warmness when he enters his cabin and might make you never leave it, because of how at home you will feel.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Akshay doesn't like the big city, all that agitation and chaos gives him headaches and makes him uneasy as in, he feels like throwing people across buildings. It's like trying to put a polar bear on a leash and take him for a walk through New York City. Just NO. Plus all that pollution and ecologic disaster. He will go nuts.

As in for something he wouldn't like in a s/o? Probably big city 'divas' who would constantly complain about the lack of commercial centers, the weather being too cruel, and let's not get started on these females who are constantly walking with heels.... Nice try walking with stilettos through inches upon inches of snow. I suggest you go back from where you came from because Akshay doesn't put up with snobs.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Akshay is a light sleeper at the beginning but as the sleep progresses, he is a heavy sleeper, especially into the morning after he wakes up. If you try to wake him up he will just grunt and grumble, drapping one of his heavy legs over your body and pull you flush against his chest murmuring 'five more minutes'. Sleeping with Akshay is like sleeping into the big strong arms of a bear and during cruel winter nights you will never feel once a bit of coldness.

#Akshay Lah-Mo #Original characters #Slasher OC #Polar Bear #Soft Aesthetics #Sfw alphabet #Alaskan Man

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

MonX Hospital | Jooheon

Pairing: Lee Jooheon x reader

Genre: paeditrician – hospital au / romance / friends with benefits to lovers au

Warnings: medical and challenging behaviour terms, and whilst they’re fwb it’s only talked about, there are no sex scenes.

Word count: 3994

Tuning out the conversation at the front desk he had been listening to, Jooheon shifted his attention to the busy waiting room. A mother, looking rather frustrated, was standing beside a small child and holding out her hand. She visibly swallowed back her urgency and smiled. “Come on Maddox, the nurse is waiting for us.”

The young boy ignored her request, continuing to push a car on a table, hurtling it around with a bit more force.

“Maddox! Let’s go,” she tried again, reaching out for his hand, in which the boy immediately recoiled away from and screamed. His mother, trying not to catch the sympathetic looks from the other waiting parents, readjusted her bag upon her shoulder. “Come on now, the nurse just needs to see how big you’re getting! It’s not scary, I swear.”

Pushing away from the counter he had been resting upon, Jooheon entered the space, giving the mother a comforting smile before sitting down on the floor next to the child. Maddox glanced in his direction cautiously, now pushing the car around with less force. Jooheon grinned. “Woah, that’s some good driving you’re doing there! Can I join?”

The child didn’t verbally answer, but he did hand Jooheon a car. Starting up some revving noises, he then propelled it around the track the child had made out of various wooden blocks and toys from the container in the corner. Jooheon purposely knocked down a bridge and then gasped noisily.

The small boy giggled. “You caused an accident!”

“I really did, didn’t I. Was I going too fast?” Maddox nodded. “What do you recommend I do?”

“You’ll need to go see a doctor! Your driver is injured!”

“Oh no!” Jooheon exclaimed and several of the other kids in the waiting room edged closer. “Isn’t it a good thing I’m in a hospital right now?”

“Are you a doctor?” another child asked and Jooheon nodded guiltily.

“I am. I should have known better and gone slower, right?”

All the kids agreed with this.

“Maybe since we’re in a hospital, Maddox here could take me and my broken driver to see the nurse right now. He needs to get checked out.”

The little boy hesitated before nodding and holding out his hand. Jooheon hid his smile as best as he could, and the rest was wiped off his face when Maddox dragged him across the foyer and into the room he had been avoiding all this time. For a little guy, he sure was strong. His mother darted along with them, smiling appreciatively at Jooheon who Maddox insisted had to sit down with him.

“Nurse Tina, I drove too fast and now Maddox and I need to get checked out.”

“Well,” she said solemnly, looking at Maddox and nodding her head. “We best check you both out for any injuries, huh?! First, let’s take your temperature, shall we?”

“Thank you,” the mother said once Maddox’s basic stats were charted. “He gets a little overwhelmed in places like these.”

“It’s common so don’t feel it’s something you’re doing wrong. Kids don’t naturally like coming to the hospital,” Jooheon replied before crouching down to ruffle Maddox’s hair. “Thanks for looking out for me! Now you go down that hallway and let Doctor Y/N look out for your driver, okay?”

“You better heal well, Doctor…” Maddox leaned in to attempt to read his badge. Before he could tell him his name, Maddox looked at the honey pot clay pin attached to his lanyard and grinned. “Doctor Honey!”

“That’s me,” he chuckled. “I’m Doctor Honey.”

“Doctor Honey, huh?” you mentioned when Jooheon walked into the shared office space for junior consultants, shooting him a smirk. “I heard all about how reckless you drove from a little boy and three others today. I think I’m going to take the bus home tonight instead of catching a ride with you.”

“I guess I have my first nickname here,” Jooheon breathed dramatically before sitting down. “Here I was hoping for “Doctor McHottie. Guess being a paediatrician makes that one a bit of a stretch.”

“That and this isn’t Grey’s Anatomy,” you replied with another smile before throwing down your pen with a heavy sigh.

Jooheon peered over at your case notes and then scrunched up his nose. “Hard day?”

“I have one patient who I saw today in Doctor Clifford’s clinic hours and I’m at a loss of what to present to him in our meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Can I read your case notes more closely?” he asked and you slid the file over. Reaching for your tablet to look up the history of previous visits for the young girl, Jooheon sighed as well. “Poor thing has enough going on in her life, huh?”

“She’s retracting away from society at a rapid pace. When she did answer my questions, she was very angry in doing so. There’s a lot of tension pent up in her body and mind right now.”

“And the caregivers state the change came from puberty? Nothing else?”

“Her biological parents have recently left the scene for good, which initially eased some of her aggressive behaviour. However, the return of the new school year has put a lot of strain on the situation. Some of these symptoms do support her diagnosis on the ASD spectrum, but I’m also concerned we’re not doing enough. I’ve increased the dosages for two medications she’s taking and given the caregiver some advice on how to address the lack of school attendance from a professional’s perspective but she didn’t seem all that relieved it would do much to help things at home and I can’t stop thinking about their situation. She’s such a sweet kid but she’s not getting the right assistance to help her overcome this.”

“And her diagnosis of Autism is much newer than most of these other labels that some of the services out there to support kiddos like her would have given them a stand-down period of six weeks before even adding them to the waiting list so who knows when they will get seen by them to continue support at home,” Jooheon added on, tapping a finger on his chin trying to find a solution.

The past year that he had worked as a junior consultant in the Paediatrics department had definitely come with some highs. Working with children and helping them overcome obstacles both physically and mentally to reach closer to their potential was always rewarding. But more often than not, he felt restricted by the amount of help he could give to kids like this one. A meeting during one of these clinics was only a moment in time for that family. The parents and caregivers of children exhibiting these challenging behaviours truly deserved all the respect in the world for what they must face day in and out.

Jooheon knew that your frustrations matched his own, wishing there was more you could do to support that family. He smiled determinedly at you over the table. “Let’s brainstorm what else you could suggest for her ongoing support and reach out to the agencies we know that might provide assistance to the family with her needs as well.”

“You know, you really suit that nickname of yours, Doctor Honey,” you replied with a watery smile, nodding as you reached to take the file back. “You sure are a sweetheart.”

“Sweet enough to have dinner with?” Jooheon shot back playfully and he grinned when you rolled your eyes right as he expected you to.

“I like things to be more sour than just sweet.”

“Chinese it is,” he announced and you laughed whilst shaking your head.

“Sometimes, I wonder how to get through to you that only being your friend and colleague is where it belongs for us.”

“Friends can have dinner together.”

“I remember our last dinner,” you stated with a hushed tone as Jooheon’s smile grew again. “Don’t smile!”

“I remember it too. It was really delicious.”

“I don’t recall signing up for dessert afterwards,” you continued, trying to sound unaffected as you scrolled through your tablet.

“I don’t recall you saying no to it either,” he pointed out, trying not to smile too much at your reproachful look. “We can enjoy the perks of being consenting adults when we want to, Y/N.”

“I swear you’ve watched way too many doctors TV shows.”

Jooheon smirked. “Never seen one, actually. You’re just trying to pass it off for whatever happens in those dramas so you don’t have to admit that being friends with me is fun.”

“It’s trouble. Honey gets sticky and is hard to remove.”

“You don’t have to remove it,” he offered. Glancing over at you earnestly, he hoped you would notice that whilst having bouts of pleasure with you over the past year had been well reciprocated, Jooheon hoped it could become more between you.

You deflated his approach quickly. “Sorry, I have plans for dinner. Maybe next time, Doctor Honey.”

“Did you ever follow up with that family with the puberty issue?” Jooheon asked a couple of weeks later when he crossed paths with you in the hallway leading to a seminar you were both attending.

You nodded, shooting him a smile. “Clifford was thrilled with the added suggestions I had for the case. Thanks for your help.”

“Hey, whatever gives these kids the best chance to thrive, huh?”

“I hope this seminar is worth it.”

Jooheon smirked. “Don’t snore too loudly this time round.”

“I did not!” Yanking on his arm as you looked around at the fellow health professionals entering the space, you then huffed indignantly. “I had worked two shifts back to back and ended up helping on an urgent case before the last one!”

“Sure,” he replied simply, his dimples deepening as he threw you another playful smile. “If that’s what helps you cover up-”

“Are you fishing for a thank you since you made sure no one found me sleeping through the last one?!” you enquired as you both stepped into the large boardroom, aiming for the seats concealed in the back row. Once seated, you gave Jooheon a pointed look. “I won’t fall asleep.”

“What will you do this time if you do?”

“I’m not going to!”

“I’m going to hold it over your head if you do. I know! Dinner tonight if you fall asleep.”

“I hope you enjoy eating alone, Lee Jooheon.”

Hours later, you grumbled as you took a seat adjacent from Jooheon in a sushi bar, pointing your index finger at him warningly. “Don’t!”

“Sure looks like I have the best company for eating alone tonight, Y/N.”

“We’re only eating,” you announced firmly, before reaching out for a plate from the conveyor belt that ran along the inner edge of the table. You then let out another groan. “If only her voice hadn’t been so dreary!”

“Face it, unless you’re being stimulated, you fall asleep too easily. I don’t know how you even got through med school.”

“Lots of coffee and determination.”

“Guess now that you have the job it’s easy to slacken off huh?”

“Jooheon!”

He grinned. “Don’t worry. I took enough notes for the pair of us.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you told him and gestured to the food. “It’s on me tonight.”

The conversation flowed easily over a range of topics during dinner, as it usually did. Jooheon hadn’t met someone who he could tease in one moment and then discuss serious topics in the next until you, and it always made him yearn for more of your attention. However, when you reached for your second shot glass of sake, Jooheon took it from you and downed it instead.

“Hey! That was mine.”

“You’re a lightweight. Don’t drink anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll end up wanting dessert if you do,” he told you bluntly, and you stared at him, cheeks flushed.

“Who says I don’t already?”

“Are you feeling the effects of the alcohol so soon?”

Leaning over and kissing him impulsively, Jooheon was stunned when you pulled away. You cocked your head to the side and took the shot glass back before pouring more of the rice wine. You knocked it back. “I can’t have you having dessert alone as well, huh?”

“Let’s pay the check then. It’s a work night and we don’t need to drink any more with early morning clinics tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” you agreed with a seductive trail of your finger down his chest. “I’m sure you’ll make me feel more than drunk on what you have in store for me tonight.”

“Doctor Honey!” the children exclaimed as he entered the hospital schoolroom, waving to all the attendees of the class. A couple of the physically-abled children hopped up from their seats and dashed over to hug him.

“How’s school today?”

“We’re colouring!” Ingrid told him and he gasped noisily, allowing the girl to take him over to her place at the table. She was colouring in a fairy with a pretty flower crown.

“Colouring!” he repeated, crouching down to look at Minseok’s alligator he was carefully remaining within the lines of. “You’re all future artists!”

“Will you colour with us?!”

“Me? Oh, I don’t know, I’m just a doctor.”

“You could draw a picture of Doctor Y/N!” Jake suggested and Jooheon lost his balance, falling to the floor with an embarrassing thud.

The children all giggled.

Recovering, Jooheon narrowed his gaze on Jake. “Why would I draw her?”

“Because last time she came to visit our class, she drew you!” Melissa told him as she pointed to the wall where a picture of a honey pot and spoon had been hung up.

Jooheon laughed. “That’s a honey pot.”

“It’s you! She told us so.”

“Really?” he asked, looking at the picture again. He grinned. “Did she tell you why she chose to draw that?”

“We asked her to draw her favourite thing.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” he breathed out quietly, thinking back to your indifferent behaviour this morning when you woke up at his place.

Coming back to the present, Jooheon smiled weakly. “I wish I could colour with you all but I’m actually here for Luna.”

Luna lowered her head and shook it adamantly. “I don’t want to go!”

“Doctor Honey will be with you, don’t be scared, Luna,” the teacher, Mrs Potts, gently encouraged and the other children moved to hug her and tell her it would be okay.

Once Luna was free from her friends, Jooheon held out his hand for her. “I’ve even got the coolest orderly on his way to help you travel to your therapy session in style.”

“You’ll still come too, right?”

“Of course!” he assured, her sweaty palm gripping onto his more tightly.

As he walked Luna back to her wardroom, she kept looking up at Jooheon inconspicuously, and he smiled after catching her once more in the reflection of the window they passed by. “What is it, Luna?”

“Is Doctor Y/N your girlfriend?”

Jooheon shook his head sadly in answer. “She just wants to be my special friend.”

“I had a boyfriend once,” she whispered when back in her room and Jooheon leaned down to help her up onto her bed. He then gasped and Luna giggled behind her hand.

“You’re too young for a boyfriend!”

“And you’re too old! Shouldn’t you be married by now?!”

“I’m not old at all!”

“Then I’m not young!” she refuted and Jooheon gave her a fist pump in a truce. Her humour eased. “I wish I had kept him as my special friend though.”

“Why?”

“When he left the hospital after getting better, he never contacted me again. If I hadn’t of given him my heart, it wouldn’t have hurt so much.” Blinking at the vulnerable truth the twelve year old had spoken of, Jooheon sighed. She was too young for such a painful experience on top of her health condition.

Luna took Jooheon’s hand and squeezed it again. “Maybe Doctor Y/N doesn’t want you to ever leave her so she chooses to keep you as her special friend instead.”

Before he could respond, Minhyuk, the cheerful orderly, arrived and took away his chance. Jooheon smiled at Luna thoughtfully.

It was amazing how insightful kids could be.

“It feels like it’s been forever since I worked in the same place as you,” you mentioned when you entered the office space the following week and Jooheon grinned.

“It’s only been two days. Are you not getting enough done in your shifts to feel like time is dragging or something?”

“You’re not funny.” Sitting down heavily, you placed your hands up under your chin to rest your head upon them. “It’s just weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Even when we’re busy, you always seem to appear during my day.”

Jooheon swallowed slowly. “I guess friends are not always visible when busy.”

“You are though,” you persisted, narrowing your gaze on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

“Really?” Peering at Jooheon more closely, he diverted his gaze from your scrutiny. “Are you hiding something from me?”

“What’s there to hide? We’re just friends, Y/N.”

“Hm,” you hummed, shaking your head. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m just being your friend.”

“Say the word friend one more time, I beg of you,” you said darkly, opening your file with a huff.

He chose to look at you then, chewing on his bottom lip.

Luna’s words had played around in his mind. Jooheon didn’t realise that his advances could have been felt as pressure to you, and whilst he knew being friends who slept together worked to some extent, he hadn’t realised it could mean something to you to not go any further.

And so he had decided to just be the friend you needed. Although, Jooheon wondered if he had taken the step back a little too far if you were aware of how little he was trying to bombard you each day. To be fair, he wasn’t very good at reeling back his own feelings or level of friendship to make you feel more comfortable.

After a few minutes of working in silence, you cleared your throat. “Are you busy tonight?”

“No.”

“Good, want to Netflix and Chill?” you suggested, not lifting your gaze from your tablet. Jooheon didn’t answer immediately and you flicked your eyes upwards. You then frowned, waving a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Doctor Honey, did you hear me?”

“Uh, maybe not tonight. I’m not feeling well.”

“Really? But that one time when you were ill and told me nothing could stop you from-”

“Guess I had more energy back then,” he lied, collecting up his things hastily. He was growing confused and it was bothering him.

You seemed bothered as well. “Where are you off to? We have two hours to write up our findings from our clinical hours today.”

“I need to go look up something in the library. I’ll catch you later.”

Jooheon slapped the side of his head a couple of times once he was out of the office, groaning with how awkward he was acting towards you.

He realised he couldn’t just be friends with you anymore.

Your working environment continued to grow tense until you found Jooheon in an empty wardroom, patting the bed in which Luna had once resided in.

For a moment, you comforted him. “It’s a good thing she’s going home. Why are you sitting here looking so lost?”

“I’ve grown attached to her.”

“She was a spunky little thing. Gave me lots of advice.”

Jooheon nodded softly. “Me too.”

“Did she give you the advice to avoid me?” you wondered and Jooheon glanced up at you in confusion. You shrugged, taking a seat on the bed beside him. “Or did she say something to make you back off from me?”

“No, well-”

“I knew it!” you exclaimed, standing back up and waving your hands around. “See, she told me that there was someone really special in my world and that I should see him as more than a friend and then you kept saying the words just friends over and over and I cannot believe you took the advice of a twelve year old so literally!”

“Hang on a moment,” he simply replied, narrowing his eyes on your face. “Regardless of age, some people say insightful things. I was just giving you the space you need since I have made it clear that I want to be more than just friends who sleep together. I want the whole deal with you but you always give excuses. So yeah, I listened to Luna and thought maybe you had a reason that you didn’t want to be more than friends with me over. I was being respectful of your needs.”

“Disappearing from my world is respectful?” you asked, shaking your head. “You made me lonely. I half wondered if I had offended you or you’d grown bored of me. I kept making advances at you that you’ve deflected. How is that being a friend?”

“Do you like me?”

“Of course I do.”

“I mean more than a friend,” he reiterated and you opened your mouth, only to close it again. Jooheon sighed. “See, this is where we differ. I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you and want to-”

“My last partner manipulated me,” you blurted out. Cringing, you started to pace the floor. “I gave him so much of myself that when I realised what he was doing to me, I vowed I wouldn’t date again. I wanted to hold full control over my feelings. I figured if all you and I did was eat and sleep together that I wouldn’t get too attached. I could have a good friend and have some fun with you too.”

You stopped pacing and looked at him. “But you’ve become more than a friend; even I have to admit it. I want to do more than what we have. I just don’t want to lose what we have either.”

“I’m not going to hurt you like that,” Jooheon answered, standing up and stepping closer to you. Reaching for your shoulders, he smiled gently. “I’m not like him.”

“I know, you’re so much better in all areas,” you breathed and Jooheon grinned. “That’s why I get scared. You’re too good of a human to mess things up with.”

“What if things only get better, not messed up?” he offered and you slipped your arms around his waist, placing your head against him. “What if we’re better at being more than just friends?”

“Is it worth risking what we have?” you murmured, lifting your head to look at him. After staring at one another for an intense moment, you nodded. “Of course it is.”

Jooheon kissed you then, softly. It felt like it had been so long since he had last caressed your lips properly. You pressed into him firmly, deepening the embrace.

And then jumped apart when you both heard fevered giggling. “It’s just like what my Mummy watches on TV! Doctors do kiss each other in secret!”

“Ew, are you both worried about catching cooties?!”

“Why would they be worried? They’re doctors! They can cure anything!”

“How about you guys head off and pretend you saw nothing and I’ll be down to the schoolroom with candy in twenty minutes,” Jooheon stated and with another set of giggles, they darted out, leaving you both laughing at being caught.

“They’re right though,” you mentioned, stretching up to peck his lips again. “We can cure anything.”

Jooheon grinned, resting his forehead on yours. “So how about dinner tonight?”

“With Doctor Honey?” you asked, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know, what’s on the menu?”

“Anything you fancy.”

“Even you?”

“I thought I was too sticky,” he teased, reminding you of a past conversation.

Trailing your index finger up until you flicked his chin gently; you gave him a smirk. “Maybe I don’t mind if I can’t get you off of me now.”

_________________

Next: Changkyun

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